Smoke in Mirrors

the number of this account in the Caribbean was important to you.”
    “Are you seriously trying to blackmail me?”
    She cleared her throat again. “Well, yes, I suppose you could look at it that way. Now, shall we discuss the details?”
    “What details?”
    “Well, I’ll need a cover story.”
    “A cover story. Right. Got any brilliant ideas, Mata Hari?”
    “I believe you mentioned a library at Mirror House,” Leonora said slowly.
    “Forget it. Mirror House doesn’t need a librarian. No one uses the old library. The only books in it are the ones Nathanial Eubanks collected years ago. They’re all concerned with antique mirrors and looking glasses.”
    “Are the books cataloged?”
    He summoned up a mental image of the musty library on the second floor of the mansion. He had only seen the place once when Deke had given him a quick tour. There was a small office on one side. Inside the office was an old-fashioned wooden card catalog with a lot of little drawers.
    “I think so,” he said.
    “Cards or computer?”
    “Cards. I told you, no one has touched that library in years.”
    “I think it’s time the catalog was updated and put online, don’t you?”
    In spite of his irritation, he was starting to see somepossibilities. Mirror House was one of the few real connections that existed between Bethany and Meredith. Meredith had found the book and the clippings somewhere in the mansion and for some reason she had been convinced that he and Deke would want to see them. They had to be important, although he could not envision how that was possible.
    As much as he hated to admit it, Deke and Leonora might both have a point. One thing was certain, this situation wasn’t going to go away quietly. He knew that now.
    “I might be able to work something out,” he said slowly.
    “Excellent.”
    The not-so-subtle triumph in her voice made him set his teeth. She thought she had won.
    “Before we take this any further,” he said, “there’s something you should—”
    “I’ll need a place to stay,” she said.
    He gave that two seconds’ worth of thought. More possibilities.
    “I recently picked up a fixer-upper with a view of the cove,” he said. “It’s solid and tight. It could work.”
    “Perfect.”
    “Before we call this a done deal,” he said deliberately, “there’s one stipulation.”
    “What is it?” she asked. Careless in victory.
    “If you decide to come up here to play girl detective, you’re going to have to do things my way.”
    “Good heavens, Mr. Walker. Why on earth would I agree to a clause that puts you in charge?”
    “Because if you don’t agree to it, I will come down there to Melba Creek and get the number of that offshore account out of you the hard way.”

    “You handed in your resignation?” Gloria put aside the yellow pad she had been using to make notes for herhotel exposé and looked at her over the tops of her reading glasses. “Oh, my. Do you think that was wise?”
    “No, but I didn’t have much option.”
    Leonora picked up the two cups of toasty Hojicha green tea that she had just brewed in the tiny efficiency kitchen of Gloria’s apartment. She carried the cups to the small table near the window and sat down across from her grandmother. There was a plate with four shortbread cookies in the center of the table. Gloria had made the cookies.
    “Bristol wouldn’t go for an extended personal leave unless I could give him a very good reason,” Leonora said.
    “Such as?”
    “Giving birth.”
    “I see. Well, that would have been a bit difficult to manage on such short notice, I suppose.”
    “I didn’t think he’d buy the concept of me playing Sherlock Holmes, either.” Leonora helped herself to one of the rich, buttery cookies. “The good news is that he made it clear that I was welcome to reapply for my position when I’m finished with my personal affairs.”
    “That was very generous of him.” Gloria sipped her tea. “You say Thomas Walker has agreed to help you?”
    “He’s not exactly enthusiastic about the deal, but he went for it.”
    “Hmm.”
    Leonora paused, the shortbread halfway to her mouth. “Hmm, what?”
    “From what you’ve told me about your Mr. Walker, I have the feeling that he wouldn’t have allowed himself to be blackmailed unless it suited his own agenda.”
    “He’s not my Mr. Walker.” She crunched down very hard on the flaky cookie and chewed grimly. “He was Meredith’s Mr. Walker.”

    “Only