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Griffin said, “Rebekah, like I told you, I have to go to a birthday party.”
“You didn’t say who’s celebrating. A friend, relative?”
“Nope, I only know the person giving the party. Please, don’t ask. I’ll be back about three o’clock, hopefully, and I’ll stay until your husband gets home. About six, you said?”
Rebekah nodded. Griffin gave Savich a salute and left, whistling.
Rebekah looked after him. “What’s that all about?”
Savich merely smiled and said, “Ask him when he gets back. You’ll find it amusing.” He studied Rebekah’s face and saw no obvious signs of stress, though he knew she still had to feel afraid. But looking at her now, it wasn’t obvious. “Is your arm all right today?”
“Yes, only a little sore.” She rotated her shoulder to show him. She was wearing a white camp shirt over black skinny jeans and black socks on her feet, no shoes. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail. Rebekah looked back and forth between Savich and Sherlock, cocked her head. “You’re not only partners, are you? You’re together, right?”
“Yes,” Sherlock said, and gave her a sunny smile. “You’re very perceptive.”
Rebekah smiled, shook her head. “The two of you—it’s obvious to me you guys have a connection.”
Sherlock decided on the spot she liked Rebekah Manvers.
They followed her into a high-ceilinged, old-style living room filled with early American antiques.
Sherlock said, “How lovely. The antiques fit the room beautifully. Everything is from about the same time period, right?”
“Yes, 1838, to be exact. Needless to say, the house has been transformed many times during its lifetime. As you can see, though, all the beautiful molding and fireplaces have been kept and dutifully restored. As to the furniture, my husband seems to think a congressman needs to surround himself with American period pieces, to give him gravitas and a solid sense of embracing history. Me? I prefer Danish modern, which my husband finds appalling. At least this stuff is fairly comfortable. Let me introduce you to Kit Jarrett, my partner, my friend, and my one and only investigator in our art consulting business.”
A petite young woman stepped forward, smiling. She was loaded with curves she displayed in black leggings and a long black turtleneck sweater to her hips. Kit shook their hands and cocked her head to one side, sending her glorious straight hair swinging against her cheek. Her words nearly jumped out of her mouth. “Believe me, it’s a great pleasure. Goodness, Agent Savich, if you hadn’t been in Celeste Manvers’s neighborhood when Rebekah needed you, she would have been taken. Do you know yet who did it? The bastards. It makes my heart stutter to even think about it.” She grinned really big, showing a crooked eyetooth. “Well, you can see I don’t do ‘measured and mature’ very well.” She looked at Sherlock and drew a deep breath. “Does your husband have a habit of swooping in just in the nick of time?”
Sherlock said, “I’ve always found his timing to be excellent.” She realized how what she’d said could be interpreted and blinked up at Dillon, who smiled at her.
Rebekah’s cell buzzed. She looked down. “Excuse me a moment.” She walked a couple of steps away from them. A moment later, she turned back. “That was my husband. Turns out his meeting was cut short. He’ll be home in about twenty minutes.”
It was perfect timing, just what Savich wanted. He said, “He plans on being home the rest of the day and evening?”
At her nod, he said, “Then you won’t need our protection.” Savich quickly texted Griffin, told him to go straight to the birthday party and have a great time with all the teenagers and the cake.
A text came back immediately: Understood. Fingers crossed for chocolate, tons of frosting, little chocolate flowers on top.
Savich said, “Twenty minutes should be fine.”
Rebekah said, “Please, sit down. May I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you,” Savich said. “We need to get started. Rebekah, I want you to tell me everything about your meeting with Zoltan on Wednesday night.” He looked at Kit Jarrett and cocked his head.
Kit said, “I know it all already, Agent Savich. I won’t interrupt, and you can trust me not to blab, despite my being a motormouth when you walked in. Believe me, I would never do anything to harm Rebekah. She pays me very well.” She lightly poked Rebekah’s arm.
Rebekah studied his face, stilled. “You went to see Zoltan, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Thursday night.”
She sighed. “I suppose she told you everything, then? About pretending Grandfather was there and what he said about the Big Take?”
“Despite the psychotropic herbs she put in her special tea, yes, I managed to get her account of what happened.”
“What? You’re saying she drugged the tea?”
Savich nodded. “When I called her on it, she claimed there was nothing harmful in the tea, that she meant only to relax her clients, make them more at ease.”
Rebekah stared at him. “You mean her blasted tea was meant to drug me into not questioning her version of reality?”
