As if realizing what we’d done, we both let go and avoided eye contact again. How many times was I going to keep turning to this woman during any time of emotional distress?
I glanced at my watch. 7:25. Cursed beneath my breath. Had we missed Eudora, our one strong lead? Missed her because we’d broken the most important rule we had?
And I’d been the one to initiate.
I clenched my fists for a moment but kept helping Sloane clean. She was distracted, staring through the leafy branches.
“Abe,” she said sharply.
I was there in a second. She moved, pushed my head where hers had been. I was able to line my sight right at the break in the branches—and see Eudora Green drinking a glass of red wine with Peter Markham, the grandson of Nicholas and current owner of Adler’s. My brain made a last-ditch effort at recognizing Peter’s face before giving up. Finally seeing him in person was making me doubt the memory of seeing him before.
Sloane’s cheek was next to mine as we watched them both, how out of place they looked surrounded by hipster couples and botanical cocktails. Sloane grabbed my hand—less romantic and more investigative.
“There’s the bookstore owner,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said slowly. “Maybe they’re meeting about the auction?”
We watched for another second. “Have we visited the bookstore yet?”
“Not yet, although I did peek inside.” She shifted, gently moved a leaf out of her line of sight. “Look at her body language. She’s pissed or worried or both.”
“A nervous Eudora with the grandson of the former Society president,” I murmured, trying to tie the two threads together.
Peter Markham was speaking emphatically. Eudora was shaking her head. Trees and bushes were in the way of hearing them or reading their lips accurately.
“This used to be her weekly meeting with Bernard,” Sloane murmured.
“Maybe Eudora does know where he is,” I said. “The little minx.”
Eudora took a piece of paper passed to her by the bookstore owner. Slipped it into the front pocket of her long skirt.
“What are you doing now?”
Sloane and I peered up from where we were crouched on the floor, surrounded by glass and ice cubes. The server seemed even more concerned than last time, although she was holding a much smaller tray now.
“Funny story,” Sloane said. “Some of the glass went into the bushes so we were trying to find it.” Sloane stood, held out a palm with glass and drink straws in it. The server looked about to call us on our bullshit.
As did Eudora Green, who appeared behind her with an especially feline smile. Not domesticated. More panther-like. Peter’s wary expression was easier to read.
“Funny story,” Eudora said. “Because I just caught these two spying on us.” Her scary smile became a very angry scowl that raised the hair on the back of my neck.
Had Eudora uncovered the real identities of Devon Atwood and Daniel Fitzpatrick?
I didn’t risk making eye contact with Sloane—attempted instead to rise from the floor and tidy myself with as little fanfare as possible. Next to me, Sloane did the same—her posture and smile held even more of a silent deadly cat feel than Eudora’s. Despite the mounting tension, I felt a real thrill at having this woman, my partner, next to me. I had not a doubt in my mind she’d fight tooth and nail. And win.
“Spying seems like a strong word. We were merely excited to see our favorite president while out on the town enjoying a cocktail,” I said mildly. I straightened my immaculate tie as the server looked between the four of us.
“Sure, yeah,” she said. “I’m going to go now.” The woman turned on her heel and left.
“Truly, it’s lovely to bump into you here, Eudora,” Sloane said. Her hair still fell in elegant waves down her back. No sign of the havoc my hands had wreaked to her curls. “And I’m not sure we’ve officially met. Devon Atwood. This is my friend, Daniel.”
I had my eye on Peter, whose rangy energy was distressing to say the least. He took a step back and refused to shake her hand.
Something was wrong.
“A very odd coincidence to meet here of all places, don’t you think?” Eudora asked. “Especially since Gertrude passed your message along. We most certainly did not make plans, although that was a brilliant way to learn my location this evening.”
Sloane didn’t blink. “Gertrude, the old bat! I was asking her to help me arrange plans for the future. A dinner or maybe drinks at a