AllFreeNovel
Share Us
h in June of 1967. Other than those specific dates, all I know is that she cruised through Montana at one time and gave up her daughter, probably named Adria or something like it, for adoption. An old couple—Victor Nash and his wife Sharon—adopted the kid sometime in late 1974, I think, though I can’t find any reference to a specific date and no official papers were filed.”
“That all?”
“Not quite,” Sweeny said, loving to spread news meant to shock. “Get a load of this—we suspect this Virginia Watson Slade might have been the governess for London Danvers.”
There was a long, low whistle on the other end of the line. “Ginny Slade.”
“Bingo.”
“So why’re you involved? No, let me guess. The kid’s shown up and is demanding her part of the fortune.”
“You got it.”
“Could be interesting.”
“See what you can come up with.”
“Where can I reach you?”
“I’ll call you. Need anything else?”
“How about a social security number?”
“Right.” Sweeny sorted through his notes on Ginny Slade. “Got it,” he said, and rattled off the series of numbers she’d used when she was London’s governess. He explained a little more about the case and hung up, satisfied that Foster would come up with something. He was a computer hacker from the 80s who’d found a way to put his skills to work. Sweeny didn’t really know how he operated, if he broke into the IRS’s files or had someone in the government working for him, but Foster was part of a national service where people who had been lost were found—even people who didn’t want to be located. He’d get the job done one way or the other.
Satisfied, Sweeny snapped his briefcase shut. He felt better. Another drink and he’d call Jason Danvers.
Adria glanced over her shoulder but she didn’t see a familiar face in the stream of people that passed by the front door of the Orion. She told herself that she was being paranoid, that no one was following her, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. And the dead rat in her mini fridge served to remind her that someone did know where she lived and where she went. All day, while she scouted around town looking for a more permanent residence, she’d felt as if a pair of eyes had been boring into her back, watching her every move.
She’d half expected to run into Zachary again, but he hadn’t shown up and it wasn’t his style to stay in the shadows. He might follow her, as he’d done before, but he’d end up confronting her again.
So who? she wondered as she swept her gaze along the street again. She didn’t see anyone hunched over a newspaper, or lounging near a telephone booth, or quickly ducking into storefronts when she glanced behind her. The person who had sent her the package had put her on edge. She was jumping at shadows. Before leaving the hotel earlier, she’d checked with the bell captain, Security, and the business office. No one had remembered anyone leaving a package for her. Whoever was behind it had been very careful. And so would she be.
Waving to the old man behind the magazine counter, Adria dashed into the hotel and asked for messages at the front desk. She was handed one note from the switchboard and a stiff white envelope with her name scrawled across the linen surface, not in block letters this time but flowing script. Rather than read the messages where anyone lounging in the lobby could see her, she took the elevator to her floor.
In her room, she kicked off her shoes, cast a glance at the closed refrigerator, then she scanned the notes. The telephone call was from Nelson Danvers, who wanted to speak with her “urgently.” Good. Progress, she thought. But she could let Nelson wait a little longer.
The invitation in the linen envelope wasn’t expected. She pulled out the handwritten card, and read the offer:
Mr. Anthony Polidori requests the honor of your presence tonight at dinner, seven o’clock at Antonio’s. A driver will pick you up in front of the hotel.
No telephone number. No address. Just a note left at the front desk of the Orion.
Adria read the words over again. Why would Polidori want to see her? Obviously he’d heard that she was in town claiming to be London Danvers, but how? And how did he know where she was staying? She felt goose bumps crawl up her back and she walked to the window and stared out at the street, wondering again if even now she was being followed or if anyone was watching her room.
She saw no one leaning against a lamppost while staring up at her window, no malicious figure darting into the shadows.
“Relax,” she told herself as she tapped the edge of the card on her lips and walked to her closet, where she eyed her meager wardrobe. What would it hurt to meet Polidori? Should she take him up on his offer or would that be playing into his hands?
She smiled to herself because she was starting to think like a Danvers. She had no reason to fear the Polidoris; in fact, talking with Witt Danvers’s sworn enemy could be enlightening. According to everyone in the family, he was the most likely suspect in the kidnapping of London. So why would he want to see her?
She changed into a simple black skirt and top, clamped her hair back, and slipped her arms into a jacket.
By the time she hurried out of the elevator in the main lobby, the limo had arrived and a driver helped her into the shadowed interior. She wasn’t alone. Two men sat across from each other. The short, older man in an elegant gray suit and dark glasses greeted her. “Ms. Nash,” he said, taking her hand as she slid onto the seat beside him. “Welcome. Welcome. I’m Anthony Polidori. My son, Mario.”
“My pleasure,” Mario said smoothly. He was tanned and good-looking, with even features, curling black hair cut longer than fashionable, and eyes the color of obsidian.
“I was surprised to hear from you,” she said, deciding not to play games.
