She could walk into the lobby right now, and nobody would stop her. Though there was probably security to keep her from getting much farther than that. Maybe she’d ask to see Shane Colborn. Maybe she’d march right up to him and demand to see the historical files.
Then again, maybe that would be stupid. Shane was likely as selfish and greedy as his father. If he learned there was proof of his family’s dishonesty, there was no way he’d let her hunt for it. Instead, he’d be the one to find it and destroy it.
A bus rolled along the curb. Its air brakes groaned as it came to a stop and blocked her view. A few people stepped off while others boarded, then it pulled away, diesel engine grinding loudly before the sounds mingled with the other traffic.
Children squealed in the park beside her. Birds swooped from aspens to maple trees. The wind freshened the air, blowing away the exhaust from the four-lane thoroughfare.
It was lunchtime, and hundreds of people moved through the park and along the sidewalks. More entered the Colborn building. More came out.
Staring at the imposing stone structure, Darci knew the smart thing to do was walk away. She should forget the letter existed and carry on with her regular life. She could head back to her car, return to the loft and finish unpacking her belongings.
It was Friday. She and Jennifer were going to the Woodrow Club tonight. They’d meet up with some friends from Columbia, have a few drinks, maybe run into some nice guys. Who knew? This could be the night she met her soul mate.
Not that she was necessarily fixating on meeting Mr. Right. She’d like to get married someday, settle down, have kids. Who wouldn’t? But she was in no hurry.
Her and Jennifer’s web-design business was growing at a very satisfying pace. They’d planned a vacation in New York City for July. They had reservations at a hotel on Times Square and tickets to three shows. It was going to be fantastic.
Another bus passed, but it didn’t stop.
She gazed over the tops of the cars and taxis, staring at the glass doors that led to the Colborn Aerospace lobby, while speculating on what kind of a person could get access to the basement. A repairman, perhaps. She could rent a uniform, buy a toolbox and pretend she was from the telephone or the electric company.
Too bad she didn’t know a fuse from a resistor.
Maybe she could deliver a pizza.
A woman headed up the stairs to the front doors, then paused to smooth her skirt, seeming to brace herself before reaching for the door handle. She looked young, nervous and self-conscious.
Job interview, Darci concluded.
Then she sat up straight, a lightning bolt flashing in her brain.
Job interview.
Employees of Colborn Aerospace could wander all over the building. They would have security access, possibly even door keys. Nobody would question their right to be there. And they could chat up the other employees, find out where company records were kept, browse through them under one pretext or another, probably find anything they wanted about the company’s history.
That was the answer. She’d apply for a job, go to work for Colborn. It was a brilliant plan.
Under normal circumstances, Darci’s guilt alone would have stopped her from crashing any party anywhere, never mind one that hosted the who’s who of Chicago. But a week into her new job at Colborn Aerospace, she’d learned the oldest records were kept at the Colborn mansion. Tonight was her best chance to look around inside.
She’d rented a four-thousand-dollar, beaded, gold silk evening gown, splurged on a pair of sparkling heels and shelled out a fortune for hair and makeup at the swankiest salon in her neighborhood. If she did say so herself, she looked fabulous. At a passing glance, nobody would guess that she didn’t belong among the rich and influential.
Now she just needed to get through the front door.
At the top of the semicircular staircase, a butler was discreetly checking invitations. Darci hovered at the edge of the driveway, wondering how best to approach him, but she didn’t dare stand still too long or she’d call attention to herself.
A gray-haired couple brushed past her. The woman was dressed in a dramatic peacock-blue gown with a diamond brooch at the shoulder. Making a split-second decision, Darci fell into step beside the woman.
“That’s a lovely brooch,” she said to her as they walked.
Luckily, the woman turned and gave her a friendly smile. “Thank you. It’s Cartier.”
Darci frowned. “Oh dear. You have a little crease.” She boldly reached to the fabric above the brooch, pretending to smooth it out.
“May I confirm your invitation, sir,” the butler said to the older man.
Darci’s heart thudded as the man handed him a card.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Saunders,” said the butler.
“There we go,” Darci said to the woman, keeping her gaze studiously fixed on the dress, pretending she was part of the Saunders party. “That looks much better.”
“Thank you.” The woman, obviously Mrs. Saunders, nodded her appreciation.
Another couple stepped up behind them, drawing the butler’s attention, and Darci quickly moved forward.
Her heart was still thudding wildly as they went through the stately front doors and into the huge foyer.
“Enjoy your evening,” she managed to say to Mrs. Saunders.
“Enjoy yours,” Mrs. Saunders replied.
Darci peeled off to the right, anxious to mix in with the nearest crowd.
“Champagne, ma’am?” asked a neatly uniformed waiter.
“Thank you.” Darci helped herself to a crystal flute from his tray.
She had no intention of consuming any alcohol, but holding the glass would make her look more like a genuine guest.
Earlier in the week, she’d started a job in the records department of Colborn Aerospace. It was an entry-level position, requiring little in the way of experience, with a very low pay rate.
But for her, it was perfect, because it gave her access to the basement of the building. She and Jennifer had then poured over her father’s few belongings, hoping for a clue to the location of the original turbine-design drawings. Unfortunately, they hadn’t found anything else that seemed to help.
But during her company orientation, Darci learned that some of the historical records were stored in the basement of the mansion. So when she read about the search-and-rescue fundraiser, she threw together this plan.
As the guests milled around her in the main reception room, she took an absentminded sip of the champagne. So far, so good.
