Sweet Fortune

well eat it.”
    “Hatch, we can't . That man from next door and his wife will be in the dining room. And who knows about the people from the room on the other side of us or across the hall? I couldn't possibly face them. Not after that scene we conducted last night.”
    “We?”
    “You were as involved in it as I was. Don't you dare try to wriggle out of this. Hatch, I wouldn't be able to eat a bite, knowing they all heard us last night.”
    He studied her in silence for a long moment, giving no indication whatsoever about what he was thinking. Then he astonished her with the briefest of rueful grins. “You and me both, babe. Let's get the hell out of here before we run into the neighbors.”
    Their mutual interest in conducting a hasty exit from the scene of the debacle succeeded in reestablishing communications between them. Jessie realized they were both wary of starting another argument, however, and they did not say a whole lot to each other on the drive back to Seattle. The silence was cautious but not hostile.
    Jessie did make one or two efforts to introduce the subject of the investigation of Dawn's Early Light, but did not pursue them when she ran up against a stony response.
    It was not until he had carried her overnight case to her front door and seen her safely inside that Hatch finally brought up the topic himself.
    “Jessie, I meant it last night when I told you I want you to forget this stupid investigation. Tell Mrs. Attwood you've done all you can. Let her go another route.”
    He did not wait for her to restart the argument. He simply turned and went back out the door after putting down her bag.
    “Hatch, I told you…” She broke off to hurry after him as he headed for the stairs. “Wait. Where are you going?”
    “To the office. It's only the middle of the afternoon. I've got work to do.”
    “I should have known,” she muttered. She folded her arms under her breasts and leaned against the door frame.
    Hatch glanced back once. “See you for dinner. I'll probably be a little late.”
    “Hold it. I am not altering my life-style to suit your schedule, Mr. Hatchard.”
    “I recently altered mine to suit yours.”
    He was gone before she could think of a response. With a muffled groan of disgust Jessie unfolded her arms, closed the door, and stalked over to the phone. She had a duty to call Susan Attwood's mother.
    The phone was answered midway through the first ring. Mrs. Attwood's voice sounded very tense.
    “Yes?”
    “Mrs. Attwood?”
    “Yes. Who is this? Is this the lady from Valentine Consultations?”
    “Right. Jessie Benedict. I wanted to report back to you on the results of my trip to DEL headquarters.”
    “Thank God you called. I've been trying to get hold of you.”
    The shrill edge in the woman's voice alarmed Jessie. “Is something wrong, Mrs. Attwood?”
    “No. That is, something has happened. I've changed my mind. Yes, that's it. I've changed my mind. I don't want a silly psychic involved in this. I don't know what got into me, going to you like that, I want you to stop work on this thing right away. Do you hear me?”
    “I hear you, Mrs. Attwood, but I don't understand. Don't you want to locate Susan?”
    “It's all right. Everything's fine. Just…just a misunderstanding on my part. I panicked, that's all. Now, I want you to stop your investigation immediately. I am not going to pay you for any work on my behalf. Is that quite clear?”
    “Perfectly clear, Mrs. Attwood.” Jessie spoke very gently. “There is the little matter of the four hundred dollars and travel expenses which you did approve the other day, however.”
    “No. Not one red cent. You should never have gone up there. You're not a real detective.”
    “But, Mrs. Attwood—”
    “Just stay out of this.”
    Jessie held the phone away from her ear as Mrs. Attwood slammed down the receiver.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    W hat do you think, Alex? Can you use some of the information on these to get into the DEL computers for me?” Jessie handed him the page of computer printout Hatch had filched from the men's room at DEL headquarters.
    “Maybe.” Alex studied the printout in the dim light. It was only four in the afternoon but, as usual, he had the shades drawn in his office to create the perpetual twilight he favored. The glow of the computer screen in front of him reflected off the lenses of his glasses.
    Alex's working area was a dump site. Candy wrappers, cans of soda, and open bags of potato chips