“Why us?” she asked rhetorically. “Why not us?” Charlie asked back. She grinned at him and sat down at the breakfast table where he was finishing his French toast. “That,” she said, pouring more coffee, “was Deborah Rice, nee Wyandot, heiress to one of the world’s great fortunes. She wants to come talk to us this afternoon, and she lied to me.” His interest rose slightly, enough to make him look up from the newspaper. “About what?” “She claims we know people in common and that we probably met in school. I knew she was there—it would be like trying to hide Prince Charles, I should think—but I never met her, and she knows it” “So why did you tell her to come on out?” “I’m not sure. She wanted us to come to her place in Bridgeport and when I said no, she practically pleaded for an appointment here.
