You would have pissed yourself. You would have frozen just like I did, and Darlington would be just as gone.”
Silence on the other end of the phone and then, as if she’d never spoken the words and didn’t quite know how to make the syllables match, Dawes shouted, “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!”
Something about that stuttered bit of profanity pierced Alex’s miserable mood. The anger gusted out of her and she felt the sudden urge to laugh—
which she knew would be a huge mistake.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dawes. You don’t know how sorry I am. But the car doesn’t matter. I matter. You matter. And I promise we’ll get it back. I just … I just need a little grace right now.”
After a long moment, Dawes said, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes. For the time being. I’m sorry I was rude.”
Then Alex did laugh. “You’re forgiven. And you should swear more, Dawes.”
Alex knew the restaurant was at a yacht club, but it wasn’t what she’d anticipated. She’d thought there would be a valet, men in blue blazers, women in pearls. Instead it was an ordinary-looking building on the waterfront, with a flag out front and a big parking lot. Alex locked her bike to the railing by the steps. She would have liked to wear her hair up, look a
bit more conservative, but the marks on her neck were still red and swollen, as if her body was staving off an infection, and if she just slapped another bandage on her neck, she’d look like she was trying to hide a hickey.
Anselm was waiting at a four-top on a covered deck that faced the ocean, the harbor crowded with boats, their masts tilting one way or the other, some of them christened after women, others with names like The Hull Truth, Knotty Girl, Reel Easy. He’d slung his arm over the chair beside him, and he looked like an ad for an expensive watch. The other tables were crowded with Yalies and their parents, businessmen taking long lunches, a few older women in quilted coats lingering over glasses of rosé.
“Alex!” he said when he caught sight of her, his voice warm and vaguely surprised, as if he hadn’t invited her there. “Have a seat.” He waved over a server who placed a menu in front of her. “I’ve already eaten, but please, get whatever you like.”
Alex wasn’t going to say no to a free meal. She thought she should probably order something like mussels or grilled fish, but years of eating her mother’s all-grain, sprouted carob experiments had left her with a lifelong craving for junk food. She ordered the sliders and a Coke for the caffeine.
“I wish I could eat like you,” Anselm said, patting what looked like a flat stomach. “Youth is wasted on the young. If I’d known what middle age would look like, I would have spent more time eating fried chicken and less time at the gym.”
“You’re middle-aged?”
“Well, I will be … What?”
Alex realized she was staring. “Sorry, you just seem different, more relaxed.”
“Is that surprising? Believe it or not, I don’t relish chastising undergraduates.”
“Dawes is a Ph.D. candidate.”
He cast her a glance. “I think you know what I mean.”
Now that the new Praetor had been appointed, Anselm seemed like a different person, unburdened by the worries and obligations of Lethe.
“I’m surprised you’re back in Connecticut,” she said. “I thought I’d have to come to New York.”
“I’m usually in Connecticut once or twice a month for meetings. It’s why the board asked me to step in and oversee things at Lethe. And given what happened to Dean Beekman, I thought it couldn’t hurt to check in. He was a legend. I think everyone who knew him is pretty shaken.”
“Did you know him?”
He cocked his head to one side. “Is this why you wanted to have lunch?
Does Centurion have you checking alibis?”
“No,” Alex said, which was true. And there was no reason for her to suspect Anselm had anything to do with Marjorie Stephen or Dean Beekman.
“I’m sorry. After everything that happened last year.” She shrugged. “Old habits.”
“I get it. The people who were supposed to protect you didn’t really do the job, did they?”
And they never had. But Alex didn’t want to think too much on that, not at this table with this stranger on a sunny afternoon. “I guess not.”
“Lethe asks a lot of us, doesn’t it?”
Alex nodded. She felt nervous and her palms were damp. Between her miserable nightmares, she’d lain awake last night, trying to think of the best approach for this. But Anselm had offered her an opening so she was going to take it. “It does,” she said. “You’ve seen my file.”
“And now you’re rolling in clover.”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me about California.”
“It’s like this, but the water is warmer and the people are betterlooking.”
Anselm laughed and Alex felt herself unwind a little. She’d been prepared for Anselm in authority mode, but this guy wasn’t all bad. He’d clearly had a couple of glasses of wine with lunch and he was enjoying being out of the office. She could work with this.
“Who were you meeting?” she asked.
“A few friends working out of Stamford. You know where the old AIG
