Neither Clara nor Marilyn had heard of problems from downstream recruits. But Ella’s somber expression as they walked back to the car to make the trip home worried Beatrix.
“You don’t think it’s going well?” she asked.
Ella managed a smile. “Sorry, just thinking about something else. Nothing to do with that.”
And finally, Beatrix realized what she should have seen, the connection she should have immediately made. Frederick Draden—handsome, well-connected, objectionable Frederick Draden—was the ex-fiancé.
“Ella,” she whispered, “what is Frederick to you?”
Ella, in the middle of opening the passenger door, stopped dead. “What?”
“He’s not just your old neighbor, is he.”
Ella sank into the seat, looking so forlorn, so unlike herself, that Beatrix wished she could take the thoughtless question back.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sitting in her own seat. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
Ella put her face in her hands, her laugh all sharp edges. “I like to pretend there’s no connection at all, more fool I. Oh, it wasawfulto see him.”
“You were just eighteen,” Beatrix murmured. “And you had the good sense to break the engagement.”
Ella, still covering her face, gave another laugh, this one bordering on hysterical.
“Listen, we don’t have to talk about it.” Beatrix shifted, patting her arm. “Just don’t feel you have to keep thisbottled up. You’re my best friend. Let me help shoulderyourtroubles sometimes.”
Ella leaned into her. “Thank you. And I will, just—not right now. Later. We can talk about it later.” She breathed in, breathed out and put herself back together—like an illusion, only faster. Lips quirked, eyes sardonic. “I have a daily limit on how much I can tolerate talking about wizards, you know. I get cranky.”
And Beatrix finally understood that Ella’s indefatigable humor wasn’t armor so much as the scab over a wound, painful to take off.
“Later,” she agreed.
Peter lookedat the names on Lydia Harper’s list, determined to make more progress. Out of ten, he’d visited the homes of only two.
Dot Yamaguchi was out of town until the following Saturday, but he decided to put her last. Her dorm room was where he’d spied on Beatrix. Going back would be painful.
He could check on Marilyn Zuckerman—oh, wait, he’d missed the notation that she had family visiting through Monday. Next weekend, then. Clara Daniels? No, that would be tricky, she ran a boarding house.Try during Sunday services—10-11 a.m., Miss Harper wrote. Rev. Hattington had extracted a promise from him to provide the after-service pastries tomorrow, so—next weekend for her, too. And Joan Hamilton, she of the uncertain schedule, wouldhave to wait until that Sunday as well, when the League meeting would keep her and all the other local leaders safely in Ellicott Mills for two to three hours.
That left the less conveniently located people. He sighed and trekked off to Westminster on narrow country roads, discovered nothing of note and got back five minutes before Martinelli turned up on his doorstep.
“I’ve come to collect,” the man said. “You’re taking me to dinner.”
“You really think I never go anywhere, don’t you,” Peter said. “It didn’t once occur to you to call first?”
“Nope. One-stoplight town.” Martinelli opened the door of his DeSoto. “Let’s go, Omnimancer.”
Peter reset the spell around the house and got in. Martinelli drove them to a restaurant in Baltimore, a tiny Little Italy pasta house.
“This is how you’re collecting?” Peter cast his eye over the prices on the menu. “Cheap date.”
“Well, seeing as how the town isn’t paying you …”
They had a good time. They always had a good time together. But the increasing worry that Martinelli was here as a spy, not his friend, tinged the proceedings, despite his deep-seated desire to acquit him.
This was Martinelli’s third unannounced visit in less than a month. (Yes, but he had areasonthis time. He was here to get repayment for a big favor.) He kept popping in on weekends—surely by now his wife was back from her mother’s? (Well, when else could he come? Wouldn’t it be more suspicious if he showed up in the middle of a workday?) He’d never visited even once before Peter left his job. (Because they saw each other sixty hours a week at work, damn it, wasn’t that sufficient?)
Peter swallowed his last bite of food, wishing the paranoia would go down as easily.
“I’ve been giving your predicament some thought,” Martinelli said.
