She started to answer but didn’t. “When the others get here, you’re going to ask them questions, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“They will lie. One of them will certainly do what he or she can to not tell the truth.”
He was staring at her. “You know something, don’t you? Has Sean contacted you? Do you know where he is? If you do, please tell us so we can leave here. Kate wants to see Great Britain, but we won’t leave Sara behind, and she won’t leave until she has proof that there is no mystery. A couple of lovers ran off together. They’re probably living on a sheep farm in New Zealand under new names because they didn’t want people called Nicky’s Pack to find them. I bet they have four grown kids now.”
When Puck didn’t smile at his jest, he knew she was hiding something. “Tell me what you know,” he said.
“Not now.” She stood up and began to clear the table, then stopped and looked hard at him. “Go and look at this place. At all of it. Keys for the little trucks are under the floor mats. Explore and see. Mrs. Guilford will be at dinner, but don’t talk about me.”
Jack knew he was being dismissed—and he knew when he was being given a message. There was something he was supposed to see on the estate.
He said goodbye and made his way out. He went back to the utility truck, found the key and drove around the estate.
Because Mrs. Aiken said that he reminded her of Sean, Jack was especially interested in the stables. He’d grown up working on cars, as his father and grandfather had done, but he wondered if, in a different time, his interest would have been horses.
The long, narrow stables were empty now, the stalls cleaned out, but they still had a feeling of the years they’d been used. He could imagine the place full of animals and people in riding suits.
The builder in him saw a way to convert the stalls into housing. He’d leave the stone walls, and especially leave the wooden floors that had been trampled and seasoned with decades of manure.
Smiling, he imagined some banker in a three-piece suit bragging about the patina of his floors.
Jack left the stables and went into the sunshine to further explore. He found a couple of foundations from demolished buildings. One looked as if it had burned down.
In the far corner of the estate was a closed-off area. A high fence had signs declaring danger and forbidding entry, saying it was a “wildlife preserve.” Jack wondered what nesting critters lived in there. He’d have to ask.
By the time he got back to the big house, he had a layout of the acreage in his mind.
Had he been through enough that he’d found whatever Puck wa
nted him to see? Or had he imagined her message?
For all his hours exploring, there wasn’t anything that stood out as unusual or mysterious. Maybe he should have climbed the fence of that place that was labeled “dangerous.” Maybe he’d do that tomorrow. But everything depended on when the Pack was going to arrive.
As Jack headed up the stairs, he knew he didn’t want to think of their arrival. Meeting Byon Lizmere was out of his realm of comfort. The man had written great music and even greater plays. The most magnificent singers in the world had performed his music at Carnegie Hall, Albert Hall, the MTV awards. Everywhere and everyone.
But I am supposed to sing for him, Jack thought as he headed for the shower.
Five
For dinner, Jack put on a clean white shirt and black dress trousers. He didn’t know if he should wear a tie or not or even a jacket. From the look of the house, people liked to pretend they were Edwardian aristocracy, so he might be required to wear a tux to dinner—which he had, thanks to Sara. His only thought was to find Kate. Sara was probably outside, on her belly in the grass snapping photos of some ugly bug, and Kate was likely to be knee-deep in dusty old diaries.
It took a while, but he found a door that opened to a narrow stone staircase that led upward. From the worn-down centers, he knew he was in the oldest part of the house. At the top, he found unrenovated rooms. They had faded Victorian wallpaper and old metal beds. Servants’ quarters.
“Bet Sara loves this,” he muttered as he went down two long hallways, past doors with number plates, came to the ends, then had to retrace his steps before he finally saw an open door. Kate was sitting in a fat chair with faded upholstery, a big book across her lap.
She smiled when she saw him. “Have any trouble finding this place?”
“None whatever.”
She laughed at his lie. “You look nice. Glad you cleaned up.”
“Anything for my ladies.” He stretched out on the bed and looked around. It was a very plain room with a small window and white cotton curtains. There was a stand with an old-fashioned bowl and water pitcher on it. The bed, the stand and the chair were the only furniture. “Bleak,” he said. “You make any progress in finding out anything?”
“Not really. Tell me about your lunch date.”
“How do you know about it?”