The Fixer (25 page)

I said as much.

“Who else was there?” Henry asked me.

I didn’t know how many other people had been there—but I knew that Ivy had been. I couldn’t tell Henry that. Not with the way he felt about my sister.

“It occurs to me,” Henry said, his voice still sounding so reasonable, so
calm
, “that according to our dear reporter friend, your sister got to him before we did.” Henry finally dropped his arm and stopped walking. “Everything we know, she knows.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” I said, but all I could think about was Ivy telling me to trust her, Ivy telling me that the reporter wasn’t worth checking out.

“My sister is not a part of this,” I told Henry, shutting out those thoughts. “She’s on our side.”

Henry reached out for me again, his touch light against my skin. “She may be on your side,” he said quietly. “She’s not on mine.”

On the other side of the lobby, Vivvie and her aunt stood, getting ready to leave the café.

“Am I on your side?” I asked Henry. “Or am I the enemy, too?”

He’d used me to set up this meeting, and the whole time, he’d had a plan of his own. I couldn’t blame him for that. If it were my grandfather who’d been killed, I might have done the same thing.

“You aren’t the enemy,” Henry said, dropping his arm to his side once more and taking a step back. “That doesn’t mean our goals are aligned.”

CHAPTER 49

The next day was Saturday. I was still grounded—
school projects
aside—which apparently, in Ivy’s book, meant that my job was sitting around the house doing nothing while she was out doing who knows what. I had the vague sense that the case had taken a turn, but what that turn was, what she knew, what she was
hiding
—I had no idea.

I’d caught Vivvie up on what I knew. She’d caught me up on the fact that her aunt had recognized Henry but not me. Apparently, the woman had assumed that I was Henry’s girlfriend.
Because that’s not disturbing.

My cell phone rang at half past three. I answered it, glad for the distraction.

“It’s your favorite person,” Asher informed me.

“No,” I said, leaning back against my headboard. “You’re not.”

“I won’t embarrass you by proving I am,” Asher replied, unfazed. “We have bigger problems.”

“Problems?” By Asher’s definition, that could mean any number of things.

“More like problem, singular,” Asher amended. “I just talked to Henry. He’s planning to go with his mother to a state dinner tonight.”

That seemed like something Henry would do. “And?”

“
And
,” Asher said emphatically, “Henry is planning to go with his mother to a state dinner tonight.” He paused, presumably for an audible reaction on my part.

He got none.

“Henry avoids white-tie events like the plague,” Asher elaborated. “His mom gets invited to these things all the time—her family is, shall we say,
well off
, with a lot of international holdings. But no one would expect her to put in an appearance this soon after Theo’s death.” Asher finally paused for a breath. “My spidey senses tell me that Henry’s mom was not overcome by a sudden desire to honor the queen of Denmark.”

“You don’t have spidey senses,” I told Asher automatically.

“I
do
have a Henry sense,” Asher said firmly. “And I’m telling you, he was acting super shady when I talked to him. I think he actually convinced his mother to go tonight. That means he’s willingly donning a tailcoat and bow tie and venturing into a bedazzled crowd of people, all of whom will tell him how sorry they are for his loss.”

I thought
bedazzled
was probably overstating things a bit, but focused on the rest of what Asher was saying. “You really think going to this thing with his mom was Henry’s idea?”

“I do,” Asher pronounced. “I just can’t figure out why.”

Unfortunately, I
could
. “Who attends state dinners?” I asked with a sinking feeling.

“Three hundred of the president’s closest colleagues and friends.” Asher paused, thinking. “Members of the cabinet and staff, the vice president and his family, assorted governors, donors, lobby firm executives, Hollywood celebrities, professional athletes, philanthropists, congressmen, and a half-dozen partridges in a governmental pear tree.”

I paused for a second. “What’s Henry’s phone number?”

After he gave it to me, I hung up, glared at my phone, then made the call.

“Hello.” Henry answered the phone with trademark calm.

“What
exactly
do you think you’re doing?” I asked him, without bothering to identify myself. He must have recognized my voice, because he didn’t ask who it was.

“Currently, I’m reading
The Economist
.”

