Daphne positioned herself at the bottom of the staircase. “Hi, Dee-Dee.”
“Hey.” Dee-Dee reached them, shook back her mane of peroxide and flicked a glance at Hannah. “Cool dress.”
“Thanks. Thank you.” Hannah gave her best ingratiating grin. “I love yours, too.”
“This is Hannah O’Reilly. She works with me at the Sentinel.”
“Yeah?” Another shake of overcooked hair.
“She writes the Lowbrow column.”
“Oh!” Something approaching life quivered in her too-taut face. “I love your column! You’re always fighting with that guy who writes the Highbrow column, D. G. Jackson. Too funny!”
“Yes!” Hannah gritted her teeth. Way too funny. Mr. Jackson took malicious delight in thumbing his nose at her column, which extolled the virtues of inexpensive food and entertainment around the city of brotherly love, while his dwelt on places and things no normal person could afford and no sane person would waste that much money on. She’d responded to one particularly degrading remark by sending him a case of Grey Poupon and blogging about it. He’d reciprocated with cans of spray-cheese. Word got out, and now both their editors were fanning the flames…all in the name of circulation and buzz.
Circulation and buzz. Yeah, superdeedooper. What about the news? She wanted to write news.
“So…what does this D.G. guy look like?” Dee-Dee tipped her head and started playing girlishly with a fried strand, making Hannah want to tell her D.G. could be Liberace’s surviving twin. “His articles are so charming and funny and classy all at the same time.”
“I’ve actually never met him.” Hannah smiled, aching to change the subject to Jack Brattle—where was he, how soon could she meet him? “But maybe I can arrange to set you up sometime for lunch.”
“Oooh, I’d love that. I have this feeling about him…” She giggled. “Would you really do that for me?”
“Sure, no problem.” Hannah hadn’t been serious, but it didn’t hurt to promise one favor right before she asked for another. And maybe she could work a date with the grievously tacky Dee-Dee into another joke on Mr. Highbrow. “So…Daphne tells me you’re best buddies with Jack Brattle.”
“Oh.” Blink-blink of false eyelashes. “I don’t know about best buddies. I shouldn’t even have told—”
“Friends, though?”
“Well.” She looked uneasily between Hannah and Daphne. “I’ve…met him.”
Hannah sent Daphne a sidelong glance. Met was a far cry from close to. “When was this?”
“Oh, a while back.” She gestured vaguely. “I’m really not supposed to tell. It just sort of slipped out.”
And thank God for that. Jack Brattle had kept himself out of the public eye as effectively as his late gazillionaire father had kept himself in it, which meant the absence of a Brattle in the news left that much bigger a hole.
An interview with Harold Brattle’s son and heir…Or, given that Dee-Dee was full of hot air as well as silicone, even snippets of inside information on Jack’s whereabouts, his habits, tastes, sexual preference…Any reporter would give up major organs for that scoop.
Many had tried, none had succeeded. Not since the disappearance of Howard Hughes had a missing person generated this much mystery and excitement. Yet by all accounts Jack Brattle continued to run his father’s empire while remaining invisible. From time to time people claimed to have encountered him—like people kept seeing Elvis—but the sightings always turned out to be hoaxes or misidentification.
“Whatever you can tell me would be great. I’ll handle it all very discreetly. No one will ever be able to trace anything back to you.”
“Oh gosh. I’m so not supposed to.”
“I know.” She laid a sympathetic hand on Dee-Dee’s soft arm, wanting to pinch her. “I completely understand. I’ve put you in a really tough position.”
“Well…” Dee-Dee bit her bee-stung lip. “I do know where he lives. A guy I met once took me by his house. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you that.”
“Really?” Hannah’s droopy spirits perked up. Rumors had been flying that Jack owned property in the area, but his cover had been scrupulously complete. Or at least he hadn’t walked down any local streets with a giant name tag on. “You are amazing, wow.”
“In West Chester.” Apparently now that Dee-Dee had started, the confession had gotten easier. “My friend said he’s abroad until spring, but the house is not that far from here.”
Hannah’s reporter lust started rising. Around them the chatter intensified as enormous flat-screen TVs in several rooms flickered on, and crowds gathered to watch midnight approach.
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Well…yeah. I could. But he’s away. And I’m really not supposed to.”
“Simple curiosity on my part. I wouldn’t try to go in or bother anyone. Just drive past. No one would ever know I’d been by.” She smiled her most innocent smile, shrugging as if it didn’t matter all that much if Dee-Dee spilled or not. Please. Please. Please.
“Well…okay. You got paper or anything?”
“I have a BlackBerry.” She nearly gasped out her relief, fishing the life-organizing electronic device out of her adorable dress-matching red-sequined bag as fast as she could before Dee-Dee changed what there was of her mind. “So what does he look like?”
“Oh, he’s…” Dee-Dee gestured expansively and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “You know.”
“Ah. Yes.” Hannah’s heart sank even as she opened a new memo, ready to write down directions. Dee-Dee definitely hadn’t met him. Probably didn’t even know which house was his. This would turn out to be another attention-grabbing hoax. She better prepare herself for the disappointment right now. And yet, on the crazy minuscule chance this could be legit…“So where does he live?”
She poised her fingers over the tiny keyboard and waited. Several minutes later, she’d written down Dee-Dee’s directions, which consisted mostly of phrases like “turn left at that big stone thing” and “stay on the road even when it looks like you shouldn’t.”
A miracle if she found it. And an even bigger one if there was anything to find.
Excitement swelled in the room. Someone started a countdown from sixty seconds. Hannah slipped the BlackBerry back into her evening bag, then snagged—finally—a second glass of the slightly sour champagne from a passing waiter and turned to face the screen, counting along with everyone else.
As soon as midnight came and went she’d find Gerard, thank him for a wonderful evening and set out on her hunt for the wild and elusive Jack Brattle, heir to his father’s real estate fortune which could, of course, given that Dee-Dee didn’t seem qualified for Mensa, be nothing but a wild-goose chase.
She lifted her glass as the shouting started. Five, four, three, two, one…
Or…she could scoop every other reporter in the country and make this a really phenomenal start to the rest of her life.
Chapter Two
HANNAH PRESSED HER FOOT gingerly on the accelerator, peering through the windshield into a curtain of sleet, bouncing tzap-tzap off the glass and tinkling on the roof of her beloved bright red Mazda, which she’d named Matilda. Hannah considered herself a very persistent investigator, but even she was questioning how smart it was to be out here so late in this mess with no one around. Pennsylvania’s gentle rolling countryside surrounded her car. Despite the