Catching the Wind(41)

Who had been taking microphotographs of what appeared to be an RAF airfield? And why were they stored in the cottage where Brigitte and the Terrells once lived? The photographer, she suspected, wasn’t an amateur.

After thanking Meribeth, Quenby checked her watch. A trip to Newhaven seemed to be the next logical step. Using her new retainer, she’d leave first thing tomorrow on the train and spend the night there.

Her phone chimed when she emerged from the Tube station at Hampstead, informing her of a new text. She figured it was Lucas, but instead it was from Chandler, asking to meet her at Le Pain Quotidien.

She eyed the words curiously. Was her editor going to give her the Ricker story back? If so, what would she tell Lucas and Mr. Knight? She couldn’t renege now, not after she’d committed to searching for Brigitte.

Several customers were in the front of the café, drinking coffee as they worked on their laptops. Chandler waited in the back of the room, nursing a pool of bright green—a matcha latte—in an oversize mug.

Quenby ordered the green tea drink as well before taking a seat across from her editor and friend. “Did you decide to take a holiday too?”

“No, I’ve been in the office all morning.” Chandler glanced toward the front door. “And something’s not right.”

Quenby followed her gaze toward the door. “Are you expecting someone else?”

Chandler turned toward Quenby. “Just a bit paranoid. Evan was obsessing this morning.”

“He’s always obsessing about something.”

“But this something has to do with your story.”

“I have no story.” The server brought her creamy tea latte, made with almond milk, and she took a long sip.

“At first he asked me to send you away on holiday.” Chandler pressed her fingers into a tepee shape, a distinct arc over her drink. “Now he wants to know where you went. I told him I didn’t know—”

“I don’t have to report where I go on vacation.”

“Traditional rules don’t apply to Evan.”

“It’s just basic courtesy.”

But she supposed courtesy didn’t apply to Evan Graham either. In the past three years, she’d never known him to hesitate before exposing something that needed to be exposed. Even the time Chandler found out through a secret source that one of Evan’s associates, a Member of Parliament, was suspected of hiring someone to assault an opponent before the election. The MP was acquitted, but the story ruined his friend’s political career and his friendship with Evan.

Chandler straightened her mug. “He also wants to know what you uncovered about Lady Ricker.”

“Nothing that isn’t already public in the archives. Her descendants have been stonewalling me.”

“Evan hasn’t been to the archives.”

So Quenby rehashed everything she’d learned about Janice Ricker.

“This woman seems like an American version of Lady Mosley,” Chandler said, referring to the former Diana Mitford, a wealthy British woman who supported Hitler and his regime.

“Except Lady Ricker wasn’t imprisoned during the war, and she was quite secretive about her loyalties.”

“There must be more to this story.” Someone walked by their table, toward the loo. Chandler didn’t speak again until the door behind them was closed. “I’ve worked for Evan for six years, and I’ve never seen him act like this. Once we’ve wrapped or canceled a story, he’s anxious to move on to the next one, but he can’t seem to let your idea go.”

“I can’t let go of it either,” Quenby admitted.

“Even though Evan was the one who killed the story, he might still give you a call. It wouldn’t surprise me if he asked you to resume your research.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

Chandler took her last sip of the latte. “Are you planning to work with Lucas Hough to find the missing girl?”

“I am.”

“Perhaps you could write about her when you return.”

She shook her head. “Lucas made me sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Chandler twisted her mug. “So it must be a fabulous story.”

“One that will remain secret from the public.”

Chandler leaned closer. “Is the man as smashing in person as he looks online?”

“I think I’ll plead the Fifth.”

“The what?”

Quenby waved her hand. “Never mind.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“I have no idea.” Though she’d wondered if he and Meribeth were more than friends. The woman was stunning, and she was obviously a pro in her field.

“Don’t be your prickly self around him.”

She squeezed the handle of her cup. “I’m not prickly.”

“Not with me,” Chandler said. “But you can be quite prickly around any man who dares to like you.”

“He doesn’t like me, not in that way.”

“But he could, if you’d let him.” Chandler stood and kissed her cheek. “Either way, try and have some fun on this holiday.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“And don’t scare Lucas Hough away.”

Chandler left the café, but Quenby didn’t move. Lucas was the prickly one, not her. Or at least he had been until he decided to call a truce.