FEELING A bit guilty, I swung by my office to rescue my phone before I headed out for a tête-à-tête with Daniel Lovato. I could run, but it wasn’t fair for me to hide, leaving my staff holding the bag.
Both my assistants were sitting behind their respective desks when I walked in. The clock read nine forty-five, yet Miss Alexander appeared hard at work. She’d come in early—good for her.
They both glanced up at my arrival, but it was Miss Patterson who started in. “The district attorney can give you from ten-fifteen to ten-thirty. Today he’s at the civil division. That makes your eleven o’clock with Delphinia doable.” She looked up from her notes and gave me a scowl. “Teddie has left ten messages. And your mother—” The phone rang, interrupting her. She motioned for Brandy to let it ring, then waited through the second ring. “That’s probably her now. She’s positively apoplectic. She’s certain your helicopter went down somewhere in the desert. Last time she called she wanted to alert the Civil Air Patrol and Search and Rescue.”
“Glad to see things were pretty much same ol’ same ol’ while I was gone.”
That got a smirk from Brandy. Miss Patterson looked daggers at her, and Brandy fell back to work.
“I’ll take the call in my office.” As I disappeared into my inner sanctum, I said, “And I’ll take my phone when you’re done with it.” Kicking the door shut behind me, I reached across the desk, grabbed the receiver, and hit the lit button. “Customer Relations, Lucky O’Toole speaking.”
“Lucky! Thank God!” Mona, as expected.
All my frustration focused into one white-hot needle between my shoulder blades. “Mother, I’ve had enough of your act today. Do you want to know how my morning started? Well, it started with a hangover and went downhill from there. My virtue, or lack thereof, was dissected in the morning papers, right under a picture of Teddie in a lip-lock with a sweet young thing in California. Someone tried to run me over on the way to work, then you summoned me to save your ass.” I took a deep breath.
“Lucky, I—”
“Oh no, I’m just getting started.” I was sure my voice could be heard in Pahrump without the benefit of the phone line, but I didn’t care. Yelling felt good, really good. “Do you know anything about the young lady you’re going to put on the block tomorrow? Don’t answer—the question was rhetorical. Seeing only a goose to lay a golden egg, you jumped right in, didn’t you? Did you know she has a boyfriend?”
“Boyfriend?”
“They agreed to remain chaste until they both were ready.”
“An archaic bit of romantic drivel.”
Like spurs to the flank of a wild-eyed racehorse, mother’s snotty remark shot me into orbit. The anger settled me down. My vision cleared, my voice lowered. I only shout when I am frustrated. When I am really mad, I tend to mix metaphors, my eyes get all slitty, and my words sharpen to a razor’s edge. Mother couldn’t see my eyes, but she could darn well hear the deadly tone to my voice. “Really? I find it refreshing. And I know you don’t mean that, you of all people.”
“Lucky, sweetheart, you have every right to be angry.”
“Angry? I’m beyond anger. I’m disgusted—with you and with myself for not stopping you the other night. Now, that sweet young girl’s first sexual experience will not be the gentle stroke of a lover, but a cold deflowering at the hands of the highest bidder.”
“It was her choice…”
“Choice? My God, Mother! She’s twenty-one. Making good choices at her age is a hit-or-miss thing. That’s why the youngsters let us old people live. They count on us for good advice.”
“Legally, she’s an adult.”
“Mother, if you value your life, steer clear of me for a while.” With that I slammed down the receiver. God, that felt good! I took a deep breath then threw back my shoulders. I was back. Bring it on, world!
I burst out of my office door. “Okay, let’s kick some ass and solve some of these problems. First, give me my phone. Second, I need a ride.”
“Ferrari? Or will mine do?” Miss Patterson handed me my phone and extended her car keys.
I grabbed both. “Yours is perfect. Brandy, in the Bazaar there is a clothing store for tiny people like you. Find it and buy an outfit for our guest in Bungalow Two. She’s about your size and age. Charge it to our office. Then, when we have the final tally on the costs being incurred for that same guest, apply the employee discount and send the whole tab to my mother—including the helicopter round-trip.”
