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“Holly,” Ed said, “you sure you won’t reconsider?” They were on the way to Ed’s house now.
“Ed, I really appreciate it, but I’m the wrong person for the job.”
“Let me be the judge of that.”
“I’m afraid I’ll have to be. I need to be really busy at this point in my life, and the Orchid department gives me that. I think you’re a great guy, and I know that working for you would be a pleasure, but . . .”
“Okay, okay,” Ed said. “How about this: when I find somebody who looks good for the job, will you interview him or her for me? See what you think of their qualifications?”
“I’d be glad to,” Holly said.
The car pulled up in front of Ed’s house. He pecked her on the cheek and got out of the car. “Jaime, take Ms. Barker back to her home.”
“Thank you for a wonderful evening, Ed. I needed it.”
“You call me anytime you need anything,” Ed said.
The car pulled away. Holly sank back in the soft leather and sipped her brandy. Ed’s job had sounded pretty cushy; had she made a mistake turning it down? She didn’t think so.
16
Holly awoke with the first hangover she’d had in a very long time. Not a bad one, and she was grateful for that, but she was a little fuzzy around the edges, and she was glad she didn’t have to work that day.
Daisy seemed hungover, too, and she had just as good a reason as Holly. She had her breakfast and her walk, not run, in the dunes, then repaired to her bed beside the fireplace and went back to sleep.
Holly went into the study and started going through desk drawers, trying to figure out what might have interested the intruder. Her checkbook was kept on the computer on an extension of the desk, and one needed a password, which was DAISY, to get in. Everything else in the desk was mundane—Post-its, paper clips, stationery, files on household repairs, tax stuff, brokerage statements. The guy might have learned something about her income or net worth, but what good would that do him? It wasn’t as though she kept large amounts of cash or bearer bonds in the house, and he hadn’t opened the upstairs safe. He’d certainly had an opportunity to take the TV or VCR or computer, and she kept her guns locked up, so he didn’t seem to be looking for booty, at least not the domestic kind.
She tried to imagine what information or files she might have that somebody might want—for any reason at all—and she came up short. If everything in her personal files was published on the front page of the Orchid Beach Press-Messenger, she wouldn’t particularly mind everybody reading it. Certainly, she was not harboring some secret that somebody else wanted to know.
The phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Holly, it’s Grant Early. How are you
?”
“Very well,” she replied.
“I just wanted to check in and confirm our dinner date. I’m picking you up at seven?”
“That’s good, Grant,” she said, then she remembered she hadn’t made a dinner reservation.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Someplace good; I haven’t decided yet.”
“You said a jacket and no tie would do?”
“That’s right.”
“I own a necktie, and I don’t mind wearing it.”
“You can keep it casual, Grant.”
“See you at seven, then.”
She said goodbye and hung up. He had a very pleasant voice for an FBI agent, she thought.
