Amazing how the world could change in so short a time, she thought, glancing back at the letters on the bed. One minute she had nowhere to go and the next she had choices from all over the world, as one of the letters was even from London and another was from Paris.
How did they find me? she suddenly wondered, then went back to the bed and looked at the second unopened letter. When she saw that it was from Jane, her heart nearly stopped. Was ever-sensible Jane going to lecture her about doing something as stupid as walking out of one job before she had another?
Kady finished the first glass of wine and filled the second before she opened Jane’s letter. The first half page told in detail how much trouble Jane had gone to to find her, calling nearly every hotel in New York. She had found out that Kady was in New York by hinting to Gregory that she was going to try to get them back together. “That man certainly believes that every woman has the hots for him, doesn’t he?” Jane wrote, making Kady smile.
“I envy you,” Jane wrote. “You have inspired a great deal of love from the people who worked for you. They risked a lot by going through Gregory’s trash, and when they called me, they knew that I’d do whatever it took to find you.”
Kady ate some of her soup, then finished Jane’s letter. “Kady, maybe I haven’t made myself clear lately,” her friend wrote. “I know I tend to be bossy, heaven knows many people have felt the compulsion to tell me, but I hope you know how much I care about you. The only thing Gregory had going for him was his good looks. He treated you like a lowly servant—just the way my own family tended to treat you. I had to become an adult to see that. I want to tell you that I think you are the kindest, most generous person I’ve ever met in my life, and I feel I owe you for past transgressions. So when I see you with a man who isn’t worthy to eat at your table, forgive me if I say so. Whatever you do with your life, remember to take what is offered and don’t give everything away. When you meet another man, make sure he gives you something in return. You deserve it!!”
Maybe it was the wine, but when Kady’s eyes misted over, she brushed the tears away with the sleeve of her bathrobe. After rereading Jane’s letter a couple of times, she slipped it into her pocket and dug into her food. What had been a rotten day was turning into something extraordinarily good.
It was only after she had finished eating and drunk another glass of wine that she remembered that she still hadn’t opened the thin envelope. Wiping her hands first, she then rummaged under the lovely letters from the even more lovely people offering her jobs and pulled out the envelope. It was white, excellent quality paper, and had a return address of a law firm in New York. Madison Avenue in the sixties, no less.
“My goodness,” she said aloud as she used a table knife to slit the top open. “I am indeed honored.”
When Kady saw that the letter was addressed to Mrs. Cole Jordan, she nearly choked on her wine.
The letter itself was very short. Mr. W. Hartford Fowler IV requested that Mrs. Jordan call him as soon as possible on urgent business. There followed a long list of telephone numbers with descriptive phrases like, the country house, the lodge, the mobile, ship-to-shore, as well as four office numbers. “I cannot begin to tell you how urgent this is, Mrs. Jordan,” he wrote. “You must contact me right away if you are to make the date set by Ruth Jordan. Call me at any time. Call collect. Wherever, whenever. Just do it quickly.”
Kady read the letter three times before she noticed that it was dated a month earlier. Which meant that Gregory had received it before she walked out. And it also meant that someone had snooped inside his filing cabinets to find this. What was more, she saw that the envelope had been sent to her apartment, not the restaurant, which meant that Gregory had been monitoring her private mail. “Wonder what he paid my landlord to get his hands on my mail first?” she said, her mouth a tight line. For a moment she wondered how many other offers of employment she had received while she was at Onions but Gregory had intercepted. All in the name of Norman House Restaurants, of course.
No use wasting time on that, she thought, then picked up the telephone and began to dial some of the numbers on the letter from the lawyer. After she reached a machine at the office numbers and left a message, she turned the TV volume back on and tried to watch, but then she read the lawyer’s letter again, turned the TV off, and called more numbers.
She got him on his mobile, and as soon as she introduced herself, she heard the screech of wheels as he skidded his car to a halt.
“Kady Jordan?” he asked in disbelief. “You’re sure?”
She laughed as she had an idea this man didn’t usually lose his composure as he was doing now.
“What is today?” he said almost frantically. “It’s ten P.M., isn’t it? If I send a helicopter, can you get to New York from Virginia in two hours? Can we still do it?”
“I’m already in New York. Could you tell me what this is about? What do you know about Ruth Jordan?”
“Less than you do, I’m sure,” he said hastily. “Look, Mrs. Jordan—”
“I would appreciate it if you’d stop calling me that. I am Kady Long. Kady, please.”
The man didn’t seem to hear her. “Okay, you’re in New York, I’m in Connecticut, and he’s in . . . Where the hell is he?”
Kady was getting frustrated. “Where is who?” she said fiercely.
“Jordan. C. T. Jordan. You must see him before midnight tonight. If you don’t, the will will be invalid.”
“I don’t know what will you’re talking about, but I have seen Mr. Jordan today. I had to sneak into his office, but I—”
She stopped because the man was laughing. No, he was whooping. Actually, he was, as far as she could tell, jumping up and down and singing and yelling at the top of his lungs, the mobile telephone waving about in his hands.
“Mr. Fowler,” she was shouting into the phone, but he didn’t hear her.
With the hotel phone on her shoulder, Kady reached for her glass of wine and waited for this insane man to calm down and tell her what was going on.
She had a good long wait, and when the man did speak again, she thought maybe he was crying. Crying in that way men do when they win the Indianapolis 500.
“Kady,” he said, trying to control his erratic breath, “did anyone see you at Jordan’s office today? Anyone at all?”
“Several people. The receptionist, a man applying for a job, the guard downstairs, at least half a dozen other employees, and—So help me, Mr. Fowler, if you start whooping again, I’m going to hang up.”
At that the man laughed and made an attempt at getting himself under control. “Could I see you tomorrow?” he asked politely. “We have some, ah, business to transact.”