THIRTEEN

Nick Moncur began searching for the fountain of youth decades ago. Now he insisted he had found it.

“There’s no single supplement,” he said. “There’s no individual herb, there’s no one thing that’s going to make us live longer. Nevertheless, there are many little things that when combined will add a decade or more to our lives.”

Moncur claimed he found these things while conducting exhaustive research in Sardinia, a large island off the coast of Italy, Okinawa, the Nicoya Peninsula of Costa Rica, and Loma Linda, a small town located between Los Angles and Palm Springs that was largely inhabited by Seventh-day Adventists. These areas were dubbed Blue Zones by scientists and demographers—regions where people live to be a hundred or more at astonishing rates. Moncur said he identified what these areas held in common and distilled their secrets into a recipe consisting of one part diet, one part exercise regimen, and one part Confucian-inspired philosophy. Someone suggested Moncur was looking to take a bite out of a thirty-billion-dollar industry that promises to make people look or feel young. He insisted, however, that profit wasn’t his motive for bringing his recipe to the masses.

“I’ve made a discovery,” Moncur said. “I want to give that discovery to the people. It’s like climbing a hill and seeing a beautiful sunset. It’s better if you have someone to share it with.”

All he needed was partners.

To get them he filled his Lake of the Isles home with well-heeled party guests. Black-clad waiters weaved among them, offering up twirls of scallops and skinny pasta spun onto silver forks and booze, plenty of booze. The red-walled foyer of the large house was already filled when Nina and I arrived. I recognized some of the guests—the Mound, Minnesota, actor who played Hercules on TV; an actress who went from the Chanhassen Dinner Theater to Broadway; the front man for a well-regarded country-western band, who was attired in Brooklyn cowboy chic.

’Course, the guests didn’t know they were going to be solicited until they arrived. Apparently they thought they were being invited to enjoy a cocktail or two before attending a five-hundred-dollar-a-plate fund-raiser for hunger relief that Moncur had also organized. They didn’t know about his plans to increase life expectancy until he circled the room like a practiced politician. I got the distinct impression that if there had been any babies present he would have kissed them.

Nina and I pressed forward. I was surprised by the amount of hors d’oeuvres she devoured and the champagne she drank. Normally I wouldn’t have noticed, but she was wearing a strapless regal-blue gown that made her eyes pop like searchlights, and I couldn’t keep my own eyes off of her. She made my heart flutter, and not for the first time.

“Isn’t that the governor?” she asked.

“Huh?”

She punched me in the arm.

“Pay attention,” she said.

I am, Nina. I am paying attention.

“There,” she said.

I followed her gaze to a section of the house where the gossip columnist for the Minneapolis Star Tribune newspaper was stalking a man dressed in a crisp white shirt, dark tie, and dark, well-tailored suit with a small video camera. John Allen Barrett kept dodging, first to his right, then to his left, but the columnist was relentless.

“Are you going to run for president?” she asked.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” he said. “I already have a job.”

“Are you going to run for president?”

“Right now I am only concerned with passing a balanced budget here in the state of Minnesota.”

“Are you going to run for president?”

“After my term expires, Lindsey and I might think about it,” he said. “We’ll reach out to all of our friends around the country. We’ll decide if there’s a requirement as citizens that we run.”

“Are you going to run for president?”

Everyone seemed amused except Barrett. Finally someone distracted the columnist, and Barrett slipped away. That’s when I saw Lindsey Barrett. I knew her from the neighborhood long before she married the governor; I used to date her sister. We were friends right up until the time I did a favor for her that helped the governor out, even though he never knew anything about it. That she stopped being my pal then wasn’t particularly surprising. It’s like F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote in This Side of Paradise—she disliked me for having done so much for her. I saw the dislike in her eye when she spied me from across the room. It had been nearly two years since we last spoke, though, and her resentment—if you could call it that—must have dissipated, because it changed then, the look in her eye. It became friendly, almost romantic.

Lindsey came toward me. I slipped between the guests to meet her in the middle of the room.

“McKenzie,” she said.

“Zee,” I said.

Her arms came around me and mine went around her and we hugged, lightly at first, and then with more vigor.

“It’s good to see you,” she said.

