Private Scandals

care of the details from here.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Aware of her duties, Cassie walked behind Angela’s chair and gently massaged her temples. Minutes clicked by, counted off by the quiet tick of the long case clock across the room. Musically, it announced the quarter-hour.
    “You checked on the weather forecast?” Angela murmured.
    “It’s projected to be clear and cool, a low in the mid-forties.”
    “Then we’ll need to use the heaters on the terrace. I want dancing.”
    Dutifully, Cassie stepped away to note the instructions down. There was no word of thanks for her attentiveness; none required. “Your hairdresser is scheduled to arrive at your home at two. Your dress will be delivered by three at the latest.”
    “All right, then, let’s put all that aside for the moment. I want you to contact Beeker. I want to know everything there is to know about Dr. Marshall Pike. He’s a psychologist with a private practice here in Chicago. I want the information as Beeker collects it, rather than waiting for a full report.”
    She opened her eyes again. The headache wasn’t in full retreat, but the pill was beating it back. “Tell Beeker it isn’t an emergency, but it is a priority. Understood?”
    “Yes, Miss Perkins.”
     
    By six that evening, Deanna was still going full steam ahead. While she juggled three calls, she beefed up copy that would be read on the late news. “Yes, I understand your position. But an interview, particularly a televised interview, wouldhelp show your side.” Deanna pursed her lips, sighed. “If you feel that way, of course. I believe your neighbor is more than willing to tell me her story on the air.” She smiled when the receiver squawked in indignation. “Yes, we’d prefer to have both sides represented. Thank you, Mrs. Wilson. I’ll be there at ten tomorrow.”
    She spotted Marshall coming toward her and lifted a hand in a wave as she punched down the next blinking light on her phone. “Sorry, Mrs. Carter. Yes, as I was saying, I understand your position. It is a shame about your tulips. A televised interview would help show your side of the dispute.” Deanna smiled as Marshall stroked a hand down her hair in greeting. “If you’re sure. Mrs. Wilson has agreed to tell me her story on the air.” Tipping the receiver a safe inch from her ear, Deanna rolled her eyes at Marshall. “Yes, that would be fine. I’ll be there at ten. ’Bye.”
    “Hot breaking story?”
    “Hot tempers in suburbia,” Deanna corrected as she disconnected. “I have to put in an hour or two tomorrow after all. A couple of neighbors are engaged in a pitched battle over a bed of tulips, an old, incorrect survey and a cocker spaniel.”
    “Sounds fascinating.”
    “I’ll give you the scoop over dinner.” She didn’t object when he lowered his head, and met his lips willingly. The kiss was friendly, without the pressure of intimacy. “You’re all wet,” she murmured, tasting rain and cool skin.
    “It’s pouring out there. All I need is a nice warm restaurant and a dry wine.”
    “I’ve got one more call waiting.”
    “Take your time. Want anything?”
    “I could use a cold drink. My vocal cords are raw.”
    Deanna cleared her mental decks and punched in the next button. “Mr. Van Damme, I’m terribly sorry for the interruption. There seems to be a mix-up with Miss Perkins’s wine order for tomorrow night. She’ll need three cases of Taittinger’s, not two. Yes, that’s right. And the white wine?” Deanna checked off her list as the catererrecited from his. “Yes, that’s right. And can I ease her mind about the ice sculpture?” She sent Marshall another smile when he returned with a cold can of 7-Up. “That’s wonderful, Mr. Van Damme. And you do have the change from tarts to petits fours? Terrific. I think we’ve got it under control. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. ’Bye.”
    With a long exhale, Deanna dropped the phone on its hook. “Done,” she told Marshall. “I hope.”
    “Long day for you?”
    “Long, and productive.” Automatically she began to tidy her desk. “I appreciate your meeting me here, Marshall.”
    “My schedule was lighter than yours.”
    “Mmm.” She took a deep drink, then set the can aside before shutting down her workstation. “And I owe you one for changing plans for tomorrow to accommodate Angela.”
    “A good psychologist should be flexible.” He watched her as she straightened papers and organized notes. “Besides, it