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He shrugged. “There’s always something coming up that requires my attention. Let’s go into the living room.”
Mrs. Sleeman said, “Yes, I’ll bring some tea.”
Pippa spent an hour with Field and Joyce Sleeman while their grandson napped on a gorgeous blue brocade sofa. “You don’t have to keep your voice down, Ms. Cinelli. Christopher sleeps like the no-longer-walking dead. Would you like sugar in your tea?”
“No, thank you.” Pippa wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but she dutifully tapped her cup to theirs in a welcome-home toast.
Pippa complimented them on the new conservatory they said they’d built five years ago, and they asked her what she did for a living. She said she was a lawyer. Conversation stayed social, and Pippa couldn’t see a way to segue smoothly into anything helpful, like gruesome puzzles. At least they were friendly, the grandson was a great sleeper, and the tea, without sugar, wasn’t bad.
Everything changed when Freddie Sleeman came into the living room, wearing, of all things, ski clothes. So this was Freddie, twenty-four, who’d studied interior design, and was on the hunt for Chief Wilde. “I’m off!”
She saw Pippa and stopped cold. “What are you collecting for? Or are you a religious cult member selling newly discovered books of the Bible?”
“Yes, that’s it,” Pippa said, smiling. “It’s a short chapter, said to be hidden in northern Africa, and it’s all about giving women the vote before the change of the millennium.”
This brought a laugh from both Mr. and Mrs. Sleeman, but not from Freddie. Mrs. Sleeman said quickly, “Pippa grew up in St. Lumis. She’s back for a short visit.”
Freddie said, “You’re so much older than I am, it’s no wonder I don’t remember you.”
A nice sharp jab. Why the animosity?
Before Pippa could answer, Freddie shot her a look. “I heard Wilde was laughing with a new woman at the party last night. I also heard she was making a fool of herself, flirting with him like mad. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Pippa cocked her head. “Not me. I think it was Cleopatra. Why weren’t you there to save him?”
Mrs. Sleeman gave her daughter a warning look, then shrugged. “Who cares? Forget about Chief Wilde, Freddie. He’s too old for you in any case.”
Freddie shot Pippa another look and glanced at her watch. “I have to go. I’m meeting Kenny and Gretchen in Peterbrough.”
“Where’s the snow?” Mr. Sleeman asked his daughter.
“It’s a party,” Freddie said, nothing more. She left and gave the front door a good closing snap. Mr. Sleeman rose, shook Pippa’s hand, and excused himself. Pippa couldn’t very well ask him to stay and talk about, say, making puzzles. She looked at Joyce Sleeman and saw a guileless face with rich humor in her dark eyes. She glanced down at her own watch. Time to get back to the puzzle shop and speak to Mrs. Filly before it closed.
Before she could leave, Mason Sleeman and his wife arrived to pick up their kids. After introductions, Mason walked to the sofa and ever so lightly touched his kid’s arm. The boy rose straight up and gave him a lazy smile. “I’m all well now, Dad. Can we go out to dinner? Maybe pizza?”
“You’re a heathen,” his grandmother said.
Pippa arrived at Maude’s shop twenty minutes later to see a Closed sign in the front window. She’d closed early. What rotten luck. Well, it was Sunday. It would be all right. Pippa would see her tomorrow, early, before many customers came in. She could ask for her help in making a puzzle, see how it was done. Maybe she’d even show Maude the photos of the puzzle someone had sent to Dillon, see what kind of reaction she got. She’d have time to make out a list of questions for her.
When she reached the B&B, the lights were fully on, making the lovely old Victorian glow in the late-afternoon sunlight. She walked in to see everyone already gathered in the living room, waiting for the promised roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. Soft music she didn’t recognize was playing on an old-fashioned turntable. She didn’t bother to change, just joined in with the others and accepted a German beer, Major Trumbo’s favorite, Mrs. Trumbo told the group.
Later, still full from the amazing dinner, Pippa sat in the middle of her honeymoon bed on the third floor and emailed Dillon a summary and photos of the Leveler’s Inn Halloween shindig and the people she’d met today, primarily Mrs. Filly and her girlhood friend June.
Savich called her. “Sounds like tourist Cinelli is doing fine and making headway. I checked out Sleeman. He’s a big deal in commercial real estate, as you told me, Pippa, with a reputation for not always being on the up-and-up. Nothing to tie him to the FBI or to me specifically, or to the puzzle yet, but I’ll have MAX do a deeper check on him. Let me know everything you find out from Mrs. Filly about her puzzles tomorrow. MAX will do a search on Mrs. Filly’s relatives and her background and give us more information about Major Trumbo.”
“Dillon, you really believe we’ll get the third red box tomorrow?”
“Yes. I’m betting we’ll see Major Trumbo hanging out of the hotel window.” Savich paused a moment. “Be careful, Pippa. We have no idea yet what we’re dealing with, but this isn’t some bizarre joke.”
She spent the next half hour reading about the people she’d met that day. She was surprised when she discovered Mrs. Joyce Sleeman spent a good deal of her time in Annapolis at a halfway house for mentally disturbed patients newly out of psychiatric prison. She actually owned and operated Felber House, Felber being Mrs. Sleeman’s maiden name. Interesting. Pippa read all about the halfway house, but she couldn’t find a specific reason why Mrs. Joyce Sleeman had opened it. Maybe a disturbed uncle in the family whose life hadn’t ended well? Someone closer?
When she finally fell asleep in the big circular bed, she dreamed everyone in St. Lumis had found out who she was. She was walking down Great Heron Street, and people were shouting she shouldn’t be there, she had lied to them, shame on her. And Mrs. Sleeman was telling her in a gentle voice to come stay at Felber House because that’s where she belonged.