“It’s good to be seen.”

We chatted for a few moments like the old friends we were, mostly about what brought us to the party. We both agreed that Nick Moncur was a hopeless narcissist who was desperate to land a spot on Oprah’s couch. We didn’t speak about the favor, and I knew we never would.

I introduced Lindsey to Nina. Lindsey remembered meeting her briefly at a charity function we all attended.

“What a beautiful gown,” Lindsey said.

That’s when Barrett showed up, having ditched the gossip columnist, at least for the time being.

“Is that my girl you’re hugging?” he asked.

I realized then that my arm was still around Lindsey’s shoulder and hers was around my waist. Instead of letting go, Lindsey tightened her grip.

“You remember McKenzie,” she said.

“I do,” the governor said, “and”—he offered his hand to Nina—“I remember Ms. Truhler. It’s good to see you again. How are you?”

Nina’s eyes sparked like a welder’s torch.

“I am very well, Governor,” she said. “Thank you for asking.”

I must say I enjoyed it. I liked that I was acquainted with the governor, that I was a friend to his wife. I liked that I rubbed shoulders with men like Mr. Muehlenhaus and Moncur. It made me feel important. On the other hand, I hadn’t been invited to the party because I could afford to donate the maximum to a politician’s campaign fund or because I had money to invest in snake oil. Barrett knew it, too.

“What brings you here, McKenzie?” he asked. “I didn’t think this was your kind of event.”

“It’s a very long story,” I said.

Barrett turned his head to look at the man who sidled up to me from behind. The man set a hand on my shoulder.

“Mr. Muehlenhaus will see you now,” he said.

“Hmm,” Barrett said. “Perhaps the story’s not so very long after all.”

*   *   *

Walter Muehlenhaus was sitting in a leather wingback chair in front of the fireplace, his ancient hands folded neatly on his lap. His face and hands were as pale as skim milk, and the flickering flames cast an eerie, almost alarming shadow across them. He reminded me of Mephistopheles in the legend of Doctor Faustus, but I decided that couldn’t be right. Mephistopheles was the demon who warned Faustus not to sell his soul to the devil.

Muehlenhaus spoke without turning his gaze from the fire.

“Good evening, Mr. McKenzie,” he said. “It is always a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

Instead of joining him by the fire, I stopped in the middle of the room. There were floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books on all four walls, a desk big enough to land small aircraft on, and assorted sofas, chairs, and tables, all of them made from dark, highly polished wood. Yet the room had a kind of unused vibe, as if no one ever spent much time there. I noticed a portable staircase that could be wheeled from one bookshelf to another so readers could reach the volumes at the top. There was a thin layer of dust on each step.

“You are well?” Muehlenhaus asked.

“Very well, sir,” I said.

“And the lovely Ms. Truhler? I must say that is a stunning dress she is wearing.”

I didn’t know he saw her; certainly I never saw him.

“She is quite well, too,” I said. “Yourself?”

“I am getting old, Mr. McKenzie.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“These days I feel I am getting older than most. Somehow, I do not believe Mr. Moncur’s recipe for longevity will help me.”

“I don’t think Moncur’s recipe will help anyone.”

Muehlenhaus chuckled at that.

“No, I suppose not,” he said.

“Personally, I wouldn’t want to live forever,” I said.

“That is because you are a young man. As you get older, your opinion will change.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t intend to worry about it. What is it they say? Only the good die young?”

For the first time since I’d known him, I heard Muehlenhaus laugh. He laughed until he coughed into his hand.

“In that case I shall live forever,” he said. Muehlenhaus turned in his chair to look at me. The lenses in his eyeglasses had been polished until they reflected light like a mirror. “So will you.”

The remark reminded me of something Muehlenhaus once said, which I’m sure was his intention—that he and I were very much alike, that we both did favors for friends. He insisted that if there was a difference between us it was merely at the level on which we granted our favors. I resented the accusation, yet I wasn’t entirely sure it was untrue.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Muehlenhaus?” I asked.

