Chapter 15: Three Heirs and a Diner

I tested the distance on my grandmother's lawn at seven the next morning.

I stood at the gate and thought, as loudly as I could, are you awake.

Nothing came back.

I walked to the end of her drive and thought it again, with a swear word in the middle.

Nothing came back.

It took me a full minute to work out whether the quiet was a relief or a leak.

Then I went to meet the heirs at the diner on Fourth Street.

They had picked the back booth.

Both of them sat on the same side, with their backs to the window and their eyes on the door.

"You're late," said the hotel heir.

"I'm four minutes early."

"We've been here for forty," said the yacht heir. "We wanted to see who came in."

"It's a diner."

"Barrett has spies," the hotel heir said, very low.

"He has a driver."

"The driver is a spy."

I ordered coffee, and a waitress with a pencil behind her ear put it in front of me and said, "Anything else, hon?"

"Not yet."

"You'll have to tell me in twenty minutes," she said. "The kitchen closes the grill."

I did not answer.

The yacht heir leaned over the table.

"What do you want?" he said.

"I want you to stop being Barrett's audience."

"We would love to," the hotel heir said. "It's expensive."

"What does it cost?"

"Lunch," said the yacht heir.

I looked at him.

"One lunch," he said.

"Every time we eat with Barrett, he stands up and toasts us."

"He has never once let the check come before a speech," said the hotel heir.

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