Riley neared the Magnolia Gardens Country Club and was stopped at a little white building at the gate. A green and white striped boom barrier blocked the way, and a uniformed security guard holding a clipboard stepped out of the building and walked up to the driver's side of her car.
Riley opened the window.
"Your name?" the guard said brusquely.
Riley was not at all certain about the protocol needed to get into the club, but Newbrough had said he'd let them know she was coming.
"I'm Riley Paige," she said. Then she stammered, "I'm a, uh, guest of Senator Newbrough."
The guard scanned the list, then nodded.
"Go on in," he said.
The boom gate lifted and Riley drove on through.
The entry lane wound through the namesake gardens, extremely luxurious, colorful, and fragrant this time of year. At last she pulled up at a brick building with white columns. Unlike those on the funeral parlor she'd visited recently, these columns were the real thing. Riley felt as if she'd stumbled upon some sort of nineteenth-century Southern plantation.
A valet hurried up to her car, gave her a card, and took her keys. He drove the car away.
Riley stood alone in front of the grand entrance, feeling as out of her element as she had at the Senator's home. Dressed in casual jeans, she wondered if she'd even be allowed to enter. Wasn't there some kind of a dress code in places like this? It was a good thing her jacket draped loosely over her shoulder holster.
A uniformed doorman stepped out to meet her.
"Your name, ma'am?" he asked.
"Riley Paige," she said, wondering if he'd ask for some sort of identification.
The doorman glanced at his own list. "Right this way, ma'am," he said.
He escorted her inside, down a long corridor, and to a small, private dining room. She had no idea whether to tip the doorman or not. But then, she had no idea how much the man was paid. Might he make more than she did as an FBI agent? She thought it possible that offering a tip might be more gauche than not tipping him at all. It seemed best not to take chances.
"Thank you," she said to the man.
He nodded, showing no sign of disappointment, and went back the way they'd come.
The room was small but by far the most posh dining area she'd ever ventured into. There were no windows, but the single painting on the wall was an original oil of the namesake gardens she's passed outside.
The single table was set with silver, china, crystal, and linen. She chose a plush covered chair that faced the door and sat down. She wanted to see Senator Newbrough when he arrived.
If he arrives, she thought. She had no real reason to think he wouldn't. But this whole situation seemed so unreal, she didn't know what to expect.
A white-suited waiter came in and placed a tray with cheeses and a variety of crackers on her table.
"Would you like something to drink, ma'am?" he asked politely.
"Just water, thanks," Riley said. The waiter went out and within seconds popped back in with a crystal pitcher of water and two matching glasses. He poured water for her and left the pitcher and the other glass on the table.
Riley sipped at her water. She had to admit to herself that she enjoyed the feel of the elegant glass in her hand. She only had to wait a minute or two before the Senator arrived, looking every bit as cold and severe as he had before. He closed the door behind him and sat down on the opposite side of her table.
"I'm glad you came, Agent Paige," he said. "I've brought something for you."
Without further ceremony, Newbrough placed a thick, leather-bound notebook on the table. Riley stared at it warily. She remembered the list of enemies that Newbrough had given her the first time they'd met. Was this going to be something equally problematic?
"What is this?" she asked.
"My daughter's diary," Newbrough said. "I picked it up at her house after she was … found. I took it because I didn't want anyone to see it. Mind you, I don't know what's in it. I've never read it. But I'm quite sure it includes things that I'd rather not have become public knowledge."
Riley didn't know what to say. She had no idea why he might want her to have this. She could tell that Newbrough was weighing whatever he was about to say next carefully. From the first time she met with him, she'd been sure that he'd been withholding information from her. She tingled with expectancy that he might now tell her what that was.
Finally he said, "My daughter was having trouble with drugs during the last year of her life. Cocaine, heroin, Ecstasy, all kinds of hard stuff. Her husband put her on that route. It was one of the reasons her marriage failed. Her mother and I had been hoping she was pulling out of it when she died."
Newbrough paused, staring at the diary.
"At first I thought that her death was somehow connected with all that," he said. "The users and dealers in her circle were an unsavory bunch. I didn't want it to get out. You understand, I'm sure."
Riley wasn't at all sure that she did understand. But she was certainly surprised.
"Drugs had nothing to do with your daughter's murder," she said.
"I realize that now," Newbrough said. "Another woman was found dead, wasn't she? And doubtless there will be more victims. It appears that I was wrong in thinking this had anything to do with me or my family."
Riley was stunned. How often did this incredibly egotistical man ever admit that he was wrong about anything?
He patted the diary with his hand.
"Take this with you. It might have some information to help you with your case."
"It's not my case anymore, Senator," Riley said, allowing a trace of her bitterness to emerge. "I think you know that I was fired from the Bureau."
"Oh, yes," Newbrough said, tilting his head thoughtfully. "My mistake, I'm afraid. Well, it's nothing I can't fix. You'll be reinstated. Give me a little time with it. Meanwhile, I hope you can make use of this."
Riley was overwhelmed by the gesture. She took a deep breath.
"Senator, I believe I owe you an apology. I—I wasn't at my best the last time we met. I'd just been to a friend's funeral, and I was distraught. I said some things I shouldn't have."
Newbrough nodded in silent acceptance of her apology. It was apparent that he wasn't going to apologize to her, as much as she knew that she deserved it. She had to be content with his admission that he'd made a mistake. At least he was trying to make amends. That mattered more than an apology, anyway.
Riley picked up the diary without opening it.
"There's just one thing I'd like to know, Senator," she said. "Why are you giving this to me and not to Agent Walder?"
Newbrough's lips twisted into a slight semblance of a smile.
"Because there's one thing I've learned about you, Agent Paige," he said. "You're nobody's lapdog."
Riley couldn't reply. This sudden respect from a man who otherwise seemed to only have regard for himself simply stunned her.
"And now perhaps you'd like some lunch," the Senator said.
Riley thought it over. As grateful as she was for Newbrough's change of heart, she still felt far from comfortable around him. He remained a cold, brittle, and unpleasant man. And besides, she had work to do.
"If you don't mind, I think I'd better excuse myself," she said. Indicating the diary, she added, "I need to start making use of this right away. There's no time to lose. Oh—and I promise not to let anything I find here become public."
"I appreciate that," Newbrough said.
He politely rose from his chair as Riley left the room. She exited the building and handed the ticket to the valet. While she waited for him to fetch her car, she opened the diary.
As she flipped through its pages, she saw right away that Reba Frye had written quite a bit about her illicit drug use. Riley also got the immediate impression that Reba Frye was a very self-absorbed woman who seemed to be obsessed with petty resentments and dislikes. But after all, wasn't that the whole point of a diary? It was a place where one had every right to be self-absorbed.
Besides, Riley thought, even if Reba had been as narcissistic as her father, she certainly didn't deserve such a terrible fate. Riley felt a chill as she remembered the photos she'd seen of the woman's corpse.
Riley continued flipping through the diary. Her car pulled up on the gravel driveway, but she ignored the valet, mesmerized. She stood there, hands trembling, and read all the way through to the end, desperate for any mention of the killer, of anything, any clue at all. But she was crestfallen to find none.
She began to lower the heavy book, feeling crushed. She couldn't stand another dead end.
Just then, as she lowered it, a small piece of paper, tucked between two pages, began to slip out of the book. She caught it and studied it, curious.
As she examined it, her heart suddenly slammed in her chest.
In utter shock, she dropped the diary.
She was holding a receipt.
To a doll store.
