Rob shrugged and followed me back to the door of the Washington Cottage.
I shoved my way through several large camellia bushes that partially screened the window, until I reached a place where I could see in. Yes, the laptop screen was visible from here.
“Look for your contact, just in case,” I said.
Rob bent over and began peering at the brick walk, shuffling along slowly, and occasionally bending down as if trying to pick up something. I watched the photos flicker across the laptop screen. Yes, there it was again.
A picture of Blake standing over the carcass of a lion. Blake's foot was on its neck, and he was holding some kind of firearm.
Chapter 39
What was Blake doing shooting animals? I thought he specialized in rescuing them.
Just then Blake himself came into view. I pulled back into the shelter of the bush. Blake didn’t look up at the window. He passed by, and then a few seconds later, he came back again.
He was holding a wineglass, with a small stain of red wine still visible in the bottom. Not holding it normally, but using a paper napkin to grip the stem lightly. He held it up to the light for a few seconds, then put it in a brown paper bag. He pulled out a Sharpie and wrote something on the bag. Then he disappeared from view.
“Weird,” I whispered.
“What's weird?” Rob asked.
“Hush up and follow me,” I said.
We crept quietly along the side of the cottage until we were crouching in the shrubbery at the edge of the terrace. At least I crept quietly. Rob made more noise than the entire herd of bison combined, but Blake didn’t seem to notice, so maybe he was slightly deaf.
The wineglass Rob had been drinking from was still sitting on the glass-topped table, half hidden by the delta of shrimp tails overflowing the plate beside it. As we watched, Blake took another paper napkin, picked up Rob's wineglass, and put it in a second brown paper bag. More scribbling with the Sharpie. Then Blake snagged another napkin and came closer to us. Heading for the side table.
“Isn’t that where you were sitting?” Rob whispered.
Yes, and he was bagging my wineglass. Any doubt I might have had vanished when he pulled out the Sharpie again to label the third bag, and printed “Meg Langslow” in large, precise letters.
He picked up the other brown paper bag and carried both inside. I leaned out a little farther so I could see through the French doors to the inside of the cottage. Blake had set the bags down beside the first one on a small marble-topped table just inside the front door. He turned off the living-room light and went into the bedroom. A few minutes later, we heard the shower.
Figuring the show was over, I motioned for Rob to follow me and headed across the golf course.
“What's he up to?” Rob said as we sneaked past the putting green.
“I’m not sure yet.”
Rob thought about that for a moment.
“Does that mean that you think you know but you’re not sure, or that you have absolutely no idea?”
“I have several ideas,” I said. “None of them pleasant.” “You think he suspects us and is going to check us out?” “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he's planning to frame us.” “Frame us? Why?”
“Why do people usually frame people?” “Um...because they don’t like them?”
“Possibly, though I think a more plausible motive is that they’re guilty and desperately need to blame someone else.”
“I hope not,” Rob said. “I kind of like the old guy.”
Apparently, when it came to suspecting the motives of Dr. Blake, I was in the minority. Of course, the minority included Mother, Dad, and Miss Ellie, so I was in good company. Still, it was a little frustrating that most people took him at face value.
We emerged from the golf course near the parking lot. Dad had already gone. Rob waved and drove off. I was about to follow suit when my cell phone rang.
“So,” Michael said when I answered it. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“You pick,” I said.
“The good news is that Mom has safely landed.” “Say hi,” I said. “What's the bad news?”
“Aunt Daphne's plane hasn’t even taken off yet. Bad thunderstorms in the Midwest and heading this way. No word yet whether they’re going to cancel all flights or just wait a few hours till it clears.”
“Damn,” I said. “Are you going to hang around to see?”
“For a little while, at least. Mom and I are going to have a bite to eat and hope they make a decision by the time we finish.”
Just then, I spotted someone coming out of the hotel's front door. Blake.
“Keep me posted,” I said, craning my neck to see what Blake was up to.