Daisy forced herself to put on her brightest smile as she approached the woman at the front desk.
“Hi there. I’m looking for Diana Starling. She’s a consultant who’s been working here for the past few months.”
Click click click went the woman’s long, silvery nails. “No one here by that name.”
“She’s a consultant. So maybe she’s not in your directory.”
In a bored voice, the woman said, “Every single person who comes in here has to be in our system. Either they’ve been assigned a permanent ID card, or they have to leave identification at the desk so we can issue a temporary pass. If this woman’s consulting here, she’d have a permanent ID. If she visited, she’d still be in our system. And I don’t have any record of anyone by that name.”
Daisy thanked the woman and walked outside before sitting heavily down on a bench in the courtyard. Her head was churning. If Diana wasn’t really a consultant, if she didn’t really live at 15 Rittenhouse or work at Quaker Pharmaceuticals, who was she? Why was she in Philadelphia? And what did she want with Daisy? There’s something wrong with that woman, she thought, and then pushed the memory of Hal’s voice away.
She walked back toward the park, thinking back to the first misdirected email she’d gotten, and checked her phone, grateful, for once, that she never remembered to delete things. Hal preached the gospel of the empty in-box. Meanwhile, Daisy’s in-box was a morass of coupons and spam and notices from Beatrice’s school that she never got rid of. The first DianaS/Diana.S email she’d gotten had arrived four months ago. Coinciding with… what, exactly? Six months ago was before Beatrice had gotten kicked out of Emlen. Before Hal’s classmate’s suicide, before the cocktail party, before he’d started drinking, and before her brother had started acting, and looking, so strained and drawn and sad. But not too far before. Were any of these things connected?
Daisy thought and got nowhere. Finally, because she couldn’t think of what else to do, she pulled out her phone and called Diana.
“Daisy!” Diana’s voice was warm and pleased, not at all furtive or guilty. “Thank you again for Saturday night. I had a wonderful time, and I’m sorry I had to leave in such a hurry. I’ve been meaning to call you. What’s up?”
“I was in town, running errands, and I thought I’d bring you some leftover chicken.”
There was the tiniest pause. “That’s so nice of you. Unfortunately, I’m a little snowed under right now. Maybe we can—”
“I went to your apartment building,” Daisy said.
The next pause was longer. “Oh,” Diana finally said. Still not furtive, still not guilty. Just calm, and patient. Waiting.
“They told me that 1402 is the model apartment. And that no one’s living there, and no one ever does. And no one at Quaker Pharmaceutical’s ever heard of you.”
She waited for excuses, for an I can explain. When Diana didn’t say anything, Daisy said, “What’s going on? Is this some kind of…” Game? Joke? Trick?
“Where are you?” Diana finally asked.
“Rittenhouse Square.”
“Can you meet me at Ants Pants on South Street in ten minutes?”
Daisy found herself absurdly relieved, thinking, At least she’s actually in Philadelphia At least she didn’t lie to me about that. “Fine.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’ll see you there.”
Daisy didn’t even realize she’d left the chicken on a park bench until she was a block away from the restaurant. Her heart was booming like a bass drum, her brain serving up a buffet of awful possibilities, each one worse than the last. She’s a scammer. She’s trying to steal my identity. She’s having an affair with Hal, Daisy thought. Maybe the dinner party had been a kind of audition, with Hal watching to see how the other Diana, Diana 2.0, did with his daughter and his dad. Maybe the two of them wanted to rub her nose in it. Maybe they’d been laughing at how gullible she was, how stupid, how they’d probably have to have sex right on her kitchen’s island for her to notice, and how, if they did, she’d probably just want to make sure they didn’t damage the countertops.
Diana had beaten her to the restaurant. Instead of one of her sleek dresses or her high-tech, fitted athleisurewear, she wore jeans, sneakers, and a fleece pullover. Her hair was up in a ponytail; her face was makeup-free. Daisy saw lines, age spots, a few freckles on her cheeks and nose. Her expression was anxious; her eyes wary.