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"I've been following the story. You must be pretty upset."
She gave a stoic smile. "That's putting it mildly. It's been a nightmare." She liked being able to admit to how she felt. She couldn't always do that with Jim. She believed she had to be supportive. In fact, she was sometimes furious at his role as a relentless investigative journalist. It was important, she understood, but sometimes she just plain hated the blog.
And now . . . endangering the family and forcing them to move to a hotel? This morning she'd had to ask her brother, a big man who'd been a bouncer in college, to escort the boys to their day camp, stay there and bring them back.
She bolted the door behind them. "Can I get you anything?" Patrizia asked Ashton.
"No, no, I'm fine, thanks."
Patrizia walked him to the door of her husband's office, her eyes taking in the backyard through a large window in the hallway.
A tap of concern in her chest.
Had she seen something in the bushes behind the house? Was it a person?
She paused.
"Something wrong?" Ashton asked.
Her heart was pounding hard. "I . . . Nothing. Probably just a deer. I have to say this whole case has got my nerves shaken."
"I don't see anything."
"It's gone," she said. But was it? She couldn't tell. Yet she didn't want to alarm their guest. Besides, all the windows and doors were locked.
They arrived at her husband's office and stepped inside. "Honey," she said. "It's Greg."
"Ah, right on time."
The men shook hands.
Patrizia said, "Greg said he doesn't care for anything. How 'bout you, honey?"
"No, I'm fine. Any more tea and I'll be in the bathroom for the whole meeting."
"Well, I'll leave you two boys to do your work and get back to packing." Her heart sank again at the thought of moving into a hotel. She hated being driven from her home. At least the boys would consider it an adventure.
"Actually," Ashton said, "hold on a minute, Pat. I'm going to do a video of Jim's operation to post on my site. I want to include you too." He set his briefcase on the table and opened it up.
"Me?" Patrizia gasped. "Oh, no. I haven't done my hair. And my makeup."
Ashton said, "First of all, you look fantastic. But most important, blogging isn't about hair and makeup. It's about authenticity. I've shot dozens of these and I've never let anybody so much as put on lipstick."
"Well, I guess." Patrizia was distracted, thinking about the motion she'd seen behind the house. She should tell the deputy out front about it.
Ashton laughed. "It's only a webcam anyway, medium resolution." He held up the small video camera.
"You're not going to ask me questions, are you?" She was growing panicky at the thought. Jim's blog alone had hundreds of thousands of viewers. Greg Ashton's probably had many more. "I wouldn't know what to say."
"It'll be sound bites. Just talk about what it's like to be married to a blogger."
Her husband laughed. "I'll bet she has plenty to say."
"We can do as many takes as you want." Ashton set a tripod up in the corner of the room and mounted the camera.
Jim straightened his desktop, organizing the dozens of stacks of journals and papers. Ashton laughed and shook a finger. "We want it authentic, Jim."
Another laugh. "Okay. Fair enough." Jim replaced the papers and magazines.
