her shoes made soft slap-slaps against the floor.
When Katharine found the Everanes census listing, she saw that family members in the household included Walter, fifteen, Carter, thirteen, and Lucille, eleven. All three were students. So by the time of Walter’s wedding Carter would have been—Katharine used her pencil to do the math—twenty-two. What happened to him after that? Had he gone to war and died a hero’s death? Was it during the war that he had gotten the diary and archaeological artifact? She shuddered to think she might be in possession of stolen war gains.
But excitement rose like sap in her veins at the thought that she might personally be able to solve this mystery. Maybe she could trace Carter through the military, or perhaps there were ways to find out when a person died. She wanted to talk to the Emory professor, too, and he hadn’t come to the library yet.
First, though, she needed sustenance. Her English muffin and tea had long since departed, and her watch read ten past one. She would lunch at the Swan Coach House up the hill and return afterwards. The Coach House was one of her favorite restaurants, although she had never eaten there alone. It was the sort of place one went with friends, or where mothers and grandmothers took little girls in fancy dresses for special birthday parties.
Today, she would give herself a birthday party. Treat herself to creamy chicken salad in crispy, heart-shaped timbales with a generous slice of frozen salad on the side, rich with whipped cream and slices of peaches and bing cherries. She might even splurge for a meringue swan filled with chocolate mousse and covered in whipped cream.
She thanked the librarians, fetched her belongings from their locker, and stopped by the ladies’ room. As she came out the door, she didn’t notice the stranger in the hall until he spoke. “You looking for me?”
Chapter 5
A lanky man detached himself from the wall. He wore crisp khaki slacks and a white Oxford-cloth shirt with green stripes, the sleeves rolled up to show muscular forearms. “The folks at the desk said a Mrs. Murray wants to ask me a question about something she’s found.” As he got closer, his jaw dropped. “Kate?”
Only one person had ever called her that.
“Hasty!” Katharine hadn’t seen Hobart Hastings for nearly thirty years, but for the last three years of high school he had sat in front of her every day in homeroom and many classes, because “Hastings” came immediately before “Herndon” on the roster. In tenth grade they had been assigned as biology lab partners for the same reason and without him, she might never have passed. She had never been able to see a thing under a microscope. In exchange, she began to edit his papers for spelling and grammar. Studying—and frequently bickering—together, they became so inseparable that their friends began to refer to them in one run-on word: Kat-’n’-Hasty.
But Hasty had wanted Katharine to apply to Kenyon, where he was going, and she had chosen Agnes Scott instead. All summer after graduation he had griped about that and insisted she would never be able to survive without him. She began to feel smothered, and insisted, “I have to do what’s right for me.” Then, the night before they were to leave for their separate colleges, he had drunk too much at a party and gotten himself entangled with a girl Katharine particularly disliked—one of the shapely, sun-streaked blondes in their class who seemed to stimulate raging hormones. When Hasty and the girl drove away together in the girl’s red Mustang convertible, Katharine found herself another ride home. An hour later, Hasty had turned up on her front porch. Furious and hurt, she had refused to let him in. He had stood out in the yard under her bedroom window, yelling things like “Hey, it was just a little fun” and “If you won’t go to college with me, you can’t expect me to become a monk, you know. I have to do what’s
When Katharine found the Everanes census listing, she saw that family members in the household included Walter, fifteen, Carter, thirteen, and Lucille, eleven. All three were students. So by the time of Walter’s wedding Carter would have been—Katharine used her pencil to do the math—twenty-two. What happened to him after that? Had he gone to war and died a hero’s death? Was it during the war that he had gotten the diary and archaeological artifact? She shuddered to think she might be in possession of stolen war gains.
But excitement rose like sap in her veins at the thought that she might personally be able to solve this mystery. Maybe she could trace Carter through the military, or perhaps there were ways to find out when a person died. She wanted to talk to the Emory professor, too, and he hadn’t come to the library yet.
First, though, she needed sustenance. Her English muffin and tea had long since departed, and her watch read ten past one. She would lunch at the Swan Coach House up the hill and return afterwards. The Coach House was one of her favorite restaurants, although she had never eaten there alone. It was the sort of place one went with friends, or where mothers and grandmothers took little girls in fancy dresses for special birthday parties.
Today, she would give herself a birthday party. Treat herself to creamy chicken salad in crispy, heart-shaped timbales with a generous slice of frozen salad on the side, rich with whipped cream and slices of peaches and bing cherries. She might even splurge for a meringue swan filled with chocolate mousse and covered in whipped cream.
She thanked the librarians, fetched her belongings from their locker, and stopped by the ladies’ room. As she came out the door, she didn’t notice the stranger in the hall until he spoke. “You looking for me?”
Chapter 5
A lanky man detached himself from the wall. He wore crisp khaki slacks and a white Oxford-cloth shirt with green stripes, the sleeves rolled up to show muscular forearms. “The folks at the desk said a Mrs. Murray wants to ask me a question about something she’s found.” As he got closer, his jaw dropped. “Kate?”
Only one person had ever called her that.
“Hasty!” Katharine hadn’t seen Hobart Hastings for nearly thirty years, but for the last three years of high school he had sat in front of her every day in homeroom and many classes, because “Hastings” came immediately before “Herndon” on the roster. In tenth grade they had been assigned as biology lab partners for the same reason and without him, she might never have passed. She had never been able to see a thing under a microscope. In exchange, she began to edit his papers for spelling and grammar. Studying—and frequently bickering—together, they became so inseparable that their friends began to refer to them in one run-on word: Kat-’n’-Hasty.
But Hasty had wanted Katharine to apply to Kenyon, where he was going, and she had chosen Agnes Scott instead. All summer after graduation he had griped about that and insisted she would never be able to survive without him. She began to feel smothered, and insisted, “I have to do what’s right for me.” Then, the night before they were to leave for their separate colleges, he had drunk too much at a party and gotten himself entangled with a girl Katharine particularly disliked—one of the shapely, sun-streaked blondes in their class who seemed to stimulate raging hormones. When Hasty and the girl drove away together in the girl’s red Mustang convertible, Katharine found herself another ride home. An hour later, Hasty had turned up on her front porch. Furious and hurt, she had refused to let him in. He had stood out in the yard under her bedroom window, yelling things like “Hey, it was just a little fun” and “If you won’t go to college with me, you can’t expect me to become a monk, you know. I have to do what’s
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