The Dark Glamour (666 Park Avenue 2)

she had avoided Dee completely, and in the back of her mind, she had been gearing up to do it again now that her master plan had fallen through. ‘I put her in danger. I keep doing it,’ she mumbled, and Misty shrugged.
    ‘She’s a big girl, my dear. She’s not going to run headfirst into a war zone, but she’s also not going to give you a reason to get all protective and drop her. Like you did with Maeve, and then with Harris.’
    Jane shook her head, but those were even more impossible accusations to deny. ‘Dee hasn’t told him about me, has she?’
    ‘Of course not.’ Misty looked so shocked that Jane immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. ‘She’s doing the best she can – he’s still completely broken up over your disappearing act, you know. They came together because they didn’t know what to do after you left, and now one of them knows you’re back but has to pretend; can you imagine?’
    Jane couldn’t, and thousands of questions flooded her brain, but she bit them back. This was hardly the time for high-school-style crush drama, and Misty had already given her plenty to think about along those lines as it was. ‘Okay.’
    ‘Good. Now, thing two: you mentioned an email about your wedding bouquet at some point during all that mess you just told me. Can you back up to that, please?’
    Jane shrugged. ‘I get a lot of junk,’ she explained; she hadn’t even realized that she had mentioned that completely extraneous detail. She wondered how long she had babbled on for, altogether. But Misty waved her hand in a circle, encouraging her to go on, so she sighed. ‘It’s all just part of having the wedding of the century, apparently. Theknot.com has been sending me emails – one a week at least – with all these discounts and copies of the stuff Lynne had at mine and Malcolm’s. You know: “where to find the hottest dresses” and all of them look just like mine, or half-off on the same kind of bouquet I had. I can’t decide whether Lynne would be proud she’s set all these trends, or irritated that people are stealing her “exquisite” taste. Probably both.’
    ‘That’s a membership site,’ Misty said, as if it were somehow significant, and Jane frowned as she shrugged again. ‘They make you put in your wedding date when you sign up,’ the older woman added, still staring searchingly at Jane. ‘And yours has passed.’
    ‘You’re just going to have to tell me what you’re getting at,’ Jane told her helplessly.
    ‘They should be sending you ads for thank-you notes, not dresses. Are you sure those emails are really coming from that site?’
    ‘Who else—’ Jane’s jaw dropped open, and she sprang out of her chair.
    ‘Back here,’ Misty told her tersely, pointing to an alcove beside the curtain that divided the two parts of the store.
    Jane didn’t remember if she had ever noticed the older-model Dell sitting on a shelf inside it, but she certainly noticed it now. Her fingers flew over the keyboard, even tapping frantically on the sides of it while the slow machine strained to obey all her commands at once. After what felt like much longer than it probably was, she had rescued the last four emails from her trash and had them side by side in narrowed windows on the screen. ‘They look legit,’ she murmured doubtfully, clicking on first one, then another, and scrolling around to see every part of them.
    ‘Sure, except that no major Web site just gives out customer service info like that any more,’ Misty scoffed, pointing to two numbers at the bottom of one of the messages.
    Jane smiled and started to agree, but then she actually looked at the numbers. The first one was a normal American toll-free number. The second one, labelled ‘International Callers,’ had an international country code in front of it. ‘I’ve shopped on US sites from France,’ she told Misty slowly. ‘That’s not how they do it. International callers can’t always use toll-free numbers, so they just give a different local one. They don’t just pick a random country and tell the whole world to call that.’ She clicked on the next window, and then yelped in triumph: the toll-free number was the same, but the ‘International Callers’ number was completely different. She opened a fifth window, making it tiny so as not to cover the others, and searched for a directory of country codes. ‘Brazil,’ she declared, closing the first email with a flourish. ‘Then Chile.’ She