Chapter 18: The Notebook

The restaurant by the river had white tablecloths and a hostess who did not look up until I said my name.

"Wingate," I said. "I'm told there's a table for nine o'clock."

She checked her list.

She looked up, and her face changed.

"Of course, madame," she said. "Table six. They have just been served."

It was a long table in a back alcove, with candles.

Five people sat at it.

Brianna was at the middle in a green dress, with her blonde bob freshly set.

Beside her sat a gray-haired woman with a leather folio, who I took to be the publisher, and a man in a suit who was reading a contract.

Two more people from the New York house sat across from them, nodding.

The white tote hung on the back of Brianna's chair, and the corner of a blue notebook stuck out of it.

I walked straight to the table.

Brianna saw me first.

Her wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth.

"Excuse me," she said, in a bright, thin voice. "This is a private dinner."

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry to interrupt."

The publisher lifted her eyebrows.

"Brianna, is this the young woman from the news?"

"She's disturbed," Brianna said. "She's been following me across Europe. I've asked security to..."

"I'm not here for you," I said.

I turned to the publisher.

"I'm here for the notebook in her bag. It's mine. I'll show you why, and then I'll go."

The man in the suit put down the contract.

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