Before he could answer, there was a soft rap on the door. The man who had first summoned me held it open. A woman brushed past him, and he closed the door behind her. I guessed the woman’s age at about fifty despite her obvious attempts to confuse the issue. She was dressed in a long black skirt, a cranberry-colored lace top with velvet and chiffon trim, and a black blazer. She looked like someone whose skin was stretched too tight; she didn’t have a single wrinkle anywhere, not even when she smiled, which she was doing now.

“Walter,” she cooed. She moved quickly across the room to Muehlenhaus’s side. She hugged his shoulder. “It is so good to see you again.”

Muehlenhaus looked at me with an expression that suggested he was embarrassed by the display.

“Have you met Mr. McKenzie?” he asked her. “Rushmore McKenzie, this is Roberta Weltzin.”

“The famous Rushmore McKenzie,” she said.

She walked straight up to me, her hand extended. I shook her hand.

“The famous Roberta Weltzin,” I said. I nearly said “infamous.” I nearly asked her how the Web site was doing. I nearly said a lot of things that I shouldn’t have. Suddenly it all seemed much clearer to me.

Muehlenhaus rose from his chair facing the fire and directed us to a trio of wingbacks near the center of the room that seemed as if they had already been arranged for our comfort. I was distressed to note how thin Muehlenhaus had become and how shaky his movements were. Make no mistake; I didn’t like the man—well, maybe I did a little. In any case, I did not wish him ill.

Muehlenhaus was the first to speak after we were seated.

“Once again, Mr. McKenzie, it seems our interests coincide,” he said.

“In what way?” I asked.

“I believe you are searching for a young lady named Vicki Walsh.”

I stared into Roberta’s surgically altered face when I replied.

“It is my understanding that she’s dead.”

“Then why are you looking for her?” Roberta asked.

“I am doing a favor for a friend.”

“Jason Truhler,” Muehlenhaus said.

I wasn’t surprised that Muehlenhaus knew my business; he knew everyone’s business. I just couldn’t imagine why he cared.

“Do you have a relationship with Jason Truhler?” I asked him.

“Mr. Truhler is a small man,” Muehlenhaus said. “I have no dealings with him. He does, however, have dealings with others of my acquaintance. I believe that he often caters to their baser tastes.”

“I know just how he caters to them, too.”

Muehlenhaus must have heard something in my voice, because he said, “It would seem that neither of us is fond of Mr. Truhler.”

“Why are you helping him, then?” Roberta asked.

I didn’t answer. Muehlenhaus knew my reasons. That’s why he asked me to invite Nina to the party, because he knew, and because he wanted to exert pressure on me without seeming to. A subtle man, was our Mr. Muehlenhaus.

“Mr. McKenzie,” Muehlenhaus said. “Would it be accurate to say that Ms. Walsh is blackmailing Mr. Truhler and that you have been asked to intervene?”

“Someone is blackmailing Truhler,” I said. “I don’t know for certain that it’s Vicki.”

“Mr. Truhler is not alone. Others have also been victimized. Ms. Weltzin?”

“McKenzie, I am engaged in…”

Roberta paused as if she were searching for just the right word to describe her business in the most positive light. I didn’t give her the opportunity.

“I know what you do for a living,” I said.

The sound of my voice caused her to flinch.

“I make no apologies,” she said.

“I wouldn’t listen to them anyway.” I turned toward Muehlenhaus. “Why am I here?”

Muehlenhaus gestured back toward Roberta with the flat of his hand.

“Someone hacked my computer,” she said. “They downloaded all of my files onto a flash drive, not only those files identifying my girls, but accounting and customer files as well. Since then many of my clients have been systematically blackmailed.”

“How many clients?”

“Seven that I know of so far. However, another regular had ceased utilizing our services at the same time, so I suspect that he is being blackmailed as well.”

“For how much?”

“Is that important?”

“Ninety-nine eighty a month?”

“How did—”

“That’s her MO,” I said.

I did some quick calculating. Assuming she started extorting her victims in July and had already made her collections for November, Vicki was sitting on approximately four hundred thousand dollars. I turned back to Muehlenhaus.

“Does this involve the governor?” I asked.

“Does it matter?” Roberta asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“McKenzie does his favors only for his friends,” Muehlenhaus said. “The rest of us can go to Hades.”

Roberta hesitated as if she were weighing which answer would give her the greatest advantage. I knew it. So did Muehlenhaus.