“You’re going to a state dinner?” I gritted out.

“I take it Asher called you?”

“What’s your endgame here, Henry? Why are you going?”

“My mother needed an escort.” Henry was a good liar. But not good enough.

You aren’t the enemy. That doesn’t mean our goals are aligned.
Henry had a goal. He had an agenda. He had a reason for going tonight that had nothing to do with his mother.

“You have a plan,” I said. “And given that it’s a plan that involves rubbing elbows with several hundred of the city’s most politically powerful people, I’m not feeling very comforted at the moment.”

“Rest assured, Tess. I can take care of myself.”

Until he told me that he could take care of himself, it hadn’t occurred to me that whatever he had planned for tonight might be dangerous.

“What are you going to do?” I asked softly.

“I’m just going to show up. See people. Be seen.”

Be seen.
Why would Henry want to be seen?

“Henry, either you tell me exactly what you’re doing, or I’ll tell my sister you’re up to something.”

The silence on the other end of the phone line grew decidedly chillier. “Fine,” he said stiffly, glaring at me through the phone. “I’m simply interested to see if Carson Dweck has gone back to his source in the West Wing for information on my grandfather’s murder, and if that source is at all curious about how Carson got his information.”

It took me a few seconds to process that statement. Henry had told the reporter everything we knew. I’d taken him at his word when he’d said that he’d done it so that Ivy wouldn’t be the only one looking into this.

But if the reporter went back to his source, if his source was in any way involved in the conspiracy . . .
My mind raced.

“You’re trying to draw the third player out,” I realized.

I wanted to believe that Dweck wouldn’t reveal Henry as the source of his information about the justice’s assassination. I wanted to believe that hadn’t been Henry’s plan all along.

“So that’s it?” I said. “You start making noise, then parade around at a state dinner and see who takes the bait?”

“I assure you, I have no intention of parading.”

“I assure
you
,” I replied, “that this isn’t going to work. Even if our missing conspirator has heard that you’re asking questions, even if he or she thinks you know too much, they’re not going to make a move in front of three hundred of the president’s closest friends.”

I could practically hear Henry’s subtle, pointed smile in response to those words. “Then you don’t need to worry about me,” he said. “Do you?”

I hung up the phone. I took a second to tamp down on my temper, to think this through. In a crowd, with security, Henry would probably be fine. But I couldn’t help thinking that Henry’s grandfather might well have been poisoned at an event just as posh and secure as this one.

Biting the bullet, I did the only thing I
could
do. I called Ivy. No answer. I called Bodie. No answer. Where
were
they? I called Adam. No answer. Ivy again. No answer. I kept calling.

It was four o’clock. A quick internet search told me the state dinner, honoring the queen of Denmark, started at 7:30 p.m.

Another call. Still no answer.

Henry was going to do this. I wasn’t going to be able to stop him.
Fine
, I thought darkly. I called him back.

“I’m going with you.” My words came out equal parts promise and threat.

“As whose date?” Henry asked. “Unless your sister is willing to rustle you up a last-minute invitation—and I think we both know she is not—you have no way in the front door.”

He was right. Sneaking into a state dinner wasn’t like sneaking into a movie. It was probably a felony.

“This is a big mistake, Henry.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I suppose,” he said finally, “that is the only kind of mistake I make.”

He hung up the phone. I tried Ivy again. Bodie again. Adam again.
Where were they?

Finally, I called Asher back. “We have a problem.”

“I won’t say I told you so,” Asher replied. “But let’s just take a moment of silence to think about the fact that I was right.”

I didn’t have time to acknowledge the quip. “What does a person wear to a state dinner?” I asked.

“Why?” Asher said. “Are we invited?”

“You aren’t,” I told him. “But with a little luck, I might be.”

“I’d tell you that was pretty much impossible,” Asher replied, “but you’re Tess Kendrick. My spidey senses tell me that impossible is kind of your thing.”

After I got off the phone with Asher, I tried Ivy one last time. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, she still wasn’t picking up. I’d written down a phone number Asher had gotten for me, and I pulled the trigger and called it.

“Hello?”

