Miss Harper pulled a pin from her hat and speared it back in with alarming vim. “I suppose we should have gone with one of our manyotheroptions.”
The woman, who seemed vaguely familiar, shot her a quelling look. Clearly the Schoen’s Sugar location had been Miss Harper’s idea and the only one that had panned out.
“I’ll deal with the caterers—you find some way to make the speeches audible,” she said to Miss Harper. “Buy bullhorns if necessary.Ella!See to the tables.”
As a dark-haired woman rushed to comply with the last order, his assistant turned on her heel and marched from the tent. Peter fell in beside her.
“Miss Harper,” he whispered. “To your right.”
She nearly leapt out of her coat.“LordAlmighty!”
“What now?” the older woman called out. He definitely recognized that voice, whoever she was.
“Nothing!” Miss Harper said. She put out a hand and connected with his arm, her face betraying none of the revulsion he would have expected if she’d seen his dream—a strong indication that she had not. Under her breath, she said: “Is everything all right? Why are you here?”
The truth would sound like a lie, but he couldn’t think of a lie that would sound like the truth. “I was worried about you.”
She raised a skeptical eyebrow.
A change of subject seemed the best defense. “Where are all the conference-goers?” he asked.
“They’re being bused over any minute from another location. You remember Rosemarie Dane—over there, our former teacher?”
Thatwas why she looked familiar. Miss Disdain, she of the biting tongue and high expectations.
“Well, she found a church that would rent us space, but only until four,” Miss Harper said. “The vote for our next president is at six.”
“Why didn’t you just do it earlier in the afternoon?”
She grimaced. “Because ourcurrentpresident has veto power over any scheduling changes. And she vetoed it.”
So there was more at stake in this conference than he’d realized. “Is your sister running against her, by any chance?”
“Bingo.”
“Too bad you don’t have a public-address system.”
“Actually, we do. But we don’t have anywhere to plug it in.” She glanced over her shoulder at Miss Dane and whispered: “Could you cast a spell on it?”
He chuckled. “You’d like some magic to help you put on this anti-magic rally?”
“Fervently.”
“I suppose it’s only fair, considering that magic-users are the reason you’re reduced to congregating outside. Where is it?”
“My car. Wait—where did you park yours?”
“Behind the hotel. Why?”
“Oh good,” she said, heading toward the nearest lot. “Rosemarie sawyou crossing the road to the Key Hotel lastnight. Now she and Lydia are convinced you’re the one D.C. assigned to sabotage us.”
His expletive wasn’t entirely under his breath.
“Exactly,” she said, sounding aggrieved. “I insisted it couldn’t have been you in the film, but if she sees a silver Pierce-Arrow, she’ll know you’re here. Don’t you think—shouldn’t I tell them what really happened?”
“No!”
She paused at the passenger door of her car, a large sedan that—like her house—had the sad look of long-faded grandness. “Why not?”