Miss Patterson raised her eyebrows, then grinned like a fool.
“What?” I asked.
“She’s had this coming for a long time.”
“See that?” I said to Brandy. “That’s loyalty. You can earn your way to Heaven with that attitude.”
Her eyes alight, Brandy reached under her desk, pulled out three perfect long-stem roses, one white, one yellow, and one red—each with little notes attached—and extended them to me. “From the same admirer,” she said. “With the same message.”
Grabbing them, I buried my nose in their heady aroma. Were these an act of passion or an act of contrition? Either way, they put a smile on my heart. “Could you put them in some water?” I handed the flowers back to Brandy, who nodded then set off to find a vase.
When she returned, I was hunched over her desk scribbling a note. I thrust it at her. “Hope you can read my chicken scratch. See if you can track that name down.”
She nodded, her brows crinkled in thought, as she glanced at the name I’d written.
“Someone tried to run you over this morning?” Miss Patterson asked in a poorly disguised attempt to catch me off guard. “I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“It was a warning, nothing more. Don’t worry about me.”
“Actually, I was worried about my car.”
Miss Patterson’s ungainly little car squatted in its normal parking space, the one assigned to me on the executive level of the garage. I folded myself into the machine and piloted it out of the cavernous building and off toward the local government center, where the civil division of the district attorney’s office had its new home.
With one hand, I flipped my phone open then pressed Teddie’s number on the speed-dial with my thumb.
He answered on the first ring. “I am so sorry. Are you really mad?”
“Should I be?” Since I had no idea how to find the right balance between doormat and shrew, I kept my voice light, but noncommittal.
“Miss P told me about the picture in the paper. It was nothing. Really. We’d just finished a song on stage. You know the one that goes like this…” He hummed a few bars.
“One of my favorites.”
“Reza joined me for the chorus. The next thing I knew she kissed me. I don’t know, I guess she was carried away by the music or something.”
Or something. I doubted there were too many women immune to Ted Kowalski in full entertainer mode. If he decided to go on the road, I had no idea how to reconcile myself to that. But that was a problem for another day.
“It didn’t mean anything. But after the phone conversation, I can see where you might have gotten the wrong impression.” Chagrin tinged his voice, but I couldn’t detect a hint of guilt.
The thought had crossed my mind that the picture in the paper could just as easily have been of Jordan Marsh kissing me at the airport. That kiss hadn’t meant anything either, but the papers would have had a field day regardless. The old proverb about throwing stones and glass houses leapt to mind. “So the roses were a peace offering?”
“Hell no. They were because I love you.”
He said it so easily, with such graceful ease. Why couldn’t I? “They’re beautiful by the way. Thank you. So things are going well in California?”
“They offered me a recording contract.”
I let out a war whoop. “That’s wonderful!”
“We’re still working out the details. I’ll tell you all about it when I see you. You wouldn’t happen to know where Rudy Gillespi is, would you? I could use his expertise in finalizing the contract.”
I went all still. Had someone let the cat out of the bag? “I don’t keep tabs on Rudy. Why would you think I would know where he is?”
“With you guys being friends and all, I just thought you might know if he’s in town.”
I knew better than that—he was in my guest room in bed with Jordan Marsh, but I didn’t tell Teddie that, either. “I’m pretty sure he’s in Vegas. Want me to make an appointment for you?”
“Thanks, but I can do it. So how’s your life? It must be a real humdinger if you left your phone at the office. Anything I can do?”
That simple question broke the dam, releasing a torrent. I started with the emptiness I felt at him being gone and finished with Mona’s little foray into the legal slave trade. Of course, I edited my story somewhat. Jordan Marsh and Rudy Gillespi ended up on the cutting room floor. Their story was not mine to tell.
Teddie listened through it all without interrupting. When I had finished, he waited, then, his voice quiet and still with a hint of menace in it, he asked, “Somebody tried to run you over?”
“It was just a warning. If the guy had wanted to kill me, he would have.”
“That makes me feel better.” Teddie’s voice sounded harsh and protective at the same time. “Was this the first warning?”
“Yesterday I found a note in crayon on my windshield.”
