“Me, either,” Scarlett said.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely a lie if she was going to fix it now, she figured. Then she realized that, no, it was just a lie.

Scarlett followed every instruction to the letter. She put on the black dress, tried to calm down her curls, and applied the red lipstick. She even raided Lola’s Drawer of Mysteries for whatever looked useful. Mrs. Amberson called her to let her know that she had spoken to Eric and that he was expecting the book. She packed her computer. All systems were go.

When she arrived at his apartment, it took three tries before Eric answered the door. Instead of buzzing her in, he said he would come down and open the door himself—which was a lot of needless work for a walk-up. He leaned out, blocking the door from locking with his body. He was shoeless, hair unbrushed.

“Thanks for bringing this down,” he said. It was friendly, but there was a lack of enthusiasm. “This looks…awful, actually.”

This was the place where he was supposed to ask her up, provide shelter from the summer sun. Instead he clutched the book. Now that she had the puffy thing in her head, Scarlett was seeing it everywhere. Eric’s face looked odd. He was a bit swollen under the eyes, which were much redder than normal.

“So…see you at rehearsal?” he asked.

Why was she surprised that Mrs. Amberson’s plan wasn’t clicking from the start?

“Actually,” she said, trudging on with it, “I’m just going to be over there. Writing.”

She pointed at the coffee shop and slapped at the computer in her bag for good measure.

“Oh. Got it. I’ll swing by on my way over, okay?”

Why hadn’t Eric, Mr. Southern Manners of 1877, invited her up? There were lots of possible reasons. Maybe it was messy. Maybe he was sick. Maybe there was a Civil War documentary on and his grandmother didn’t allow him to watch those with Yankee girls. Whatever the reason, she was down here now and there was no point in going home.

The coffee shop was full, of course. All the good tables in the windows were occupied.

There was a deli just opposite his building. As long as no big trucks came by, she had a good view of his stoop. She opened her computer and settled in to wait with a cup of burned coffee. Yes, it was a little stalkerish, but if he hadn’t been Captain Mysterious all week, this could have been avoided.

Two hours is a long time to have to wait for someone to come out of his house. She began to understand why the cops on stakeout on Crime and Punishment always looked so bored. Her patience and willingness to lower her own standards of appropriate behavior paid off. Twenty minutes before rehearsal, Eric stepped out of the door. He turned toward the coffee shop for just a second, put on his sunglasses, and sat down on the stoop.