Chapter 8

Isobel was surprised and secretly pleased to learn that her presence was requested at the mandatory staff meeting the next morning. The accordion wall separating conference rooms B and C had been opened, forming a space just large enough for the sixty or so employees of Dove & Flight Public Relations to squeeze into. That included everyone from Angus Dove and Barnaby Flight down to the back shop staffers who handled mailings, database services and accounting. For Isobel's private purposes, it couldn't have been better.

Armed with a cup of Starbucks' finest, Isobel arrived at the conference room just before ten. Even though the coffee pot had been replaced, she had decided to ingest only outside food and drink until her suspicions were allayed. Those who were already gathered were buzzing quietly, and, for the first time, she realized how many people at the firm she still didn't know. Just as she was pondering how best to meet them all, a lanky, buff man with closely cropped iron-gray hair blocked her path. He wore a baseball jersey, and, improbably for January, Bermuda shorts.

"My fair lady Isobel, melodious songbird, your reputation precedes you," he said, doffing a faded red baseball cap.

Isobel wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or amused. "Not another Shakespearean, are you?"

"Not I, indeed! Jimmy Rocket, at your service. I merely pine, on a daily basis, for the lost, lissome loveliness of the English language."

"Is that your real name?"

He pulled a face. "Sadly, yes. James Earl Rocket. I briefly considered the possibility of Francophilic pronunciation for the latter portion of that unfortunate moniker, but I think it lacks a certain quelle heure est-il, don't you?"

Before Isobel could think how to respond, Katrina joined them. "Hey, Jimmy."

Jimmy tipped his cap again. "The ravishing Ms. Campbell! Och, aye, lassie, there's a moose loose aboot the hoose!"

"Jimmy, you get weirder every day. And I've told you, my family is English. Save your burr for Angus."

"Nay, lassie, he'll only consider my burr a slur!"

"Who is he exactly?" Isobel asked Katrina as they found seats.

"Jimmy Rocket. He's a throwback to an era that never actually existed, but Barnaby loves him. Jimmy's his assistant."

"Seriously?"

"Barnaby won't part with him for anything. Jimmy may be eccentric, but I've never seen anyone type as fast as he does. He also has a practically photographic memory, and he's ridiculously organized. In his dreams, he's Babe Ruth. In reality, he wouldn't make it onto a pro baseball team for the same reason he'd better hope Barnaby never sacks him."

"Which is...?"

Katrina leaned over. "He'd never pass the mandatory drug testing."

"Ah," said Isobel. "So, um, how was your interview with the police yesterday?"

"About what you'd expect. What was my relationship with Jason Whiteley, and where was I just before you found him. But it was pretty half-hearted. They seem to think it was natural causes."

"And what do you think?"

Katrina shrugged. "I just hope we don't lose the account."

She turned to greet Liz Stewart, who had joined them, and as Katrina and Liz added their voices to the chattering chorus, Isobel surveyed the room for other faces she recognized. There was Dorothy Berman, an attractive woman in her late fifties with the kind of gleaming silver hair that Isobel wouldn't mind having someday. Isobel didn't know much about her except that she handled the healthcare clients, and she had a husband who was a lawyer and a son who was a dentist. Although Isobel had done a bit of file drawer cleanup for Dorothy, most of her time at Dove & Flight had been claimed by Aaron, whose financial services team didn't have a junior associate. Dorothy had her own junior, Penny Warren, the sweet-faced girl whose phone Isobel had used to call 911. Isobel and Penny filled the same role, which amounted to a combination of secretarial and basic client work, since only the senior partners had administrative assistants. Within the working groups, everyone was expected to answer his or her own phone, and any menial tasks that needed doing were assigned to the most junior member of the team. Isobel hardly minded, but she wondered if Penny did.

Penny caught Isobel's eye and flashed an eager smile. Isobel leaned over to Katrina.

"Does Penny always wear headbands that match her outfits?"

Katrina smirked. "Sadly."

"Where did she go to school? Lilly Pulitzer U?"

"Holyoke. She transferred from Barnard. I bet they booted her for wardrobe violations." Katrina nudged Isobel. "Here comes trouble."

Isobel followed her gaze and saw Kit Blanchard, another senior associate, take a seat behind Aaron. Petite and stacked, Kit wore stylish outfits that emphasized her figure, still impressive after three kids. Her long highlighted hair was pushed back with a pair of Prada sunglasses, despite the season. It suddenly struck Isobel that Dove & Flight, notwithstanding the men at the top, was predominantly a female operation. As she looked around, she marked a clear two-to-one ratio.