“So, he’s escalating. I’m coming home.”
“To do what? Put me under armed guard? It’s fight weekend, and I’m already drowning. There’s nothing you can do.” As I pulled up to the kiosk at the government center parking garage, I lowered my window. Barely able to reach the button, I managed to punch it and claim my ticket. “Finish your work in California, then come home. When do you think that might be, anyway?”
“Maybe Friday, late, but for sure Saturday, if you’re positive you’ll be okay. We have a couple of studio sessions the next two days; then I need to meet with my new agent. Your Ms. One-Note Wylie agreed to represent me.”
“Two days? I guess I can survive.”
“You damned well better. I’d be lost without you.” Teddie sounded like he meant it, making my heart soar. “I know it’s futile to ask you to back off this Neidermeyer thing, but couldn’t you keep Jeremy or Romeo close by at least until I get there? It would make me feel better.”
“I’ll try.” I fudged. The last thing I needed was to be put on a leash. “But I promise, I won’t be stupid.” Having someone care about me wasn’t the burden I’d always envisioned. This being-in-love was heady stuff.
“I guess that will have to do. So you’re not mad?”
“No.” After circling the garage several times, I found a parking place and swung into it with five minutes to spare. “I needed some time to find my footing.”
“We’re cool, then?”
“Totally.” I grabbed my Birkin and levered myself out of the car. “But promise me one thing. If you ever want someone else, if you fall out of love with me, let me be the first to know about it.”
“If you promise me the same.”
“Scout’s honor.”
Government buildings the world over have the same feel, as if there’s one uninspired architect responsible for them all. Daniel Lovato’s office was no different. Decorated in what could only be described as upscale institutional (the furniture was made from wood rather than metal, and carpet rather than linoleum graced the floors), with a large rendition of the seal of the state of Nevada looming ominously over the waiting area, the place felt foreboding and tragic. Nothing good happened here. Oh, the citizens of the Silver State were protected and life as we knew it was preserved, but this was not a happy place.
I didn’t envy Daniel his job. I don’t know how lawyers stay sane, dealing with all the ugliness life has to offer day-in and day-out. Of course, that assumed a great deal about their mental health to start with…
Daniel rose when I entered his office, leaned across his desk, and extended his hand. “Lucky.”
Attired differently than the last time I’d seen him, today he wore a tailored blue suit, his hair was slicked straight back, and a bright purple and green shiner surrounded his left eye, which was still swollen half-shut.
I took his hand then seated myself in the chair he indicated. “I hope you won.”
“What?” He stepped around his desk and took the chair next to mine, shifting slightly so he faced me.
“You look as if you’ve been moonlighting as Tortilla Padilla’s sparring partner.”
“Oh, a mishap in the dark. It’s nothing.” Anger flashed across his face, then disappeared.
There was a story there, I thought. I wondered what it was.
“What can I do for you?” One elbow on the arm of his chair, his hands clasped, Daniel leaned slightly toward me.
“You can tell me why you’re pushing so hard on Jeremy Whitlock.”
“He had opportunity and means.”
“So did you and your wife.”
Daniel raised his eyebrows, but he didn’t look surprised.
“What’s Jeremy’s motive?” I asked.
“That’s why we’re pushing.” Daniel leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of him. “What motive would Glinda or myself have?”
“I’ve heard whispers of a gambling debt.”
“That’s absurd!” Daniel launched himself out of the chair and began pacing. “You and I have known each other for a long time. Does that ring true to you?”
“No, but, frankly, none of this makes any sense.”
“Somebody hated Ms. Neidermeyer enough to kill her—pretty simple.” His back to me, Daniel stared out the window behind his desk.
“Yeah, but it’s the who and the why that are a bit confusing.”
Before Daniel could reply, Glinda Lovato, sheathed in bright orange, flew into the room, unannounced and apparently unrepentant. ‘‘Daniel, you have to pick up Gabi from school this afternoon.”
The district attorney whirled around at the sound of his wife’s voice. He took refuge behind his desk as Glinda advanced on him.
