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  Maybe it was the wine, but when Kady’s eyes misted over, she brushed the tears away with the sleeve of her bathrobe. After rereading Jane’s letter a couple of times, she slipped it into her pocket and dug into her food. What had been a rotten day was turning into something extraordinarily good.

  It was only after she had finished eating and drunk another glass of wine that she remembered that she still hadn’t opened the thin envelope. Wiping her hands first, she then rummaged under the lovely letters from the even more lovely people offering her jobs and pulled out the envelope. It was white, excellent quality paper, and had a return address of a law firm in New York. Madison Avenue in the sixties, no less.

  “My goodness,” she said aloud as she used a table knife to slit the top open. “I am indeed honored.”

  When Kady saw that the letter was addressed to Mrs. Cole Jordan, she nearly choked on her wine.

  The letter itself was very short. Mr. W. Hartford Fowler IV requested that Mrs. Jordan call him as soon as possible on urgent business. There followed a long list of telephone numbers with descriptive phrases like, the country house, the lodge, the mobile, ship-to-shore, as well as four office numbers. “I cannot begin to tell you how urgent this is, Mrs. Jordan,” he wrote. “You must contact me right away if you are to make the date set by Ruth Jordan. Call me at any time. Call collect. Wherever, whenever. Just do it quickly.”

  Kady read the letter three times before she noticed that it was dated a month earlier. Which meant that Gregory had received it before she walked out. And it also meant that someone had snooped inside his filing cabinets to find this. What was more, she saw that the envelope had been sent to her apartment, not the restaurant, which meant that Gregory had been monitoring her private mail. “Wonder what he paid my landlord to get his hands on my mail first?” she said, her mouth a tight line. For a moment she wondered how many other offers of employment she had received while she was at Onions but Gregory had intercepted. All in the name of Norman House Restaurants, of course.

  No use wasting time on that, she thought, then picked up the telephone and began to dial some of the numbers on the letter from the lawyer. After she reached a machine at the office numbers and left a message, she turned the TV volume back on and tried to watch, but then she read the lawyer’s letter again, turned the TV off, and called more numbers.

  She got him on his mobile, and as soon as she introduced herself, she heard the screech of wheels as he skidded his car to a halt.

  “Kady Jordan?” he asked in disbelief. “You’re sure?”

  She laughed as she had an idea this man didn’t usually lose his composure as he was doing now.

  “What is today?” he said almost frantically. “It’s ten P.M., isn’t it? If I send a helicopter, can you get to New York from Virginia in two hours? Can we still do it?”

  “I’m already in New York. Could you tell me what this is about? What do you know about Ruth Jordan?”

  “Less than you do, I’m sure,” he said hastily. “Look, Mrs. Jordan—”

  “I would appreciate it if you’d stop calling me that. I am Kady Long. Kady, please.”

  The man didn’t seem to hear her. “Okay, you’re in New York, I’m in Connecticut, and he’s in . . . Where the hell is he?”

  Kady was getting frustrated. “Where is who?” she said fiercely.

  “Jordan. C. T. Jordan. You must see him before midnight tonight. If you don’t, the will will be invalid.”

  “I don’t know what will you’re talking about, but I have seen Mr. Jordan today. I had to sneak into his office, but I—”

  She stopped because the man was laughing. No, he was whooping. Actually, he was, as far as she could tell, jumping up and down and singing and yelling at the top of his lungs, the mobile telephone waving about in his hands.

  “Mr. Fowler,” she was shouting into the phone, but he didn’t hear her.

  With the hotel phone on her shoulder, Kady reached for her glass of wine and waited for this insane man to calm down and tell her what was going on.

  She had a good long wait, and when the man did speak again, she thought maybe he was crying. Crying in that way men do when they win the Indianapolis 500.

  “Kady,” he said, trying to control his erratic breath, “did anyone see you at Jordan’s office today? Anyone at all?”

  “Several people. The receptionist, a man applying for a job, the guard downstairs, at least half a dozen other employees, and—So help me, Mr. Fowler, if you start whooping again, I’m going to hang up.”

  At that the man laughed and made an attempt at getting himself under control. “Could I see you tomorrow?” he asked politely. “We have some, ah, business to transact.”

  “Would it be too much to ask what business?”

  The man took a moment before he answered. “Kady, do you have any dreams in life?”

  “Of course I do,” she snapped, glancing at the phone. Was this man crazy?

  “What is the very wildest of your dreams?”

  Not that it was any of his business, but she looked at the letters on the bed and smiled. “I’d like to own my own restaurant.”

  For some reason this seemed to spark the man off again into drunken hilarity, and again Kady had to wait. “You’ll get your restaurant. You’ll get anything you want, but you must come to see me tomorrow.”

  “What time?”

  Again he started laughing. “You come any time you’re ready, Kady. When you arrive, I’ll be waiting for you. And a car will be waiting for you at your—May heaven help me, but I don’t even know where you’re staying.”

  Kady hesitated as she thought twice about telling this man anything about herself. “I don’t need a car, and I’ll come to your office tomorrow at ten A.M. Is that too early?”

  “No,” he said, amused. “Whatever time is convenient for you. We’ll all be waiting for you.”

  “I’ll see you then,” she said and hung up. What a very odd man, she thought, looking at the phone in wonder, then, dismissing him, she looked back at the job offers. Which one shall I take? she thought. Living in Seattle might be nice.

  Thirty minutes later she fell asleep amid the letters and didn’t wake until fifteen minutes till ten, which is why she was late for her appointment with Mr. Fowler. But, as he’d said, it didn’t matter, for they were all waiting for her.

  Chapter 22

  THE OLD-WORLD ELEGANCE OF THE OFFICES OF FOWLER AND Tate made Kady more aware than usual of her old, worn clothing. This place is made for Chanel, she thought as she walked across the marble lobby. Not that she had ever seen Chanel outside a magazine ad, but she had an imagination.

  “I am Kady Lon—” she said to the receptionist, but the woman didn’t so much as allow her to finish her sentence before she started gushing.

  “Yes, please come this way, Mr. Fowler is expecting you. Could I get you some coffee? Tea perhaps? Would you like anything ordered in?”

  Kady hardly had time to say no to all the offers before big double doors with ornate brass fittings opened and out stepped a tall, handsome, gray-haired man wearing a drop-dead-gorgeous three-piece suit.

  “Kady,” he said, breathing out the word as though it were what he’d been waiting all his life to say.

  “You’re Mr. Fowler?” she asked in disbelief, since she couldn’t reconcile this elegant man with the whooper on the telephone last night. This man looked like he should star in one of those sophisticated 1930s movies that usually featured Cary Grant.

  “Bill,” he said, his hand on the small of her back as he steered her into his office, a room that made Kady give an involuntary gasp. It was like a library in an English country house, all dark green and burgundy, with walls of carved wooden paneling. There was a picture on the wall that looked very much like an original Van Gogh.

  “Can I get you anything? Anything at all?” he asked.

  Kady felt so out of place that she tried to make a joke. “New shoes?” she said, smiling as she took a seat on a pretty l