Chapter Seven
An afternoon several days later, there was a message in her mailbox at the hotel when she passed through the lobby. Moving day, she was in a hurry to get into her new apartment and stuffed the note into her pants pocket, forgetting it as soon as it was out of sight. When she undressed that night, she heard the crinkling sound of paper in her jeans and stuffed her hand into the pocket to retrieve the wrinkled note.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, seeing Peter’s name at the bottom of the paper. She read his message from the start, slinking down on her bed, throwing off a mess of packing paper and sighing heavily.
“My house, tonight, seven o’clock.”
It was already ten, she was dead tired, her phone was not yet hooked up, and her cell battery had run down. No way to call. Damn it!