Her purse over her arm, she tugged at the fingers of a peach glove. Once uncovered, she waggled her hand under his nose. “I’m in desperate need of a manicure and the only time open was three o’clock.”
Daniel’s eyebrows lowered, forming a dark line. “Glinda, I’m busy.” He motioned toward me.
“Oh.” Glinda gave me a haughty look. “What are you doing here? Trying to keep one of your friends out of jail?”
“Occupational hazard.”
She gave me a quizzical look. No one had ever accused Glinda Lovato of holding aces high—three syllables was about her max. “Okay. Well, gotta scoot. Oh, and, Daniel, remember I’ll be late. Don’t forget the kid. And try to cook something edible this time, would you?”
Daniel eased himself into his chair as his wife breezed out. While his face was devoid of expression, his eyes—well, the one non-swollen eye anyway—held hatred.
“I don’t know what they’re going to put on my headstone, but it won’t be that I married well.” For a moment a window to his soul opened, then, when he realized what he’d said, it slammed shut. “O’Toole, what exactly did you come here for today?”
“Like you said, we’ve known each other a long time. And in all that time, I’ve never known you to go out on a limb. But that’s what you’re doing with Jeremy Whitlock. You don’t have anything on him that would get you over the beyond-a-reasonable-doubt hurdle. If you go forward with what you’ve got, his lawyer will shred your case in court—assuming you get that far.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s the truth. You’re not stupid, Daniel. I shouldn’t have to spell it out for you. All your pushing does nothing but arouse suspicion.”
“Whose?”
“Mine, for starters.” I rose to go. “And I won’t stop digging until I find the buried treasure.”
My thoughts bouncing and tumbling like a barrel plunging over Niagara Falls, I returned to the Babylon on autopilot, unaware of my surroundings. I don’t know how long I sat, engine idling, in my original parking space, before my focus returned.
I hated when I did that.
Not really remembering anything about the drive, I always worried I had run over somebody and not even noticed. I would never admit to it, but, on the off chance something horrible had happened, I made a circuit around the car just to make sure there weren’t any dents or blood—or someone clinging for their life to a fender.
Luck was with me. The car was clean, and I had three minutes to get to the Temple of Love.
I saw Rudy pacing nervously in front of the wedding chapel as I passed Samson’s Salon, the Babylon’s purveyor of beauty. It was housed in its own ziggurat, complete with huge wooden doors to ward off an invading horde, a waterfall in the reception area, and a multitude of flowering plants cascading from its stepped exterior—all of which I’m sure the women found mildly interesting. But it was the herd of Samson look-alikes, beefy, buff, and beautiful—and waiting to do their bidding—that the women found most appealing. Resisting the urge to take a peek inside, I kept motoring toward Rudy, who hadn’t noticed me, yet.
An absolute Greek god, the man always took my breath away. Jet-black curls, tan, flashing robin’s-egg eyes, a soft smile, and a body like Michelangelo’s David—at least the parts I was privy to matched up pretty well—he caused heads to turn everywhere he went.
One time I had remarked to Jordan that two such beautiful men not being interested in the female of the species was such a waste. Quick as a rattler, he’d fired back a line from our favorite movie, Victor-Victoria: “Honey, I can assure you it’s not wasted.”
Well, maybe not to him, but as a card-carrying member of the World Association of Red-Blooded Women, I mourned the loss of two gorgeous hunks from the gene pool so much that, every time I saw the two of them, I felt like holding a candlelight vigil.
“Have you been waiting long?” I asked, as I skidded to a stop beside Rudy.
He gave me a look I’d last seen on a kid’s face when he was stumped in the last round of the National Spelling Bee. I had no idea such a simple question could be as hard as spelling appoggiatura or serrefine or gallinazo—or some other ridiculous word never used in polite conversation.
Grabbing my arm, he pulled me into the mouth of a nearby hallway. “We need to talk.” He didn’t stop until we were at the very end, far from eavesdroppers, my arm still clutched tightly in his grasp. “I can’t do this.”
Squelching my rising panic, I kept my face calm, my voice casual. “Can’t do what?”
“This!” He gestured back toward the Temple of Love. “I can’t go through with it. I can’t let Jordan ruin his life for me.”