“The truth, now,” he said.

“No, it doesn’t involve the governor,” Roberta said.

I was glad to hear it.

“It does, however, involve a great many other prominent citizens,” Muehlenhaus said. “This includes supporters of the governor as well as members of his administration.”

“Fuck ’em,” I said.

“Mr. McKenzie…”

“These are men who paid money for the opportunity to abuse children,” I said. “Young women they wanted to pretend were children—yes, Roberta, I know all about your rules involving birth certificates. Honest to God, Mr. Muehlenhaus, I cannot imagine why you of all people would want to protect these bastards.”

“The truth is, these men are the ones who are being abused,” Roberta said. “Abused by children, if you like. Abused for money.”

“If anyone can appreciate the irony, I’d think it would be you.”

“No one is being forced to do anything they don’t want to do. Everything that occurs is between consenting adults. The girls come and go as they please. I care about these girls. I take care of them. They know the choice is always theirs.”

“No crime, no foul, is that it?”

“That’s it.”

“Then why is everyone so afraid of being outed?”

“I do not believe we are accomplishing as much as we could,” Muehlenhaus said. “Would either of you enjoy a drink?”

“No, thank you,” I said.

Roberta shook her head.

“Mr. McKenzie,” Muehlenhaus said. “I do not entirely disagree with your position. However, there is much that can be lost if these attempts at extortion are not thoroughly dealt with in as quiet a manner as possible. You hold the position that these gentlemen are, what is the phrase, getting what is coming to them. It is difficult to argue against such a position. However, I am sure you do not wish to see repeated the sad case of Mr. Charles Kruger. Charles was both a friend and colleague of mine. He committed suicide a year ago after paying nearly five hundred thousand dollars to keep secret sexually explicit photographs taken of himself and a prostitute. He was not the only victim, either. Before he took his life, Charles composed a letter in which he stated that he was doing what was best for his family. All these men have families. You know this. That is why you are assisting Mr. Truhler, is it not? To protect those nearest to him? You mention the governor, whom I know you hold in high regard. Should we allow his reputation to be tarnished, his political aspirations to be compromised, by the behavior of men over whom he has no control? So many others as well, innocent men and women who will suffer should these activities come to light. Children, too. Ms. Truhler has a daughter, does she not? Certainly you have considered her well-being.”

“God, you’re good,” I said.

Muehlenhaus smiled at me. “We have always understood each other,” he said.

“What would you have me do?”

“Find Ms. Walsh.”

“How do you know she’s behind the extortion?”

“I didn’t,” Roberta said. “From what my clients told me, I was under the impression they were being blackmailed by two young men, a black man and a white man. That was until I discovered that Vicki was alive. Up until then I thought she had been killed in Thunder Bay. I thought the blackmailers were the people who had killed her, that somehow they forced her to download my files and then killed her for it. I realize now that she downloaded the files herself before she went to Canada and staged her murder as a way of deflecting suspicion.”

“Who told you that she had been killed?” I asked. “Jason?”

She nodded.

“And you did nothing about it,” I said. “Tell me again how much you care about your girls.”

Roberta cast a sideways glance at Muehlenhaus, but said nothing.

“How did you know that Vicki was still alive?” I asked. “Oh, wait. Truhler again.”

“Yes.”

Why are you helping this guy? my inner voice asked for the fiftieth or sixtieth time.

“What have you done to find her?” I asked aloud.

“I asked my girls if anyone has seen or heard from her, but no one has,” Roberta said. “Beyond that I hired…”

“Hired who?”

“Two men who used to work for me. I fired them originally because they didn’t have the right attitude for my kind of operation. However, in this matter…”

I covered my face with my hands and spoke into them.

“Oh my God, she hired the Joes,” I said.

I took my hands from my face and leaned toward Roberta.

“You hired the Joes,” I said.

She nodded.

“Lady, the Joes are nut jobs,” I said. “They’re certifiable. Didn’t you figure that out the first time they worked for you?”

“How do you know so much about my business?”

I heard Muehlenhaus chuckle.

