Part 12 (2/2)
”I asked you first.”
Good Lord. Elinor felt as if she was ten again, playing a game with CJ.
She sighed. ”I'm packing for Was.h.i.+ngton. Your brother's engagement party is this weekend, in case you've forgotten.”
”Of course I haven't forgotten. I'm staying at the Fairmont. Are you and Daddy?”
”I don't know yet. We might be at the town house.” If circ.u.mstances were different, Elinor would have liked to stay at the hotel in the thick of the engagement party action, surrounded by any out-of-towners that might have been invited, pretending to play hostess, making everything look good. Now, she would prefer to hibernate if she could.
”Well, I don't intend to miss out on their scones in the morning,” Janice continued. ”I hear they're the best.”
Janice resembled Malcolm, except she'd been cheated out of the dimples. Her hair was the same tawny color as his, though it was thick and unkempt, and would do a Rastafarian proud. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as Mac's, her cheek bones the same-high, well-defined. But Janice's jawline was set firmer than Malcolm's, more like her mother's, a cast of concrete that rarely relaxed into a genuine smile. Unlike her mother, Janice was awkward at small talk. Thankfully, she was smart and driven to research, and did not need to embrace the world's people.
Elinor sighed. ”Janice, why are you here?”
”They think I've altered my results.” She tried knifing a hand through her ma.s.sive locks.
Elinor, of course, had no time for this. ”Who thinks you altered what results?”
”My supervisor. She thinks I altered the results of my research.”
”Did you?”
”Did I? Did I?”
”Now, Janice, you know I don't understand your work. Where is your father?”
”I thought he was here.”
”He was here for the weekend with the congressman and Betts. He's gone back to work. Did you look at the town house?”
”I told you. I thought he was here.” She stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of her khakis. As Janice had never taken great pains with her hair, her wardrobe was equally mismatched to her genetics: DNA, mitochondria, whatever.
”What are you wearing to the party?” Elinor asked, because talking about style was easier for her than talking about Janice's job. She closed the tote with nonchalance, hoping Janice hadn't noticed that Elinor had packed a lightweight gauze sundress that was hardly Was.h.i.+ngton-wear.
”I might get fired.”
”Before the party?” Well, of course, that was the wrong thing to say, which was no doubt why Janice spun on her Birkenstocks and stomped away.
Elinor's shoulders went rigid. She checked her watch. She needed to leave for the airport in twenty minutes. And where was CJ? She'd promised to be there by the time Elinor left. And now, what about Janice? Would she believe their lie about Elinor's seamstress and CJ's decorators?
And what if the blackmailer showed up right now?
The doorbell rang. It was loud. Insistent.
It must be CJ.
Unless...
Unless...
Elinor's mouth went dry. Her blood pressure skyrocketed, her chest compressed. She stood, perfectly coiffed, perfectly groomed, like the topiaries in Malcolm's garden. And, just like the trees, she was welded to the ground, unable to move, unable to speak.
Would a blackmailer ring the doorbell? Wouldn't he act with more theatrics, like breaking in through the French doors?
The bell rang again. Elinor felt frozen in an Alfred Hitchc.o.c.k moment.
Then, the murmur of voices.
Male?
Female?
Friend?
Foe?
Was it Alfred himself, reincarnated?
”Mottthhher,” Janice bellowed up from downstairs, her syllables protracted with sarcasm. ”You have company.”
Elinor could run. She could flee down the back stairs and out to the garden. She could run through the woods and call CJ on her cell and order her to pick her up at the far end of the lake. They had explored every winding pathway of the land when they'd been kids. They'd even carved a few of their own. Surely Elinor wouldn't get lost.
That's what she would do. She'd run.
Any minute now.
As soon as she could get her feet or her legs or some part of her to move.
Then she remembered that her cell phone was in her purse on the breakfront in the dining room.
She clutched the Chanel as if it were a life preserver and she was going under. Then a voice called to her from the doorway.
”Elinor? Are you all right?”
It was Alice. And Poppy. What on earth did Alice have on?
The women stepped into the room. Elinor closed her eyes. ”Janice said . . I thought...”
Alice sighed. ”Janice is gone. Did you two have a fight?”
Elinor let go of the Chanel and sank onto the bed. ”We always fight. She wants me to be just like her father.”
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