"You know, Adrian has a history of using people and discarding them," Joseph continued.
I glanced toward the storage room to make certain there were no little ears listening in. "What do you mean?"
"When you can offer Adrian something he desires, he's delighted to make a deal and acts as if he is your best friend. But once he has gotten what he wants, he is inclined to toss people away-he'll run over you if it suits him."
Sam had indicated as much.
"So, Mrs. Hopewell assumed that he was tossing us away, that he sent us packing."
"I'm guessing that. There are some things you should understand about Mrs. Hopewell. She is very loyal to Adrian, and perhaps even more so to Robyn.
She raised Robyn-Trent, too, after Adrian divorced, but it's Robyn that Hopewell sees as her daughter. She'll do anything for her."
"Kate, c'mere," Patrick called from the back room.
"In a minute," I called back, then lowered my voice. "Joseph, do you remember the orange cat that Ashley loved?"
"The feral one?"
"He showed up last night."
"The same cat?" Joseph asked, his head bent forward as if he hadn't heard me correctly.
"One with a bitten-off tail and torn ear. It was the cat's left ear, wasn't it?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "There was something. . unsettling about that cat, the way he responded to Ashley-did what she wanted with just a look from her, without her saying a word."
"There are a lot of unsettling things at Mason's Choice," I replied. "Patrick has Ashley's furniture and Ashley's horses-he knows her secret names for them. He has Ashley's books and Ashley's outdoor play set-or I should say mine-you remember the old metal swings and bars by the workers' cottages.
He prefers them to the new equipment the way Ashley did and-" "Kate?" Patrick stood at the storage room door. "We'd better go home. I'm supposed to play with Ashley this afternoon. She'll get mad if I'm not there."
I turned back to Joseph, whose eyes had just grown larger. "That's the other thing I wanted to tell you about."
When Patrick and I arrived home, he ceremoniously carried his autographed poster to the third-floor playroom, where we hung it on the wall.
"It looks spectacular," I said, then glanced past him. Something was missing. "Patrick, where's Patricia?"
He turned quickly and saw the hamster's empty cage. The screen, which should have covered the glass tank, was propped against its side. "Patricia?"
he called softly.
Emily was going to have my head.
I remembered seeing Patrick replace the weighted screen after feeding his pet. Sometime after that, there had been five minutes, maybe less, when I had left him alone. "Were you playing with her after she ate?" I asked.
"No."
"You're certain of that? I'm not angry. I want to know because it makes sense to look wherever you last saw her."
I last saw her in her cage."
A hamster could hide in a million places in the playroom and schoolroom, not to mention the rest of the third floor-my room and the two large storage rooms.
"Maybe Ashley let her out," Patrick suggested.
"Don't blame her," I said shortly.
"I'm not blaming her. If Ashley did it, it was an accident. She probably just wanted to play and I wasn't here."
I bit my lip. He wasn't using his imaginary playmate as an excuse-he really believed it.
We searched the playroom, schoolroom, and my bedroom. When I opened the door to one of the storage rooms, I saw that the task was overwhelming.
Clothing, furniture, old athletic equipment, books-there was no way we could find a three-inch bit of fur unless she willingly came out. I hated lying to Patrick; still, I wondered how hard it would be to buy an identical hamster and pretend that a hungry "Patricia" had come home while he was in school Monday.
We searched the storage room for a while, and I saw Patrick's eyes fill up several times.
"Let's go outside," I suggested. "Since Patricia ate all of her food this morning, she won't be hungry enough to come back yet."
"But she may come back because she misses me."
"Of course. Of course, she misses you, but she's having a little adventure right now. We'll check for her later."
I had hoped we could make it outside without seeing anyone-l needed time to decide how to handle this-but when we reached the kitchen, Brook was there. Patrick's concern for his pet made him desperate for help.
"Patricia is gone," he confided. "She's not in her cage. Have you seen her?"
"Patricia," Brook replied, popping open a can of Coke. "Is she a hamster? Kind of brown?"
"Yeah! Real brown!" Patrick looked hopeful.
"Brook," I warned.
I did see her. She was carrying a little backpack, heading to the orangerie."
"Cut it out, Brook."
He shrugged at me. "I'm just telling you what I saw," he said.
Patrick rushed toward the kitchen door.
"Brook was teasing," I called, then hurried outside after Patrick. He rounded the corner of the house and ran toward the orangerie.
The orangerie, tennis courts, outdoor pool, and docks were laid out in a line along the northern edge of the estate, which bordered the river mouth. The orangerie was a long building with a row of tall Palladian windows, more glass than brick. Citrus trees and other tropical plants grew inside.
"Do you think she went in?" Patrick asked me.