“Do the Joes know what’s on the flash drive?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Roberta, what were you thinking? Forget Vicki Walsh. If these guys get their hands on the flash drive, on all those files, all hell will break loose. How can you not know that?”

“I was desperate. Clients were contacting me. They were threatening me with jail and worse. I had to do something.”

“Unhire them. Make them go away.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“You can try, can’t you?”

“I can try, but they are very difficult men.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Besides, I need help.”

“Perhaps something can be arranged,” Mr. Muehlenhaus said.

All right, all right, all right, my inner voice chanted. It is what it is. Where do we go from here?

“What’s the deal with Vicki Walsh?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” Roberta asked.

“What can I offer her?”

“Immunity,” Muehlenhaus said.

“Immunity?” Roberta echoed.

“Yes,” Muehlenhaus said. His voice left no doubt. “If she ceases her activities, if she returns the stolen property, if she leaves never to return. In exchange, she will be allowed to keep the money she has extorted, her freedom, and—Mr. McKenzie, she must be made to understand that the people who have threatened Ms. Weltzin, who would very much like to find Ms. Walsh themselves, are not to be trifled with. You and I both know that there are men in positions of power in this city, in this state, who can and will do anything to protect their positions. Ms. Walsh must return the flash drive and agree to disappear.”

“In that event, will you guarantee her safety?” I asked.

“You have my word.”

I regarded Roberta Weltzin for a moment. I didn’t trust her as far as I could throw her, but Mr. Muehlenhaus—come to think about it, I didn’t entirely trust him, either.

“When I speak to Vicki, I’ll deliver your message,” I said.

I rose from the chair and headed for the door of the library.

“Wait,” Roberta said. “Do you know where Vicki is?”

“No. I know how to find her, though. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get a drink.”

“I could offer you a snifter of Mr. Moncur’s excellent brandy,” Muehlenhaus said.

“Thank you, sir. However, at the risk of being blunt, I don’t like the company you keep.”

From the expression on her face, it was obvious that Roberta didn’t like the remark at all. Then again, she wasn’t supposed to.

*   *   *

I stopped in the doorway to the foyer and took it all in. The crowd had thinned considerably, most guests having already headed off to the charity fund-raiser. Nina was standing near the center of the room conversing with a group that included Lindsey and John Barrett. I studied her for a moment, marveling at just how beautiful she was. Black hair, high cheekbones, narrow nose, generous mouth, curves that would impress a Formula One racer—and those eyes, the most startling pale blue eyes I had ever seen made even more luminous by the rich blue of her gown. It was the eyes that caused me to notice her when she served me a club sandwich at the downstairs bar at Rickie’s nearly three years ago. I had followed a suspect there. I nearly lost him because of those eyes.

Yet there was so much more to her than that. She was ungodly smart. She loved music. She was tough and resourceful. Caring and brave. She was funny—at least she laughed at my jokes, which, I realized, might not be the same thing. Even her flaws were endearing, like how even a simple cold would render her grouchy and miserable. It was beyond my comprehension how Jason Truhler could have abused her and cheated on her. I would have gladly shot him dead if she asked me to.

Nina saw me approach the small group out of the corner of her eye. Either that or she had somehow sensed my presence, because she reached out for me, wrapped her arm around mine, and pulled me close without once lifting her eyes from the face of the woman who was speaking to her. In that moment I knew, absolutely knew, what love felt like.

Barrett glanced at his wristwatch.

“You’re going to be late for dinner,” I told him.

“McKenzie, it is obvious that you do not know the value of a grand entrance,” he said.

Lindsey rolled her eyes the way she had when we were kids and her sister Linda said something particularly dumb. Lin-duh we had called her, as compared to Lind-zee.

More small talk was exchanged. Finally the remaining guests floated toward their vehicles. We drifted along with them even though we hadn’t been invited to the charity dinner. The governor’s security guard held open the door to the state-owned Escalade. Lindsey climbed aboard. The governor paused at the door.

“McKenzie, if you’re involved with Mr. Muehlenhaus, I have some advice for you,” he said. “Be careful.”

“Are you saying he can’t be trusted?”

“He has a way of making you feel like you’re on his side. The problem is you can never be entirely sure which side he’s on.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

A few moments later he drove off.

