didn’t get it. Emmie Cade sounded ditsy. Besides, one look at Claire Fairchild’s unforgiving eyes, and a woman in love with her son had good reason to blur what might be a less than stellar, educated, or straight-and-narrow past. I’m sure I’m not the only adult female who has adventures and experiments in my past that I’d prefer be kept quietly away from prospective in-laws.
And there was the issue of how powerful Claire’s hold was on 42
CLAIRE AND PRESENT DANGER
her boy, how much her opinion would matter. As witness her having hired me.
“I could use more information,” I said. “All I’ve got at this point is her name and a last address somewhere near San Francisco.”
Claire Fairchild rolled her eyes. I had no idea why.
“For example,” I asked, ignoring the theatrics, “has she mentioned a college?”
She shook her head. “Here’s what I know: Her birthday is August first. Same as Leo’s.”
That was cute.
“Or so she says.”
“And her age?”
A slow head shake this time. “ ‘Much younger than Leo!’ she said. Seemed wrong to press her on it. On anything. Finally found out she’s thirty. Widowed. College?” She shook her head in her abbreviated, energy-saving manner—one turn left, one turn right—
and continued in her telegraphic stop-and-start manner. “Parents died. Small plane crash. No siblings.”
Fortune was not smiling upon me. My first solo flight and I, too, were going to crash. So far, I had found no visible inroads to Emmie Cade’s background. “Did you talk about the wedding?” I asked.
She looked miffed. An intrusion into her personal life, I suppose, as if inviting me here weren’t precisely that. “They only announced it today. That’s why they were here. I told you,” she said with mild indignation. “Two weeks from now.”
“So you said. Not much time. That’s why I thought you might have discussed a guest list. Bridesmaids? Maid of honor? Out-of-town friends or—”
“Only the date. Small, of course. Tiny. No attendants I know of. No list.”
I took a deep breath and considered. “Did she ever say what brought her to Philadelphia?”
Mrs. Fairchild was silent, considering. Then she shook her head.
“Her friend, I think. Victoria. Nice girl.”
43
GILLIAN ROBERTS
“You’ve met her?”
She nodded. “Knew her before Emmie. Leo’s friend. Knew Emmie back when. Bumped into each other again in San Francisco last year.”
Good—an actual way to wiggle into Emmie Cade’s past. “Do you remember Victoria’s last name?”
“Baer, but Emmie sometimes calls her Smitty. Maiden name Smith, I guess. Victoria’s divorced.”
“You said school friend. Is Victoria Baer perhaps a college friend?”
She raised her shoulders in a gentle shrug. Her expression was worth a thousand words, or at least thirteen: Did you expect anything more concrete than that? Didn’t I say she’s vague? Then she returned to spoken language. “Emmie called her a school friend.
But . . .” She sighed and lifted her shoulders, reverting to world-weary body language. “Emmie’s vague about college. She quit, anyway. No degree.”
Another easy source moved back into the shadows.
“Got sick, she says. That—whatever you call it. Students get it.
My day, called ‘the kissing disease.’ ” Her mouth curdled again.
She knew how Emmie had contracted her illness.
“Mononucleosis,” I said. “A virus.” Not that it would be okay in Claire Fairchild’s cosmos if her son’s intended had gotten an illness that involved the transmission of bodily fluids.
“Didn’t go back. Talks about getting a degree now. Why not?
She doesn’t work.”
“You said she’s widowed. Is her income from her dead husband?”
Claire Fairchild lowered her eyelids and almost subliminally raised her shoulders.
Maybe Victoria Baer would be less vague. Or at least tell me the name of her alma mater.
“That ring.” Claire Fairchild tilted her head and nodded toward my
And there was the issue of how powerful Claire’s hold was on 42
CLAIRE AND PRESENT DANGER
her boy, how much her opinion would matter. As witness her having hired me.
“I could use more information,” I said. “All I’ve got at this point is her name and a last address somewhere near San Francisco.”
Claire Fairchild rolled her eyes. I had no idea why.
“For example,” I asked, ignoring the theatrics, “has she mentioned a college?”
She shook her head. “Here’s what I know: Her birthday is August first. Same as Leo’s.”
That was cute.
“Or so she says.”
“And her age?”
A slow head shake this time. “ ‘Much younger than Leo!’ she said. Seemed wrong to press her on it. On anything. Finally found out she’s thirty. Widowed. College?” She shook her head in her abbreviated, energy-saving manner—one turn left, one turn right—
and continued in her telegraphic stop-and-start manner. “Parents died. Small plane crash. No siblings.”
Fortune was not smiling upon me. My first solo flight and I, too, were going to crash. So far, I had found no visible inroads to Emmie Cade’s background. “Did you talk about the wedding?” I asked.
She looked miffed. An intrusion into her personal life, I suppose, as if inviting me here weren’t precisely that. “They only announced it today. That’s why they were here. I told you,” she said with mild indignation. “Two weeks from now.”
“So you said. Not much time. That’s why I thought you might have discussed a guest list. Bridesmaids? Maid of honor? Out-of-town friends or—”
“Only the date. Small, of course. Tiny. No attendants I know of. No list.”
I took a deep breath and considered. “Did she ever say what brought her to Philadelphia?”
Mrs. Fairchild was silent, considering. Then she shook her head.
“Her friend, I think. Victoria. Nice girl.”
43
GILLIAN ROBERTS
“You’ve met her?”
She nodded. “Knew her before Emmie. Leo’s friend. Knew Emmie back when. Bumped into each other again in San Francisco last year.”
Good—an actual way to wiggle into Emmie Cade’s past. “Do you remember Victoria’s last name?”
“Baer, but Emmie sometimes calls her Smitty. Maiden name Smith, I guess. Victoria’s divorced.”
“You said school friend. Is Victoria Baer perhaps a college friend?”
She raised her shoulders in a gentle shrug. Her expression was worth a thousand words, or at least thirteen: Did you expect anything more concrete than that? Didn’t I say she’s vague? Then she returned to spoken language. “Emmie called her a school friend.
But . . .” She sighed and lifted her shoulders, reverting to world-weary body language. “Emmie’s vague about college. She quit, anyway. No degree.”
Another easy source moved back into the shadows.
“Got sick, she says. That—whatever you call it. Students get it.
My day, called ‘the kissing disease.’ ” Her mouth curdled again.
She knew how Emmie had contracted her illness.
“Mononucleosis,” I said. “A virus.” Not that it would be okay in Claire Fairchild’s cosmos if her son’s intended had gotten an illness that involved the transmission of bodily fluids.
“Didn’t go back. Talks about getting a degree now. Why not?
She doesn’t work.”
“You said she’s widowed. Is her income from her dead husband?”
Claire Fairchild lowered her eyelids and almost subliminally raised her shoulders.
Maybe Victoria Baer would be less vague. Or at least tell me the name of her alma mater.
“That ring.” Claire Fairchild tilted her head and nodded toward my
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