Stone told her about the military contracts that Behan had won under the old regime. “Bradley’s predecessor as Speaker had been convicted of unethical practices, so it’s not a stretch to speculate that he might have been in Behan’s pocket. And then Bradley comes along as Mr. Clean, and Behan might not have wanted certain things to be investigated. So Bradley had to die.”

“And you’re thinking that Jonathan stumbled on this conspiracy, and they had to kill him before he could tell anyone?” She still sounded unconvinced, but not as much.

“What we have are two unsolved deaths of government people with Cornelius Behan as a common denominator and a neighbor of one of the dead men.”

Caleb added, “Behan was at the funeral today.”

Annabelle said sharply, “Which one was he?”

“Little redheaded guy —”

Annabelle finished for him, “Who thinks way too much of himself and had the tall bottle–blond wife who despises him.”

Stone looked impressed. “You sum people up quickly.”

“I’ve always seen an advantage in it. Okay, what’s our next move?”

Stone looked startled. “Our next move?”

“Yeah, once you give me a crash course on the info you’re obviously holding back, maybe we can make some real headway.”

“Miss Farmer,” Stone began.

“Just call me Susan.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to be in town long.”

“Change of plan.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You can ask. Can we meet tomorrow morning?”

“Absolutely,” Reuben said. “And if you need a place to bunk —”

“I don’t,” she said.

“We can meet at my house,” Stone suggested.

“Where’s that?” she asked.

“At a cemetery,” Milton said helpfully.

Annabelle didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

Stone wrote down the address and directions. When she went to take it from him, she stumbled and fell against him, grabbing on to his jacket to keep from falling.

“Sorry,” she said as her hand closed around the photo in his pocket. A second later she was pulling it out. And then something happened that had never happened before. Stone’s hand closed around her wrist.

He said in a low voice so only she could hear, “All you had to do was ask for it.” He released his grip, and she smoothly slid the photo into her pocket, her startled gaze on Stone’s grim features. She regained her composure and faced the others. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Reuben took her hand, gently kissing it in the style of the centuries–ago French gentleman. “I want you to know what a true pleasure it’s been making your acquaintance, Susan.”

She smirked. “Thanks, Reuben. Oh, there’s a nice view of what I’m assuming is Behan’s bedroom from up here. He’s getting it on with some hot chick right now. You might want to check it out.”

Reuben whipped around. “Oliver, you didn’t tell me that.”

Annabelle looked back at an exasperated Stone. “That’s okay, Oliver, Susan’s not my real name either. What a shock, huh?”

A minute later they heard the front door open and close. Reuben quickly took up post at the telescope, but just as quickly moaned, “Damn, they must have already finished.” He turned to Stone and said reverently, “God, what a woman.”

Yes, thought Stone, what a woman indeed.

• • •

Annabelle climbed into her car, started it and then pulled out the photo, rubbing her wrist where Stone had grabbed it. The guy named Oliver had actually caught her picking his pocket. Even as a kid assigned by her father to fleece tourists in L.A., she’d never been caught in the act. Tomorrow might prove to be very interesting.

Her attention turned to the photo. It was amazing how one picture could bring back so many memories. That year of her life was the only truly normal one she ever had. Some might have thought it boring, or at least uneventful. She had considered it wonderful. She’d stumbled across a man who’d fallen in love with her. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda, no leveraging for a bigger con down the road. He’d fallen in love with just her. A bookman and a con girl. All odds were against them making it, and as she well knew, only a fool bet against the odds.

And yet a gentle man who collected books had somehow captured her heart, toughened and scarred as it was. Early on in their relationship Jonathan had asked her if she collected anything. Annabelle had told him no, yet maybe that wasn’t true, she thought now. Perhaps she did collect something. Perhaps she collected lost chances.

She stared up at the big old house. In another life she and Jonathan might have lived there, with a passel of children, who knew? It was probably a good thing it hadn’t turned out that way. She would’ve likely made a terrible mother.

Her thoughts turned to the obvious issue. Jerry Bagger would be erupting in two days. The smart move would be to leave the country now, despite what she’d told the men about meeting tomorrow. It didn’t take her long to decide. She was staying and seeing it through. Maybe she owed it to Jonathan. Perhaps she owed it to herself. Because right now seemed a good time to end her collection of lost chances.

Chapter 31

Annabelle and the Camel Club gathered at Stone’s cottage at seven o’clock the next morning.

“Nice digs,” she said, gazing around the small interior. “And you have such quiet neighbors,” she added, motioning out the window to the tombstones.

“There are some dead people whose company I would prefer over that of certain of my living acquaintances,” Stone replied tersely.

“I can relate,” Annabelle said cheerfully, sitting down in front of the empty fireplace. “Let’s get to it, guys.”

Reuben sat next to her looking for the world like a large puppy hoping for a little scratch around the ears. Caleb, Milton and Stone sat across from them.

“Here’s my plan,” Stone said. “Milton will find out as much as possible about Bob Bradley. There may be something about that we can use. I’ll visit Bradley’s house, or rather what’s left of his house, and see what I can discover. Reuben used to be stationed at the Pentagon. He’ll work his contacts there to find out what he can about Behan’s military contracts that Bradley’s dethroned predecessor might have helped push through.”

Annabelle gazed at Reuben. “Pentagon, huh?”

He tried to appear modest. “Three tours of Nam too. Enough medals to decorate a damn Christmas tree. Hey, it’s all about serving your country.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Annabelle said, turning back to Stone. “But what about Jonathan’s death? How do we find out if someone killed him?”

“I have a theory about that, but it’ll require going to the Library of Congress and checking out the fire suppressant system there. The one problem with that is we don’t know where it’s located in the building. Caleb can’t find out because it’s classified for some reason. I guess so unauthorized persons couldn’t sabotage it, although I think that’s precisely what happened. The building is so massive that even if we could search room by room, it would take forever. We also need to see the configuration for the ventilation system for the room where Jonathan was found dead.”

She asked, “What’s this fire suppressant system got to do with anything?”

“I have a theory,” is all Stone would say.

“Wouldn’t the architect who did the building have the plans that would show both the fire system and the HVAC?” Annabelle pointed out.

“They would,” Stone said. “Although the Jefferson Building was built in the late 1800s, it underwent extensive renovation about fifteen years ago. The Architect of the Capitol has the plans, but we have no access to them.”

“Did they use a private architectural firm to help with the renovation?” she asked.

Caleb snapped his fingers. “You know, they did, one right here in D.C. I remember now, because the government was trying to stimulate the local economy and was getting more into public–private partnerships.”