Since Nina and I were all dressed up with nowhere to go, I suggested we eat a real dinner and listed a number of the Cities’ more expensive restaurants, only Nina said she wasn’t hungry. I recommended a couple of clubs, including rivals like the Dakota Jazz Club in Minneapolis and the Artists’ Quarter in St. Paul. Nina said she had a better idea. I won’t bore you with the details. Suffice to say that it involved bending if not actually breaking various rules and regulations governing the operation of motor vehicles in the state of Minnesota while I drove her home. It was because I was driving so aggressively that I didn’t notice the vehicle dawdling behind us until we were working through the crowded Uptown area of Minneapolis. I took a couple of casual turns to make sure.

“What is it?” Nina asked.

“We’re being followed,” I told her.

She turned in her seat to look, then quickly turned back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that. Now they know we know that they’re back there.”

She was so sorry that she did it again.

“That’s okay,” I said. “I was about to educate them anyway.”

“In this?”

Nina had a point. The Cherokee didn’t have anything near the get-up-and-go that my Audi had. God, I already missed her.

“Okay,” I said. “Change in plan.”

“So, we have a plan, then?”

“Watch and learn.”

I allowed the tail to follow us north on Hennepin Avenue to the intersection of Interstate 94 and then drove east. The bright traffic lights allowed me to identify it as a high-performance German sedan. I stayed in the right-hand lane, watching the vehicle behind us intently through the rearview and side mirrors. The sedan did not attempt to speed up on us. Nor did it fall back.

“Who is it, do you think?” Nina asked.

“Someone who knew we would be at the party.”

“Mr. Muehlenhaus?”

“More likely it’s Roberta or one of her employees.”

“Who’s Roberta?” Nina asked.

I gave her a quick summary without lingering over Jason Truhler’s involvement. By then we were crossing the bridge leading from Minneapolis into St. Paul.

“They probably don’t want to hurt us,” Nina said. “They probably just want us to lead them to Vicki Walsh.”

“One can only hope.”

Nina didn’t speak again until we were passing the Cretin-Vandalia off-ramp.

“Do you have a gun?” she asked.

“No.”

“No?”

“I took you to a party with the governor. Of course I didn’t bring a gun. Did you bring a gun?”

Nina ran her hands from her thighs to her waist to just beneath her breasts.

“Sorry,” she said.

The sedan began to accelerate as we passed the Snelling Avenue exit. The driver was pushing it up to seventy as we approached Lexington Parkway, but then so was I. Seventy-five. Eighty. I used my turn signal to tell him I was exiting at Dale. He followed me up the ramp. I stayed in the left-hand lane and signaled my turn. To my relief he fell back, allowing a car to ease between us. The traffic light at Dale was red, and we all slowed to a stop.

“Take off your seat belt,” I said.

“What?” Nina asked.

“Take off your seat belt.”

I pressed the button that released the latch, and I let my own seat belt recede into the roller above and behind the driver’s door. Nina followed my lead.

Ruben Barany wasn’t on duty. Instead, a shabbily dressed woman moved down the line of cars, peering inside the driver’s windows. I presumed she was a uniform working for the St. Paul Police Department. She was carrying the exact same sign that Ruben had carried—WILL WORK FOR FOOD.

“Homeless Harriet,” I said.

“Huh?”

I deliberately avoided eye contact when the woman approached the Jeep Cherokee, in case we knew each other, and I made no effort to reach in my pocket for a contribution as I had with Ruben. I didn’t want an act of generosity on my part to persuade her to let me off. Harriet looked through my window. I was sure we made a tempting target, two obviously well-off swells dressed to the nines ignoring someone in need—I would have busted me, too.

The cars surged forward when the light changed, and I made my turn. I got half a block before I saw the light bar of a Ramsey County Sheriff’s Department cruiser flashing in my mirror. I pulled to a stop along Dale Street and turned off my Cherokee. The German sedan that had been following us was forced to pass, continuing on toward University Avenue. It paused as if it were looking for a place to park, but drove on when a second RCSD cruiser pulled over the car that was directly behind it.

I unrolled the window of my Cherokee when the deputy approached.

“Can I help you, Officer?” I asked.