So the great cosmic joker had appointed me the Swami of Love. Me, of all people! An emotional cripple who couldn’t tell the man who had stolen my heart that I loved him. I felt like an imposter pretending to be a surgeon, scalpel poised over the patient…
I took my time choosing my words. “Seems to me that’s Jordan’s choice to make.”
“But he’s giving up everything.” Rudy’s voice cracked.
“No, he’s giving up a career. In exchange, he’s getting everything he’s ever wanted—the chance to live openly with you, the person he loves.”
“You think?”
I nodded.
“How do you know?” Rudy asked, his voice a whisper.
“He told me so—right after I asked him if he was bat shit insane.”
That got a fleeting grin from the nervous bride.
“Rudy, what I know about love wouldn’t fill an index card…if you write big…in crayon. So keep that in mind when weighing what I tell you.” I pried his fingers from my arm, then put my arm around his shoulders as I led him back to civilization. “The people in our lives, our relationships, are the only things that really matter. Get those right, you get life right. The rest of the stuff is just details.”
He’d calmed down a bit by the time we reached the doors to the Temple of Love, but his eyes still looked troubled.
“You look like you could use a drink, relax a little.”
“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning. And what about our meeting?”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere, and Delphinia will wait.” My arm still around his shoulders, I steered him further into the Babylon’s mall of shops and straight to the counter at the Daiquiri Den. “Let me buy you something fruity and sinful.” I kept my face passive.
He narrowed his eyes at me, then grinned. “You’re lucky we’ve been friends forever or I’d have to spank you.”
“Promises, promises.” I surveyed the drink menu even though I knew it by heart. “Pick your poison.”
He chose a frozen piña colada.
“The same, but make mine a virgin,” I said to the girl behind the counter. “I always like saying that—I don’t know why.”
“I’m not even going to think about what that says about your sexual fantasies,” Rudy said, as he took his drink from the young woman. She gave him a shy smile.
“Charge them to me, Gloria,” I said, when she handed me my drink.
“You got it, Ms. O’Toole.”
Rudy took a long gulp of his colada as we wandered back to the Temple of Love. “Everybody here knows who you are. What’s that like?” Rudy asked.
“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough.”
“Now there’s a sobering thought.” Forgoing the straw, Rudy tilted the glass and began chugging.
In designing our wedding chapel, the Big Boss had hoped to re-create a true Babylonian temple, which I thought ill-advised. After all, the Babylonians were pagans and had a nasty habit of sacrificing women and small children. Waving away my concerns, the Big Boss reasoned that since most folks were a little unclear as to the identities of the first four presidents of our great country, they wouldn’t have a clue as to some of the less savory Babylonian religious practices. I couldn’t argue with him there, but the whole thing gave me the creeps. Each time I stepped through the door into the cool interior, I had to stifle the urge to look over my shoulder for a guy with a knife. Was that Freudian? Who knew?
Built out of huge rectangular blocks of sandstone, The Temple of Love reminded me of that Egyptian temple someone had reconstructed at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, The Temple of Dendur. Massive in exterior appearance, both temples were small and intimate inside. Open flame sconces lined the walls, casting a warm glow. Urns of reeds softened the corners. Empty by design, the center of the room was a blank canvas to be painted with the desires of the marrying couple.
A bundle of energy and discretion, Delphinia rushed to greet us. “Ms. O’Toole, good to see you.”
Of medium height and weight, with limp brown hair brushing her shoulders, sensible shoes, and uninspired attire, Delphinia blended into the background and did little to inspire confidence—until she looked at you. The clearest violet, her eyes were the eyes of an old soul.
“This is Mr. Gillespi.” I motioned to Rudy at my side, who was draining the last of his drink. “He’ll be making all of the arrangements.”
Her pad at the ready, her pen poised, Delphinia asked, “So this is to be Sunday afternoon, correct?”
Rudy nodded. “Five o’clock, if that’s possible.”
“Of course.” Delphinia wrote the time on her pad. “And what is the name of the bride?”
Rudy and I looked at each other. “That will remain confidential for now, but the paperwork will all be in order,” I said.
