Chapter 7: The Gala

Richard answered my fourth call at seven in the morning.

"Your mother is perfectly comfortable, Miss Brennan. I moved her for her own protection."

"Where is she?"

"Come to the foundation gala on Saturday. We'll talk with an audience. I find it keeps people honest."

He hung up.

I stood in the kitchen of the brownstone and looked at the black notebook on the counter, and then I picked it up.

Gavin took it from my hand, glanced at the cover, and put it back down without opening it.

"Grocery list," he said gently. "Go get dressed."

I didn't say a word.

On Friday, a security guard I had trained on the night shift caught me by the freight elevator.

He was sixty, with a bad hip and a daughter in nursing school.

"Ma'am. I never liked what they did to you in that lobby."

He pushed a folded printout into my hand.

"Badge log for the top floor. The chairman told us to delete Thursday night. I kept a copy."

I read it standing there.

At 11:41 Thursday night, a badge belonging to Lydia Crane had gone into Gavin's office.

At 6:52 Monday morning, the same badge had been used at the print room, where the camera feeds were stored.

At 7:12, the same badge had called the police from the front desk phone.

I folded the page and put it in my bra.

Saturday night the ballroom at the lake hotel was full of gold light.

Two hundred guests in black tie stood under a huge crystal chandelier.

Ruby came with me in a green dress she had borrowed from her sister. She had a clutch with a roll of tape in it and no idea why she'd brought it.

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