electronic device out of her adorable dress-matching red-sequined bag as fast as she could before Dee-Dee changed what there was of her mind. “So what does he look like?”
“Oh, he’s…” Dee-Dee gestured expansively and raised her eyes to the ceiling. “You know.”
“Ah. Yes.” Hannah’s heart sank even as she opened a new memo, ready to write down directions. Dee-Dee definitely hadn’t met him. Probably didn’t even know which house was his. This would turn out to be another attention-grabbing hoax. She better prepare herself for the disappointment right now. And yet, on the crazy minuscule chance this could be legit…“So where does he live?”
She poised her fingers over the tiny keyboard and waited. Several minutes later, she’d written down Dee-Dee’s directions, which consisted mostly of phrases like “turn left at that big stone thing” and “stay on the road even when it looks like you shouldn’t.”
A miracle if she found it. And an even bigger one if there was anything to find.
Excitement swelled in the room. Someone started a countdown from sixty seconds. Hannah slipped the BlackBerry back into her evening bag, then snagged—finally—a second glass of the slightly sour champagne from a passing waiter and turned to face the screen, counting along with everyone else.
As soon as midnight came and went she’d find Gerard, thank him for a wonderful evening and set out on her hunt for the wild and elusive Jack Brattle, heir to his father’s real estate fortune which could, of course, given that Dee-Dee didn’t seem qualified for Mensa, be nothing but a wild-goose chase.
She lifted her glass as the shouting started. Five, four, three, two, one…
Or…she could scoop every other reporter in the country and make this a really phenomenal start to the rest of her life.
Chapter Two
HANNAH PRESSED HER FOOT gingerly on the accelerator, peering through the windshield into a curtain of sleet, bouncing tzap-tzap off the glass and tinkling on the roof of her beloved bright red Mazda, which she’d named Matilda. Hannah considered herself a very persistent investigator, but even she was questioning how smart it was to be out here so late in this mess with no one around. Pennsylvania’s gentle rolling countryside surrounded her car. Despite the beauty of the fields, forests and sloping hills, she did not want to slide off the road and end up spending the night in any of them.
Amazingly, Dee-Dee’s directions had held up so far, which fueled her determination to keep going. Hannah had found “the stone thing” and she even recognized the “amazing tree.” The woman might not radiate brainpower, but, whether or not Hannah found the Jack Brattle pot of gold at the end of this rainbow, Dee-Dee obviously had a sharp eye and a killer memory. All Hannah had to do now was turn down a driveway where the gates were “kind of creepy and jail-like.” Not to mention, “not very visible from the road unless you were looking.”
She was looking; she just wasn’t seeing.
The sleet fell harder. A driveway crept by; Hannah peered toward it. No gates.
“Come on, Jack’s house.” At this point, she just wanted to see the damn thing, mark the address so her BlackBerry could find it again, and come back when the weather wasn’t intent on killing her. Of course hindsight was now sitting on her shoulder whispering that she would have done a lot better to come back later in the first place.
Next driveway. No gates. Phooey. Properties weren’t exactly close together out here in Billionaireland. Everyone needed his own private stable, pool, tennis court, golf course…all the basic necessities of survival.
Her BlackBerry rang. She dragged it from her bag, which she’d flung onto the passenger’s seat, and glanced at the screen. Dad, calling to wish her Happy New Year. If she didn’t answer, he’d worry. She eased Matilda over to the side of the road and turned on her flashers.
“Happy New Year, Dad.”
“Happy New Year to you, sweetheart.” His rough slow voice crackled over the tenuous connection. “Why don’t I hear party noise, you didn’t go? Or do fancy parties not make noise?”
“I left after midnight. Wanted to get home before the weather turned bad.”
“Is it bad now? I haven’t looked outside in a while.”
“Uuh, no. Not bad yet.” The tinkles of ice crystals on her roof turned to sharp taps. In the white beam of her headlights pea-sized balls bounced and rolled on the asphalt. Hail to the chief. “The roads are fine.”
“Okay. But call me when you get home. The storm is supposed to come on fierce.”
Tell me about it. “I’m…seconds away, Dad. In fact, turning on my street now. How’s Mom?”
“Better, still better. Always better, thank God. I don’t know what we would have done without Susie.”
“She’s a blessing, for sure.”
“Mom even fed herself part of her dinner tonight. I made lasagna.”
“Good for her! Her favorite. That’s wonderful.” She smiled, ashamed of herself for not being grateful enough as the clock ticked toward midnight for the few good events of the past year. Dad’s latest employer, The Broadway Symphony, on the brink of collapse, had been saved by a generous donor who wiped out the orchestra’s debt and allowed her father to keep the first job he’d ever held down this long—going on five years now. And Susie, a nursing angel of mercy, had showed up at their door, highly recommended by Mom’s doctor, offering to help out with Mom’s rehabilitation right there in their home for practically slave wages, saying she needed the experience.
Before those miracles, Hannah had gone through agonizing feelings of helplessness with her own bank account in no shape to help. Prey to addiction and poverty, her parents hadn’t done much to give her a secure childhood, but especially now that they’d climbed out of the pit, she wanted them to have a secure retirement. “Tell Mom I love her and that I know this year will have her back to her old self. I’ll call tomorrow.”
“I’ll tell her. I hope it’s a good year for you, too, Hannah-Banana.” He coughed to clear his throat—a legacy of lifelong smoking. “Maybe a nice young man will come along.”
“Maybe.” She rolled her eyes. Yeah, maybe. Maybe he’d even stick around longer than a few weeks or a month. And maybe cancer would start curing itself and global warming spontaneously reverse.
“You take care of yourself. Drive safely.”
“I will. Love you, Dad.” She ended the call with another pang of guilt as the sleet continued to bombard Matilda, collecting on the roads at an alarming rate. This was crazy. If anything happened to her, what would it do to her poor father who’d already had his relatively new sobriety and stability threatened with her way-too-young mom’s shocking stroke and his livelihood nearly yanked out from under him?
Hannah was being selfish. She should turn around now and crawl home, give up this crazy quest until the weather was better.
Except she’d already come this far…And it was Jack Brattle. What if someone else in the business had overheard Dee-Dee? What if Hannah lost this huge long shot at a