The wedding planner didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, do you know what kind of wedding you would like? Elvis impersonator? Thematic? Lately, for some odd reason, vampires have been popular.” She looked at us over the rim of her glasses with those mesmerizing eyes. “I can tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen a minister dressed as Dracula, complete with fake blood and fangs, trying to say, ‘Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today.’”
Rudy swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “It won’t actually be a wedding…” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.
“A commitment ceremony, perhaps?” Delphinia asked, her eyes full of understanding.
“Yes, that’s it.” Rudy seemed to find his footing. “Since Nevada has constitutionally banned marriage between members of the same gender, we will have a ceremony here, then a legal union when and wherever it might actually be possible.”
“That sounds wonderful.” Delphinia scratched a few notes. “And would you like your ceremony to be held here in the temple?”
“No,” I interjected. “We’ll be having it in Mr. Rothstein’s apartment.”
“I see.” If she was surprised, she didn’t show it.
Out of the corner of his mouth, Rudy said, “The Big Boss agreed to that?”
I shook my head. “He doesn’t know about it yet.”
Both Delphinia and Rudy looked at me with owl eyes.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” I intoned. “Let me handle the where; you guys work on the when and the how.”
The two of them fell deep into conversation about flowers. I set forth to nail down the Big Boss.
After looking in all the usual places, querying his assistant, and rejecting the idea of calling my mother, I finally located my father in the Spa, finishing one of his thrice-weekly workouts with his personal trainer.
His face red, he gave me a nod as he pounded out the last few reps of shoulder presses, then dropped the weights, which bounced off the rubber floor. Struggling to catch his breath, he wiped his face with a towel.
“l can’t remember ever seeing you in here,” he said, squinting one eye as he looked up at me. He looked vigorous and alive—taut and tight in all the right places with not even the hint of a paunch. He could have passed for a man twenty years younger, in the prime of life—if you overlooked the angry red scar peeking out of the top of his shirt. Only a couple of months from open-heart surgery and the guy was throwing iron around like Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Had the doctor cleared him to exercise, or was my father blithely ignoring medical wisdom? Since there wasn’t anything I could do about it, I really didn’t want to know. Problems I can’t fix make me as twitchy as a drunk with a bottle he can’t open.
“Exercise makes me itch,” I said. I took his outstretched hand and pulled him to his feet. “Besides, one time, just for giggles, Miss Patterson strapped a pedometer on me. Fifteen miles—that’s what I cover in an average day.”
“That’s activity, not exercise. You’ve got to get your heart rate up.” Thinking of Teddie, I said, “Oh, I get my heart pumping.” He shot me a sideways glance. “Sex doesn’t count.”
“Where’s the justice in that?” I walked with him as he thanked his trainer, then pushed through the doors to the elevator. “Do you have a few minutes? I need to talk to you privately.”
“Come on up with me. I have a massage scheduled, but the masseuse won’t be there until twelve. That gives us fifteen minutes. Is that enough?”
“Sure.”
He held the elevator door for me, then followed me inside, put his card in the slot and punched the button. “I heard you took a chunk out of your mother’s ass this morning.”
I could see the reflection of his scowl as the doors closed. “She had it coming.”
“Maybe so, but are you sure you weren’t a bit harsh?”
Well-intentioned or not, I didn’t need my recently found father trying to broker peace between my mother and me. We’d been firing salvos across each other’s bows for a long time now. “Look,” I said, “let me save you the breath. I know Mother has a heart as big as all outdoors. She rescues everything and everybody—or at least tries to. However, she has an annoying habit of leaping without looking, and then expects me to clean up the mess. I’m trying to get her to pause before she takes that last step off the cliff, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And, to be honest, I’m almost as mad at myself as I am at her,” my reflection said to his. Talking in an elevator was always uncomfortable—too close to turn and look at the person, but awkward talking to a mirror image.
“Do you really think either of us could have stopped her?” The elevator dinged, and he motioned for me to walk ahead.
“Probably not. She had the bit in her teeth.”
“Your mother can handle herself; it’s the girl I’m worried about.” That’s my father, hard-boiled exterior, gooey middle.
