The President's Daughter - Mariah Stewart [89]
Simon changed lanes and eased past the Honda that had been sticking faithfully to the speed limit for the past several miles.
“Including a father who lived in the White House.” She spoke the words so softly Simon wondered if she hadn’t been talking to herself.
Simon thought of passing the tractor trailer in front of him, but his steering wheel began to shimmy when the speedometer pushed eighty. He eased off the gas and fell back into the inside lane.
“What?” Simon asked when he glanced over and found Dina gazing out the window.
“I haven’t taken a day off in so long that I feel like I’m playing hooky.”
“You must invest a lot of time in your business.”
“Every waking moment, in one form or another,” she admitted.
Dina paused as if something had just occurred to her. “Simon, do you think there’s a possibility that the person who was after me might go to my farm to find me?”
“I guess anything is possible, but they’d have to know that you own your business and where it is—”
“Neither would be difficult to learn in a town like Henderson. All you have to do is stop at the first gas station and ask.” Dina shifted in her seat. “And speaking of which, maybe I should call Polly and tell her to let me know if anyone . . . strange . . . comes around.”
“That’s probably not a bad idea.”
Dina searched in her purse for her cell phone, then hit the speed dial button.
“Hi,” she said, forcing an upbeat note. “What’s going on? . . . . They called this morning? Can you just call them back and tell them I’ll be in touch as soon as I get back. . . . Well, I’m not sure. . . . I’m taking a sort of minivacation. . . .”
She appeared to be inspecting her nails—which were short and rounded, without polish—while listening somewhat pensively.
“But there is one thing. . . . If there is someone— anyone—who acts the least bit odd or suspicious, call me right away. I can’t go into it right now, but if anyone asks, just say I took a week off. . . . No, no, I’m fine, really. . . . No, I’m not in any trouble. It’s just . . . complicated,” Dina sighed. “I’ll tell you everything when I get back, but for now, if you could just hold down the fort . . . thank you. I appreciate that. . . .
“I think we need to figure this whole thing out before someone gets hurt,” Dina told Simon after she ended her phone conversation.
“That would be the plan.”
“Any thoughts on how we’re going to go about doing that?”
“No, but the day is young,” he told her. “Maybe after listening to my tapes again one of us will have some inspiration. In the meantime, just sit back and relax for a while. Try closing your eyes. You look like you could use the rest.”
Dina lapsed back into silence, her head back against the seat, her eyes closed as Simon had suggested. He turned the radio on low and searched for a station that had more music than static. Finding one, he settled back, got into the rhythm of the traffic headed for D.C., and left Dina alone with her thoughts until they arrived at the city limits.
“Looks as if the sky has finally cleared up.” Dina opened her eyes and squinted as she looked out the window.
“It’s been sunny for the past twenty miles or so.” Simon glanced over and added, “We’re only a few blocks away from the zoo.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind stopping?” Dina asked as she searched her pocket for the scrap of paper on which she’d jotted down the address of Blythe’s old apartment building. “I guess I was hoping that if I went to the place where Blythe lived, I’d have a stronger sense of her.”
“As long as you’re all right with it. You know, of course, that that’s where she . . .” Simon hesitated.
“Yes.” Dina nodded solemnly. “Where she died. Yes, I’m sure. . . .”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Simon circled the block several times before finding a parking place on one of the adjacent side streets. From there he and Dina walked around the corner to Connecticut Avenue and stood in front of the building that matched the address that Betsy had given Dina the night before.
The white apartment building had been one of many erected in the