“Sir, you are in violation of Minnesota Statute one-six-nine-point-six-eight-six, driving without a properly fastened seat belt. May I see your driver’s license and proof of insurance, please?”

I gave him both, and he proceeded to write out a ticket. He then asked for Nina’s ID and wrote out a ticket for her as well. For reasons that baffled me, Nina started to laugh quietly. She laughed even louder when the deputy gave us a lecture about the dangers of driving without a seat belt. I wondered exactly how much champagne she’d had.

“Miss,” the deputy said, “I’d hate to see your pretty face and that, that dress you’re wearing splattered across the windshield.”

That stopped her while she looked down at herself.

“What’s wrong with my dress?” Nina asked.

“Well, nothing,” said the deputy, and Nina started laughing again. I have no idea why he didn’t drag us out of the car and start administering portable Breathalyzer tests.

After the deputy told us to have a good evening, I drove around the neighborhood to make sure that the tail was gone. I then got back on the freeway.

“What now?” Nina asked.

“I can either take you home or back to the club.”

“I thought we had other plans.”

“Our friends in the sedan reminded me that there is something important I need to do.”

Nina sighed dramatically.

“You are going to pay my fine, aren’t you?” she asked.

I told her I would, and she laughed some more.

“Honest to God, McKenzie, you always know how to show a girl a good time.”

*   *   *

I wasn’t dressed for the weather and found myself shivering slightly in the Jeep Cherokee while I waited in the parking lot outside Caitlin Brooks’s apartment. She hadn’t answered the lobby phone when I first arrived, and there were no lights shining in what I believed to be her apartment windows. So I waited, shivering in the dark. My driver’s side window was down because I didn’t want to fog up my windows. I could have rolled it up and turned on the engine, but I didn’t want to risk giving myself away. I didn’t know when she would return or who she would be with. I didn’t think Caitlin was the type to bring her work home with her, yet you never know.

While I was waiting, I called Denny Marcus. He didn’t answer his cell, so I left a voice mail. I told him it was essential that he contact Vicki and have her call me. “Tell her that Roberta knows everything,” I said, adding that I could help. I threw in a few “pleases” for good measure.

Finally a limousine drove up, stopping at the curb. The driver did not get out, round the vehicle, and open the door as was customary. Instead, Caitlin opened the door herself and stepped out.

“Good night, Barry,” she said.

Although it worked to my advantage, Barry didn’t bother to wait until Caitlin was safely inside the building before he drove off.

Chivalry is dead, my inner voice said.

I waited until Caitlin was entering the lobby of the building before I approached her. Her clothes resembled a schoolgirl’s uniform except her stockings were so high, her skirt so short, and her sheer white blouse so revealing that it probably would have earned her a week’s detention in any private school in America.

“Caitlin with a C,” I said.

My voice visibly startled her, and her hand immediately dove into the bag she carried by a thin strap over her shoulder. Maybe she was grabbing for pepper spray, maybe a gun, but when she recognized me her hand came out empty.

“McKenzie,” she said. “You look nice.”

“So do you,” I said.

“This old thing?”

“The schoolgirl look is kind of a cliché, isn’t it?”

“You’d be surprised. Why are you here, McKenzie?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “What?” she asked.

“I need you to contact Vicki Walsh.”

“McKenzie, I don’t know where Vicki is.”

“Yes, you do. Tell her to call me. Tell her her life is in danger. Tell her I can help—if she calls me.”

“McKenzie…”

“Caitlin. I know what Vicki is doing. So do you. Maybe you’re in on it, maybe you’re not, but you know. You and Vicki have been seen together recently, long after she was supposed to have disappeared, long after you said you lost track of her. Roberta doesn’t know that you’re in touch with Vicki, does she? Neither do the Joes.”

Caitlin flinched at the mention of their names. Part of me was pleased that she understood the threat, the other part—suddenly I felt so low I’d have needed a stepladder to scratch an ant’s belly.

“There’s no reason for any of them to know about you and Vicki,” I said. “Do you understand?”

“You’re not nearly as nice as I thought you were,” Caitlin said.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

“I swear, Caitlin, I mean Vicki no harm. Or you, either. Truth is, I might be the only one who can help her.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”