I sat on a couch that creaked under my weight. Scarlett sank down into a side chair, though she tapped her impatience with her heel. A large clock graced the wall above the ornate wooden mantel, and its ticktock sound clashed with Scarlett’s rhythm.
“Relax.” I leaned back into the Victorian couch, which creaked louder.
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
Oh. So that was why I was getting the cold shoulder. My history had caught up with me. All those women, all those wasted nights. But Scarlett was different. I just wasn’t sure how to tell her that without turning into a stage-five clinger.
Footsteps approached and Gene rounded the corner into the sitting room. “He’ll see you now. Right this way. If you haven’t breakfasted yet, please let me know how you’d like your eggs.”
I stood. “Over easy.”
“No, we don’t want to impose.” Scarlett narrowed her eyes at me.
“Please, it would be my pleasure. Just say the word.”
She strode over to Gene. “If you must, I’ll have over easy, too.”
He smiled, his dark brown eyes twinkling. “I’ll have the kitchen whip it right up.”
“Thanks.”
We followed him past a wide, sweeping staircase, down a hallway filled with paintings and vases on pedestals, and finally into a sunroom. Guy Porter, Frank Rhone, and Rhone’s employee Eric sat a wrought iron and glass table, drinking coffee and chatting.
“Scarlett.” Frank rose and shook her hand and mine.
Eric pulled out her chair and gave her a too-friendly smile. My hackles rose, especially when she returned his smile and sat with a thank-you.
Guy motioned me to an empty chair next to Eric. “Have a seat. What’s going on?”
I sat, elbowing Eric on “accident” as I got situated. “Frankly, I’m glad you’re here, Frank.” I paused at my awkward choice of phrase. Scarlett pinched the bridge of her nose.
I continued, “I suspect what we have to tell Guy is somehow linked to the Rhone break-in.”
Frank sipped his steaming coffee. “You track down Greenwood?”
“No, but someone tracked Scarlett down.”
“What do you mean?” Guy leaned forward and placed his coffee cup on its saucer. His thinning hair looked almost white in comparison to his too-tan, almost orange skin. He needed to lay off the Saint-Tropez trips.
“I mean someone followed her home last night. He had a gun.”
“What?” Guy’s face went from Oompa-Loompa orange to a lighter shade, and he seemed too stunned to respond.
“Jesus. Were you hurt? Have you called the police?” Eric reached across the table and grabbed Scarlett’s hand.
My fingers itched to grip his shirt, yank him up, and toss him through the glass of the sunroom. Maybe I could snap his Clark Kent glasses first, just to get his attention, and then do the rest of the violence. Instead, I did nothing, just steamed in silence.
Scarlett shook her head and pulled her hand away. Good girl. “No. Kennedy stopped him, but he got away, and he wore a mask the whole time. We couldn’t see his face. We think he was some sort of professional.”
“Like a hit man? Jesus, Scarlett. I’m glad you weren’t hurt. But we need to call the police.” Frank pulled his cell phone from his pocket.
“No.” Scarlett covered his hand with hers, stopping him from making the call. “We can’t. It won’t do any good. We think that Discord—”
She quieted as Gene, followed by two other servants in whites, walked in and placed plates of eggs in front of us. They laid out additional serving dishes of bacon, sausage, biscuits, English muffins, gravy, and grits. The smell alone put me in a happier place than I was only moments before.
Gene poured two glasses of orange juice as another servant poured coffees. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, this is plenty.” Scarlett nodded her head in thanks.
I grabbed my napkin and dropped it in my lap. Meals like this were few and far between in my world, so I wasn’t about to pass up home cooking when it landed right on my plate, literally.
“I’m glad you’re all right. That’s the most important thing. But why do you think this masked criminal has something to do with the case?” Frank asked.
“And what did you mean by ‘Discord’?” Eric chimed in.
I forked a biscuit and scooped some grits next to it, digging in as Scarlett continued explaining.
“We think Discord—the hacker group—was the operator who pulled off the breach. One of their hackers, Fluffy, knew Carey and sent him a drive with all sorts of information on it about the Rhone break-in. Fluffy was in with Discord.”