“Anna?” I said. “It’s Tess Kendrick.”

“Tess!” The vice president’s daughter sounded delighted to hear from me. “What’s up?”

I walked to the window and stared out at Ivy’s front lawn. “I need a favor.”

CHAPTER 50

Asher was supposed to bring me something to wear. Instead, he brought me his twin.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Emilia told me, thrusting a trio of garment bags at her brother, who obligingly took hold of them. “Asher seems to think your presence at this state dinner is essential for Henry’s continued well-being.” She eyed the foyer, seemingly decided it would not do, then marched up the spiral staircase. She set up camp in my bedroom and pulled out my desk chair. “Sit.”

I cast a pained look at Asher, then sat.

“We don’t have much time,” Emilia told me, opening what was apparently
not
a toolbox, but some kind of makeup kit. “Don’t flinch.”

Over the next hour and a half, I came to the conclusion that Emilia Rhodes was either the devil incarnate or the second coming of Coco Chanel.

She suggested the second option herself.

Emilia threw Asher out of the room around the time she had me start trying on dresses.

“You’re lucky Di goes to a ton of these things,” she told me. “And that she’s about your size.”

I was not lucky, however, when it came to the ambassador’s daughter’s views on cleavage. After I’d nixed a second dress for being too low-cut, I thought Emilia might exact vengeance with an eyelash curler, but she just nodded to the third garment bag.

“It’s that one or nothing,” she told me.

The dress was sapphire blue, dark enough that I could almost tell myself it was navy. It was full-length, with a fitted bodice and flowing skirt. I eyed the neckline.

“Here.” Emilia slipped it off the hanger and ordered me to turn around. She helped me step into the gown, then fastened it up the back. I glanced down at my chest, and seeing it tucked firmly away, allowed myself to be turned toward the full-length mirror.

The sheen off the sapphire fabric made it look almost like flowing water. There were gathers at my waist, and the bottom half of the dress rippled to the floor, arcing out around me in a full skirt that swayed slightly as I turned. The bodice fit perfectly, clinging to every hint of a curve my body had to offer. A light scattering of beadwork caught the light just so.

“Well?” Emilia said.

I forced myself to stop staring at my reflection. “This will work.”

Emilia stepped in front of me and examined her handiwork. She reached a hand out to rearrange a tendril near my face.

“Why are you doing this?” I couldn’t help asking the question.

Emilia gave me a look I couldn’t quite read. “Asher’s the nice twin. He’s the one people like.” She paused. “I’m the one who gets things done.” She handed me a tube of lipstick. I stared at it like she’d handed me a snake.

“In case you need to reapply,” she said briskly. Clearly, she’d shared as much of her motivation as she was going to share. The doorbell rang downstairs. I took a deep breath.

On my way out the door, Emilia’s voice stopped me. “If I asked you what was going on, would you tell me?”

I glanced back at her.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, averting her eyes. “Don’t worry about it. Asher’s the one people confide in, too.” The doorbell rang again, and Emilia walked past me. “Whatever you’re doing,” she told me, “don’t mess it up.”

I managed to walk down the stairs without killing myself, but it was a near thing. Emilia hadn’t brought shoes, so we’d borrowed a pair of Ivy’s. Luckily, my sister seemed to have a fairly elaborate collection.

When I reached the front door, Asher opened it for me. A man in a navy suit stood there. He held out a card to me.

“Special delivery,” he said. “Courtesy of Vice President Hayden.”

The invitation was engraved on white linen paper. At the top, there was a gold seal, an eagle surrounded with stars, so intricate in detail that it looked as if it had been painted on by hand. Below that, black-inked calligraphy declared,
The President and Mrs. Nolan request the pleasure of the company of Theresa Kendrick at a dinner in honor of Her Royal Highness, Queen . . .

I stopped reading when I reached the word
Queen
.

The man who’d delivered my invitation gestured toward the car he’d driven here. “Miss Hayden also thought you might appreciate a ride.”

I glanced back at Asher and Emilia.

“Like I said,” Asher told me, slinging an arm over his sister’s shoulder, “impossible is kind of your thing.”