thirty-four

I returned to the ballroom just in time to see Bear stop Poor Nic and his bodyguard, Bobby, in the doorway. “Hey, Bear, I gotta tell you what I just saw in the back office…”

“Later.” He offered his hand to Poor Nic. “I need a moment, Nic.”

“Ah, Detective Braddock,” Poor Nic said and held Bear’s paw in both of his. “I’m afraid I don’t have time for you this evening. Something’s come up.”

Bear frowned. “It’s about …”

“William Mendelson’s murder. Of course it is.” Poor Nic nodded toward the club entrance. “I’m tired, Detective. And I ask your understanding to let an old man go home for the evening. I’ll see you first thing in the morning, I assure you.”

“Give me just a moment, Nic …”

Poor Nic raised a hand. “I wish to say good evening to Angela. Please, come see me in the morning.”

I followed Poor Nic to Angel’s table just as Thorne readied for another dance. Angel gave me a those narrowed eyeballs that said Don’t say a word when I emerged behind Nic. To Nic, though, she was all smiles and crushed into him for a kiss on the cheek.

Poor Nicholas Bartalotta was a lot of things—most of which had never been proven in court. One thing most people did not quite understand was that he was Angel’s guardian—her self-appointed godfather. When I was murdered, Poor Nic was on the top of the suspect list. And perhaps for good reason, too, because Bear and I had been investigating him for another murder just days before. In the end, though, Poor Nic saved Angel’s life. Perhaps others’ lives, too.

“Ah, my dear, you look beautiful as always.” He gave her a long, familiar hug. “You should be out more. The light and music suit you well. Another time, I would welcome a dance or two.”

She blushed. “Of course, Nicholas. Let me introduce Franklin …”

“Thorne.” Poor Nic cast a brief glance at him but ignored Thorne’s outstretched hand. “I am familiar with Mr. Thorne.”

“You are?” Thorne motioned to a passing waiter for his bill. “I don’t know you.”

“No? Interesting,” Poor Nic said, still holding Angel’s arm. “Detective Braddock looked rather awkward on the dance floor, Angela. Perhaps he had the wrong partner, no?”

She blushed again and looked across the room at Bear waiting near the ballroom entrance. “I think he and Lee looked wonderful together.”

“Perhaps.” Poor Nic leaned closer. “My dear, it’s been weeks since you visited. This week—promise me.”

“I promise.” Angel looked past him to me. “I’m trying to get out more, but it’s difficult.”

“I understand.” Poor Nic kissed her cheek with a curt nod to Thorne. “Walk with me, my dear.” He guided Angel toward Bear, leaving Thorne to pay their check.

Poor Nic is swell.

At the ballroom entrance, Lee Hawkins came up behind Bear and grabbed his arm. She leaned in close and gave him a hug, cheek-to-cheek. “Why don’t you come back, Bear.” She hooked his arm and walked toward the door behind Poor Nic with him. “There are a few things you might like to hear.”

“Give me ten minutes with Nic and …”

“No, I mean later.” She slipped a business card out of her cleavage—what was with these women tonight?—and handed it to him. “Say, three a.m.?”

“Too late for me.” Bear was on uncharted ground.

Lee whispered, “The card’s from some crazy lady—Raina something. She’s trouble. Maybe you should check her out. Maybe send her back home, you know, or something.”

Bear read the card. “‘Egyptology and Archeological Research Group—American University, Cairo.’” On the back of the card was a scribbled, unreadable name and a telephone number.

“There’s more, but like that dance, it’ll cost you,” Lee said and squeezed his arm. “Let’s say lunch?”

“Deal.” He pocketed the card. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

She kissed him on the cheek and slinked away.

Bear watched her go—watched her close, too—and then caught up to Poor Nic and Angel at the club entrance as Thorne helped Angel with her coat. Bobby held the door.

“Angela,” Poor Nic said, shooting a wry glance at Thorne. “I’ll expect you for lunch—tomorrow? I’ll be much better company.”

Angel’s finger scolded him. “It’s not a date, Nicholas, it’s business.”

“Of course. How silly of me.” Poor Nic kissed her cheek but said to Bear, “Detective, phone tomorrow for an appointment.”

Bear and I watched Poor Nic—with Angel on his arm—pass through the double doors into the chilly night air. They stopped on the landing as Bobby continued to the car.

Angel said, “Nicholas, I want to ask you about William.”

“My dear, I—”

The first shot cracked the cold, dense air like a firecracker. The bullet struck Poor Nic, and for a second, he didn’t react. Then, as he turned toward Angel, he slumped backward against the doors, paled, and collapsed on the cold stone steps.