"Why are there so many more women than men?" she asked.

"PR attracts women," said Katrina. "Probably because it's a 'relationship business,' and we all know how good men are at relationships." Katrina inclined her head knowingly. Next to her, Liz snickered.

Isobel turned again and saw an elderly man with beagle jowls leaning against the wall by the door. From behind large square glasses that had surely gone out of style before she was born, his rheumy eyes roved over the assemblage with the same kind of scrutiny to which Isobel was privately subjecting everyone. He wore a dour expression on his heavily lined face and was dressed far more formally than anyone else, in an expensive suit that had seen better days and a red pocket square.

"Who's that guy?"

"Oh, that's Wilbur Freed," Katrina said with a dismissive gesture.

"I've never seen him before," Isobel remarked.

"You wouldn't. He's a first-class lurker. His job is to keep a tight rein on company subscriptions, but mostly he just sneaks around from office to office distributing news clips."

"Why doesn't he just email them?"

"Wilbur doesn't believe in email," Katrina said. "He barely believes in electricity."

"He's a walking anachronism, but he's an old friend of Angus's," Liz added. "Those Scots are nothing if not loyal."

At that moment, Barnaby Flight clomped to the front of the room, with Angus Dove trailing him stoically.

"They're certainly the odd couple, aren't they?" Isobel whispered.

Katrina nodded. "Seriously. I sometimes think the only reason they joined forces is the bird imagery in their names."

"There are two things I want to address today," Barnaby said without preamble. "I won't keep you long, because I know you're busy. At least, you'd better be." The nervous communal giggle seemed to satisfy him, and he continued.

"First, I want to settle what happened yesterday. It was a terribly unfortunate accident, but the police have confirmed that Jason Whiteley died of a heart attack, and that's the end of that. Now, I don't have to tell you how rumors fly - we're in the rumor business, for God's sake - so I ask that you all be discreet. Please resist the temptation to gossip about this with everyone you know." He surveyed his staff. "I'll be frank. It doesn't matter if Whiteley died because he blew his nose too hard - it doesn't look good. And we're about to be all over the news for another reason. We don't need more slop for the pigs."

At this, a hushed murmur ran through the crowd. Barnaby held up his hand to silence it.

"Which brings me to the main reason for this meeting. Angus and I have been in negotiations for some time now with ICG, International Communications Group. I'm sure you know who they are. They own several distinguished companies in a variety of communications fields, including two other PR shops: Fisher Health Strategies and The Peterson Group. ICG is looking to expand its reach into the niche areas we specialize in, and we will be announcing later today that we have entered into an agreement with them. ICG is buying Dove & Flight."

Everybody began talking at once. Barnaby clapped his meaty hands for attention.

"First off, nothing will change."

"Bullshit," Liz Stewart fake-coughed into her hand.

"We will not be eliminating any jobs, and we will not be relocating our offices. At some point during the year, we will merge with The Peterson Group, which specializes in consumer PR. Not our strong suit, as you well know. Our companies will complement each other nicely, and when that secondary merger is finalized, the combined entity will be known as Peterson, Dove & Flight."

The mutterings grew louder, and Barnaby raised his voice this time, instead of his hand.

"We all know that the financial security that comes with being part of a corporate family means giving up the independence of a privately-owned, self-determining shop. But Angus and I are getting older. Angus faster than me." He glanced at his diminutive partner, who stood next to him, silent and tight-lipped. "We built this business on the strength of our names and reputations, and we want what we've built to outlast us. Our legacy and, to be blunt, your employment depend on this merger. Angus and I are very excited about what this means for us and for you."

Isobel looked at Angus, who looked anything but excited.

Liz leaned across Katrina and said, "I'm just shocked that they bothered to tell us, rather than letting us read about it in the papers. Communications experts are terrible at internal communications. It's like the cobbler's kids going barefoot. Right?"

Katrina was sitting rigidly in her seat between them, staring straight ahead.

Isobel nudged her. "Katrina?"

Katrina shook her head slowly. "I can't believe he didn't tell me. How could he not have told me?"

"Come on, we all know Barnaby has a thing for you, but he wasn't going to tell you before the rest of us," Liz said.

"Not Barnaby. My dad," Katrina said in a hollow voice. "ICG is my dad's company. He's the CEO. I'm going to be working for my father."