“Do you have a key to her place?” Mum was on her feet, inflated with hope.
“Blast it, no.” Clutching the edge of the counter, Daffy rode a wave of spiking adrenaline. “We could just go over there?’
Then a scene flashed. The commercial where Leslie Ann stood in a green meadow. One that looked like pictures Daffy had seen of America.
“The commercial.” Now panic rode up and staked a claim. “Where she’s in a sunny, green setting. Couldn’t be Lauchtenland—we’re still fighting winter. And wasn’t she off the show on a special assignment last week? Mum, what if Leslie Ann went to America? To wherehelived. Was it Tennessee?”
Yeah, she remembered everything she heard that afternoon.
“Surely not. That’s a long way to go for a bio-documentary on the queen. And the show airs this weekend. She’d have been working on this story for months.”
“Not if the story is now about the queen’s love child. Her secret baby. Who was raised in America by her father.”
“I… I need to sit down again.” Mum stumbled back to the chair.
“I should’ve burned those pages. Why…whydid I keep them?”
“You were a girl. I’m the one who should’ve gotten rid of them.”
“Mum, this will destroy the queen. This will destroyeverything.”
* * *
Daffy charged through Pub Clemency, bumping into patrons standing in the aisle, around crowded tables. A quick call to Ella informed her the mates had all gathered.
“Excuse you, lass.”
“Excuse you too.” She was in no mood. No mood.
There they were. At the table in the corner under the window. Her weekly Friday night friends. People she loved and counted on. Marlow and Tonya. Frank and Kayle. Rick, Albert, Jones. Ella and Leslie Ann. Only Thomas and Blinky were absent.
“Daffy! You’re here.” Tonya waved her over. “Scoot over, Jones, let her in by you. Ella said you weren’t coming.”
“I’m not staying, darling, but thanks.” Daffy leaned over the round table, her gaze fixed on Leslie Ann. “Did you read it?”
“What?”
“Answer me and don’t lie. Did you read it?”
“Daffy,” Ella interrupted “You told me—”
She flashed her palm. “I’ll deal with you later. Les, did you read it? All of it?”
“Every word. Even those juicy pages tucked away in the pocket.” The smirk from Florida hovered on her lips. “Brilliant. You were brilliant. I give you credit by the way. In the documentary.”
“Credit?”
“You were my credible source. My journey to the truth began with you and your diary.”
The sounds of the pub faded under Daffy’s steam of anger. “Why? Why would you do such a thing? Is your idea of success tearing others down? Destroying lives? Look at you. You have everything. Beauty, brains, fame—and it’s not enough. You have to be the best, or rather, your twisted version of the best. Best story, scoop of the decade, the century, the millennium. Ah, you make me sick. Truly.”
“Hey, you two, what’s going on?” Albert stood and invoked his shrink voice, which made no impact.
Leslie Ann reached for an appetizer. “It’s my job, Daffy. I’d do it again.”
“Do you hear yourself? Since when did it become your job to ruin people? Shame them? To stick your blooming nose where it doesn’t belong? The diary was my private business. At the very least you could’ve talked to me. Even better, the queen.”
“You said I could read your diary. How was I to know you’d penned a slam-bam ending?”
