I moved outdoors and called 911. The Cameron office was another matter; the number was not programmed into my new phone. Worse, I was in such a state that it vanished from my memory. Several wrong numbers later, I gave up and re-entered the stable.

      Ali was squinting at a slip of paper. “This was in her hand. Doesn’t make much sense.”

      He passed me the crumpled sheet and I read it, quickly at first, more deliberately a second time. My heart pounded. Was this the mysterious code?

      “Drop the plumb line of truth to the all-seeing eye,

      Find the key to the secrets wedged halfway between.

      Follow ten degrees west, fifty perches now south,

      Neath the hickory tree, reason measures the sky.”

      Ali frowned. “What do you make of it?”

      I feigned nonchalance. “Bunny mentioned that her hobby is writing. This must be one of her poems. I’m not a proper judge, but it doesn’t strike me as being very good.”

      Ali accepted my explanation. The moment his back was turned, I tucked the sheet into my jacket pocket. 

      In the adjacent stall, a horse whinnied. The pungent smell of death mingling with the stable’s earthy aromas already had attracted a swarm of flies above the body. Fleeing outside for air, I noticed the sun creeping behind dark, scudding clouds. Raw breezes whipped tendrils of hair across my cheek. Was this the vanguard of a summer storm?

      A police car, its red beacon revolving, rounded the final curve of the driveway. It drew alongside mine and two officers stepped out. They conducted their business with scant emotion. They questioned us both, jotted brief notes, sketched the scene, and summoned the coroner. At length we were free to leave.

      Back on the main road, Ali recovered quickly. His dark eyes glinting provocatively, he pressed me about lunch.

      I shook my head. “I need time to pull myself together. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

      I dropped him off, then drove to the office. 

      Robin met me at the door. “How awful for you.”

      “You know?”

      “The authorities were here talking to Mr. Cameron.”

      “How is that possible?”

      “Word travels fast.”

      “I see.” 

      Burke Cameron’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Ms. Prescott, please come with me.”

      I followed him into his office. Positioning a leather chair across the desk from his, he motioned me to sit down. Was he going to berate me?

      He removed his glasses. His steel blue eyes looked straight into mine. “Please don’t be afraid, Amanda. I need your help. From the top, tell me exactly what happened.”

      I described my conversation with Bunny Phelps in detail and the scene in the stable.

      He listened quietly. “You needn’t limit your thoughts to Bunny. What about Ahmed?
I masked my nervousness with a laugh. “I’ll be glad to make the sale and get as far from him as possible.”

      “Tell me exactly what you mean.”

      “Maybe it’s woman’s intuition, but he frightens me. He seems like a professional actor, Hollywood’s version of a wealthy emir.”

      Burke tilted back in his chair and smiled. “You’re a born detective.”

      “You’re saying that he’s not a legitimate client?”

      “I’m saying nothing you haven’t thought. He lifted your cell phone, you know.”

      “No, I didn’t, but how do you…?”

      “I saw him take it from your bag at The Depot.”

      “Then you were following me. Because I was in danger?”
      
      He nodded. “I’ll explain in good time. When he took that phone and left you without any way to contact the office, I knew we were headed for pay dirt.”

      Expelling what breath was left, I clutched the arms of my chair. “Mr. Cameron, this charade isn’t about real estate, is it?”

      “Not in a pig’s eye, Amanda.” Tossing me a sly wink, he jotted a message on his notepad: “Can’t talk here. Meet me in the Leesburg parking garage at six.”

      I was about to blurt a comment when his eyes cautioned silence. “By the way, Martin dropped off your car. It’s in the parking lot.”

      “Did he leave the bill?”

      “No charge. It’s part of the package,” He grinned broadly at my reaction. “I suggest that you take it and leave the company car here.”

      I considered the note in my hand. “Someone might be after me?”

      “Exactly. And avoid your apartment.” His stern expression confirmed the danger. “In the meantime, we’ll keep in touch, vicariously, at least.” 

      With that, he turned on his CD player.

      Before two measures went by, I gasped. “That’s my recording of Fauré’s ‘Pavane.’”

      His expression softened. “One of my favorites. You give it such a plaintive touch that the listener wants to reach out and hug you.”

      “But where…?”

      “I bought it in the Strathmore lobby. After your concert.”

      My head began to swirl. “You were there! It was you. It had to be you!” I put my hands to my face. “Oh, Mr. Cameron…Burke, I should have known.  I made a terrible mistake!”

      He came from behind the desk with a bound. “Taking my hands gently in his, he whispered, “We’ll set it right, Amanda.”

      I smiled at him through my tears, half expecting him to gather me into his arms. Instead, eyes hooded, he opened the office door and spoke loud enough for all to hear, “Thank you, Ms. Prescott. You must take the afternoon off to settle your nerves.“

      By the time I found my trusty jalopy, the dreadful weights of the past had lifted. Everything fell into place, even the key Martin had left in the ignition. Still clutching Burke’s note in my hand, I tucked it into my pocket. In so doing, my fingers touched the crumpled sheet. Too late. This evening I would show him the cryptic lines.

      With three hours to kill before meeting Burke, only my subconscious knew why I was speeding toward Leesburg. The answer came as I stood on the threshold of Sybil Clyde’s home and the door swung open. 

      “Do come in, Amanda. I’ve been expecting you.”

© 2006Emily Pritchard Cary. All Rights Reserved. Contact Emily Cary at