An instant later, Libby followed, giving chase. “House too big!” she huffed. “Puppy too fast! I hate cardio!”
“Have you named her yet?” Xander called as the puppy closed in on us.
Libby stopped running and bent over, her hands on her knees. “I told you to name her, Xander. She’s—”
“A Hawthorne dog,” Xander finished. “As you wish.” He picked the puppy up and snuggled her to his chest. “We shall call you Tiramisu,” he declared.
“This is Nash’s doing, I presume?” Alisa reached out to stroke the puppy’s ear. “Fair warning,” she told the pup softly, “Nash Hawthorne has never loved anything he didn’t leave.”
Libby stared at Alisa for a moment, then pushed her sweaty hair out of her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Would you look at that,” she said in a deadpan. “It’s time for my cardio.”
As my sister stalked off, I narrowed my eyes at Alisa. “Was that really necessary?”
“We have bigger problems right now.” Alisa held out her phone. There was a news article on the screen.
“People Are Getting Very Nervous”： Hawthorne Heiress on Verge of Taking the Reins.
Apparently, Market Watch did not have a high opinion of my capabilities. All ventures in which Tobias Hawthorne had been a major investor were being flagged with caution.
“The onslaught continues,” I muttered. “I don’t have time for this.”
“And you won’t have to be the one to deal with things like this,” Alisa replied, “if you establish a trust.”
Don’t trust anyone. Suddenly, I heard that warning in a different way. Had Tobias Hawthorne meant it to have a double meaning? The closer I got to the year mark, the harder Alisa pushed, and the closer she and her firm got to losing the reins.
“Leave her alone, Alisa.”
I looked up to see Jameson striding toward us. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt, cuffed to his forearms. “A trust isn’t necessary. Avery can make do with financial advisors.”
“Financial advisors won’t calm anyone’s nerves about the idea of an eighteen-year-old calling the shots with one of the world’s biggest fortunes.” Alisa offered Jameson a closed-lipped, the defense rests kind of smile. “Perception matters.” She turned back to me. “And to that end, there’s something else you should see.”
She took her phone from me, toggled to a new page, then passed it back to me. This time, I found myself looking down at the celebrity gossip site that had broken the story about Emily and Eve.
Switching Hawthornes? Hawthorne Heiress and Her Swinging New Lifestyle.
Beneath that lovely headline, there was a series of pictures. Jameson in his tuxedo and me in my ball gown, dancing on the beach. A still frame taken from an interview I’d done months ago with Grayson—when he’d kissed me. The last picture was of me with Xander, standing on the porch at Rebecca’s house less than an hour earlier.
I hadn’t realized the paparazzi had caught us there. Then again, maybe it wasn’t the paparazzi. It was getting harder not to feel like our adversary was everywhere.
“Let’s look at the positives here,” Xander suggested. “I look dashing in that photo.”
“There’s no reason for Avery to see something like this,” Jameson said forcefully.
Jameson Winchester Hawthorne in protective mode was a thing to behold.
“Perception matters,” Alisa reiterated.
“Right now,” I replied, handing her phone back to her, “other things matter more. Tell me you’ve found something, Alisa. Who’s pulling the strings?”
She’d said that she was on it days ago—and then I hadn’t heard a word.
“Do you know how many people there are out there with a net worth of at least two hundred million dollars?” Alisa said calmly. “About thirty thousand. There are eight hundred billionaires in the United States alone, and this wouldn’t take billions.”
“It would take connections.”
I looked up to the stairs—and Grayson. He walked down them to join us but stopped short of looking at me. He was wearing all black, but not a suit.
“Whatever you have,” Grayson told Alisa, “send it to me.” Finally—finally—his eyes made their way to mine. “Where’s Eve?”
I felt like he’d struck me.
“The cottage.” Rebecca answered. “With my mom and grandpa.”
“If we find anything,” I said, trying not to let Grayson’s cutting look cut me, “we’ll call her.”
“Find anything…” Jameson’s eyes laser-locked on mine. “About what?”
“The person who took Toby is getting more aggressive,” Oren said.
“More aggressive how?” Alisa pressed.
Xander held Tiramisu up to his face and spoke in the puppy’s voice. “Don’t worry. The fire was very small.”
“What fire?” Jameson demanded, and he closed the space between us taking my hand. “Tell us, Heiress.”
“Another envelope. The message caught fire when it hit the air. Seven numbers.”
Jameson’s thumb traced the heel of my hand. “Well then, Heiress. Game on.”
CHAPTER 53
We had two potential clues: the seal and the number. Given that we were no closer to identifying the disk than Jameson and I had been for months, I opted to concentrate on the number.
Divide and conquer wasn’t a Hawthorne family motto, but it might as well have been. Grayson took financials: bank records, investment accounts, transactions. Xander, Thea, and Rebecca took the date angle: December 29, 1982. That left a myriad of possibilities for Jameson and me, among them the phone number. If we really were missing an area code, then filling in the blank would accomplish two things: First, it would give us a number to try calling. Second, it would give us a location.
A hint to where Toby was being held? Or another piece of the riddle?
“There are more than three hundred area codes in the United States,” Jameson said from memory.
“I’ll print out a list,” I told him, but what I really wanted to say was Are we okay?
Thirty minutes into making phone calls—each area code, followed by 363-1982—I hadn’t had a single call go through. Taking a break, I plugged the number into an internet search and skimmed the results. A court case involving discriminatory housing practices. A baseball card valued at over two thousand dollars. A hymn from the 1982 Hymnal in the Episcopal Church.
A phone rang. I looked up. Thea held up her phone. “Blocked number,” she said, and because she was Thea Calligaris and didn’t know the meaning of the words hesitation or second-guess, she answered.
Two seconds later, she passed the phone to me. I pressed it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Who am I?” a voice—that voice—said.
That question didn’t just get under my skin; it had been living there for days, and I wondered if he’d called Thea’s phone for the sole purpose of reminding me that he’d gotten to her.
“You tell me,” I replied. He wasn’t going to get a rise out of me. Not now.
“I already did.” His voice was as smooth as ever, his cadence distinct.