from ten feet away, rather than a close-up face shot, took nothing from its compelling nature. Edward was eye-catching in any pose, but eye-catching here was dangerous.
“It can’t mention me,” I warned, knowing that if it was done, it was done, but I was shaken.
“No. I was careful with what I said. But Quillmer did his homework.”
“His homework.”
“He mentions where my wife and I lived, and that our daughter was killed in an accident.”
“Edward, how could you—”
“I didn’t,” he cut me off, upset himself. “He already knew I was from Boston, because my work history is out there for everyone to see. I didn’t tell him anything that hadn’t already come out in press releases when we bought the Inn. We discussed the hacking scandal, and I detailed the steps the Inn is taking to restore the integrity of our computer systems—and I needed to do that, Maggie. I inherited a crisis, here. Anything I can do to rebuild public confidence is crucial. From that angle alone, I couldn’t refuse the interview. But I swear, I focused on work. I told him what I wanted to do with the Inn, and I thought that was the gist of the piece. He didn’t ask anything personal, and I didn’t offer it. Maybe that made him curious.” He slapped the paper with the back of his hand. “But here it is.”
“Did he name me?”
“No.”
“Nothing about the trial?”
“No.”
“The Mackenzie Cooper Law?”
“No. He must have known that would have been overstepping. Hell, the Inn pays a shitload in annual advertising, so he needs me, too.”
“But he knows.”
Edward gave a short head shake. “How would he know? What would he see that would connect Maggie Reid to Mackenzie Cooper?”
“Uh, my face?” I asked in dismay.
“Hey,” came another voice from the door. It was my coworker, back from lunch. Much as Grace had done, he looked from Edward to me. “Am I interrupting?”
I forced a smile. “Of course not. Ronan, this is—”
“Ned Cooper,” Edward put in wisely. I couldn’t think of him as Ned in the best of times, one of which this was not.
“Owner of the Inn,” I managed. “Ronan Dineen, makeup artist,” I told Edward. “He’s helping me out today.”
“Thank you for that,” Edward said.
“Thanks for the opportunity.”
“Where do you usually work?”
He gave the call letters of a Burlington TV station. “It’s pretty quiet up there now.”
“Well, we’re grateful,” Edward said and told me, “You need lunch.”
“I’ll get an apple in the lounge.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” Collecting People and The Devon Times, I handed them back. As far as I was concerned, they smelled up the room as badly as a hot pastrami sandwich would have done. I didn’t want them here.
Edward took the publications. He looked like he wanted to say something more but didn’t know what he could, with Ronan there. So he simply nodded and left.
* * *
And what could he say? I was right. My face was the problem. Only it wasn’t Jack Quillmer who connected the dots.
17
Nina Evans. I should have guessed it would be her. I knew she was interested in Edward. I also knew she was a product of corporate America, where being well informed was the key to success. In hindsight, I was surprised she hadn’t researched him before.
But Nina was the last thing on my mind when I left the makeup studio late Thursday afternoon. My phone was loaded with texts. Had I seen People? What did I think? How was Grace? None mentioned the piece in The Devon Times, and while I feared the reprieve was temporary, I was relieved.
Only put off until tomorrow what you are willing to die having left undone. No Mom-ism this one, but a quote from Pablo Picasso that my art school friends and I used to laugh over. I wasn’t laughing now. I would have happily died not reading The Devon Times piece. Dealing with People was enough.
I tried calling Grace. The call went straight to voice mail. I was in the reception lounge, about to ask Joyce how much longer Grace would be working, when Nina rose from a sofa and hurried over.
“She’s been waiting,” Joyce whispered, adding a mouthed, “Sorry.”
Not your fault, I thought but didn’t say, because that quickly Nina grabbed my hand and led me to a deserted corner of the Spa store, where the only eavesdroppers would be organic skin cream and silk eye pillows.
I had no idea what she was doing. The People article wasn’t exactly a secret. I was unsettled when she began