Home Free - Fern Michaels [43]
A very unladylike sound erupted from Maggie’s mouth. “Well, you thought wrong, Jason. Look, this is the way it is. I’m sorry I brought you here with me. You set me up back at the paper, and we both know it, so don’t deny it. I don’t know what your endgame is, but I’m not willing to be a part of it. I will admit you bedazzled me there for a little while, but it did not take long for that bedazzlement to fly out the window. So do us both a favor and stay away from me. I’m surprised you aren’t out there hanging with the press.”
One look at Jason’s face told her he’d already tried that and either been rebuffed or unable to get access to them. She laughed as she gathered up her jacket and slipped into it.
“You are so hateful, Maggie Spritzer.” Jason turned his back on her and motioned to the steward that he was ready to order.
Outside in the brisk air, Maggie took a great gulping breath. The wind was blustery, and it was hard to tell if the snow she was seeing was actually flurries or the wind blowing the snow from the trees and shrubs. She walked with her head down. When she got to Holly Cabin, she bolted up the steps and raced inside. Even though she had to go to the bathroom, she took the time to look around to see if she could spot the notebook Jason claimed to have lost. It took her ten minutes before she found the little notebook wedged between the sofa cushions in the main living area. Too pat. Too obvious. If she found it, why couldn’t Jason find it? She jammed the little book into the pocket of her sweats, raced to the bathroom, then into her room, where she locked the door. She pulled out the notebook and looked down at Jason Parker’s squiggles. Three pages of nothing but initials, or what she assumed were initials, then question marks. GS had to mean Gus Sullivan. MS had to mean Maggie Spritzer. She closed her eyes and let her mind roam to the other line of initials. The U.S. contingent, all present and accounted for. Only one question mark, next to JJ, whoever JJ was. She racked her brain. No one that she knew of had the initials JJ. The European contingent, all initials present and accounted for. Ditto for the outsiders.
Jason’s squiggles—his printing was tiny, a sign of an introvert. Or so she’d heard. Jason Parker, in her opinion, was not an introvert. The question now was, should she tell Jason she had found the notebook and hand it over or keep it to herself until she could figure out what he was up to? Well, that was a no-brainer. She shoved the notebook with the presidential seal on the cover into her pocket.
She was about to leave her room when the word setup ricocheted through her being. She whipped out her own notebook and proceeded to copy, as best she could, what she was seeing in Jason’s notebook. When she was finished, she checked it again, line by line, squiggly letter by letter. When she was satisfied that she had it down right, she marched out to the huge family area. A steward was replenishing the dying fire. She sat down on the nubby wheat-colored sofa and wedged the little notebook down between the cushions, just the way she had found it. “Screw you, Jason Parker,” she mumbled under her breath.
The other guests were stirring now; she could hear chatter from down the hall. The retired teacher, for some reason, had a shrill, high-pitched voice. How did that go over in a classroom? she wondered. The student from Virginia Tech barreled through the room on his way to the door. He noticed Maggie and said, “Dining is at the Laurel Lodge, right?”
Maggie nodded. She got up and headed back to her room, where she sat down in a comfortable rocker with a wonderful outside view of the snow-covered fairyland also known as Camp David. She needed to think.
Forty minutes later, with no further insight, Maggie gathered up her small backpack and her jacket. Her destination, Sycamore Cabin, to which the press corps had been assigned.
Just as she reached the door, a marine was about to enter the cabin. “Miss Spritzer, the president asked me to give this to you. I’m to wait for your