Bloody Royal Prints by Reba White Williams Page A

possible?
    She removed her skirt and examined it. It, too, was blood-stained. The outfit was ruined, but that was the least of her worries. She needed time to think about where she could have brushed against blood, or walked in it, and what she should do about it.
    But George would arrive momentarily. She took an empty garment bag out of the hall closet and shoved the entire outfit, including the boots, in it. She hurried upstairs with the bag, and hung it in the back of her off-season clothes closet, behind her summer wardrobe. She locked the closet door. She selected a gray knit suit from her active closet and dressed as fast as she could, pulling on the gray suede shoes that went with the suit, and tying a gray and wine-red scarf around her neck. She was halfway downstairs when the doorbell rang.
    The maid ushered George, looking harassed, into the library. They sat in front of the fire. She sipped a cup of coffee, but the lawyer refused coffee and ginger biscuits. He must be seriously disturbed: He never turned down food. He wiped his perspiring forehead and frowned.
    â€œThe men you encountered this morning are quite strange. They called on me to question me about the information you gave them. I verified everything, of course. When they left, I tried to investigate them, but they don’t have addresses or an affiliation on their business cards. Nor are they listed in any of the usual places. I asked for an address, the location of their headquarters, and the names of their supervisors, but they said everything was ‘classified.’
    â€œI asked an associate for help. He did a fair amount of research on ‘Palace Police,’ but found nothing. No organization called ‘Palace Police’ is listed anywhere,” he said. “This is like something out of an American spy film.”
    Rachel frowned. “I did not even look at their cards. But if we do not know how to reach them, how will I recover my passport?”
    â€œI have it,” he said. He took it out of his briefcase and handed it to her.
    â€œHow did you manage to get it back?” Rachel asked.
    â€œI told them I would telephone the American Ambassador and explain that they had seized your passport and refused to return it, so you must have a new one. They returned it by messenger. I don’t think they care to be involved with a U.S. government official,” said George. “That tells us something, but I’m not sure what.”
    â€œWere you able to determine why they are so hostile to me?” Rachel asked.
    â€œAll they would say is that you keep ‘bad company,’ and that ‘birds of a feather will gather together.’”
    â€œBut that is absurd. I do not ‘keep company’ or ‘gather.’ I see few people. Hardly anyone, in fact,” Rachel said.
    â€œYes, I know that. I explained it to them. They asked for a list of the people you see frequently. Would you be willing to put together a list?”
    â€œI suppose so, although I cannot give them a client list. Anyway, Miss Manning sees most of the clients,” Rachel said.
    â€œForget about your clients for the moment,” George said. “Tell me whom you have seen recently.”
    â€œIn the last three weeks, other than those in my household, I saw you and the others in the party that attended the play at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre Tuesday night. I have seen Julia and Dinah Greene Hathaway and Princess Stephanie. I see my publisher and my editor occasionally, and my banker once a month. I frequent various libraries and museums, so I see librarians and curators. I go to bookstores, so I know people who work in them. Once in a while, when he’s in London, I see Heyward Bain. I have no family, and few friends.”
    George sighed. “I’ll give them your list, but they must be looking for something or someone else. The associations you mention are too harmless to provoke these men. I can’t