“Don’t be. I have it under control.” I cringed as I said it. Announcing control invited the Fates to throw curveballs.
“I also caught Norm Clarke’s column,” my father said, deftly conceding defeat. “Are you and Teddie okay?”
“Far as I know. I need more evidence than a picture taken in a public place, in front of a crowd, to convict him. Besides, people kiss me all the time. That doesn’t mean I’m groping them in the cloakroom. Teddie deserves the same latitude.”
“I hope that boy knows what he’s got.”
“If he doesn’t, he’s not the right guy for me.” The words were true, but as I said them, my heart cracked a little. I’m not sure I could handle Teddie disappointing me.
“I also caught an innuendo in Norm’s column about you.” He pulled the towel from his neck and a bottle of water from the fridge in the bar. “Want one?”
I shook my head.
“Want to tell me about Jordan Marsh?”
“That’s why I’m here, actually. I need your apartment for a wedding this Sunday afternoon.”
His eyes grew wide as he tipped back his head, drained the water bottle, then wiped his mouth on the towel he still held in his other hand. “You and Teddie?”
“No, Jordan Marsh.”
He blinked at me a few times. “You and Jordan Marsh?”
“No.” I paused before I let the cat out of the bag. Jordan had asked me to do this, but still…I was intensely aware that I was teetering at the point of no return. “Jordan Marsh and Rudy Gillespi.”
“For real?” My father couldn’t hide his surprise.
I nodded, then shrugged. “In a way, I’m responsible. Three years ago I introduced them and have been running cover ever since. It was nothing new. I’d been doing the same for Jordan long before that.”
“And here I thought you’d been shagging the biggest heartthrob on the planet off and on for years.”
“Really?” It was my turn to be surprised.
“Everybody thought so,” he assured me.
“I had no idea.” The blood drained from my head, and I felt woozy. “My sex life is a topic of conversation?”
“It is for your mother and me. I was speaking a bit broadly, but I doubt we were the only ones.”
Oh, happy day.
“Come. Sit.” He motioned to the couch in front of his wall of windows. He shook his head. “Jordan Marsh, gay? Who would have believed it?”
My story complete and the Big Boss’s complicity gained with a promise to join him for cocktails later, I made my escape as the masseuse arrived. Blond, willowy, and young, she didn’t know it yet, but, when my mother got a look at her, she was as good as gone.
I reviewed my morning as I rode down in the elevator. So far I’d rescued a virgin, threatened the district attorney, and set in motion events that would derail a stellar career—and the day wasn’t even half over. Rather depressing, all things considered.
There was only one thing to do—eat.
The lunch crowd had yet to arrive in full force when I stepped in line at Nebuchadnezzar’s, the Babylon’s renowned buffet. I flashed my employee badge, grabbed a tray and plate, and then, like a kid in a candy store, made a reconnaissance of all the offerings. Never one to make snap decisions when it came to food, I loaded my plate with gustatory delights from five different continents, then took a seat at a two-top by the window.
The fall day in full bloom, I watched golfers do what golfers do on the Babylon’s championship course as I tried to decide what foodstuff to attack first.
My phone rang, catching me with a mouth full of ribs. I wiped one hand, then flipped the thing open. “O’Toole.”
Flash Gordon lived by the motto, “Why waste time being cordial when you can be efficient?” “I’m in your office. Why aren’t you here?”
“My office is just a front where I enslave others to do my work so I can shirk my duties and hide out in Nebuchadnezzar’s. Want some lunch?”
“You’re buying,” she said. Then the line went dead.
Flash made it, well…in a flash. I had barely plowed through three ribs and had a fork poised over the potato salad when she arrived.
She tossed her bag at my feet. “I found your Mary Swearingen Makepeace. You are so not gonna like it.” She pointed at my plate. “But, first, I’ve gotta get me one of those. I’m wasting away standing here.”
As she sashayed away, I narrowed my eyes at her full-sized behind. She didn’t seem in imminent danger of emaciation to me.
Stuffed into a pair of painted-on jeans, she balanced on towering hot pink stilettos. Her lush figure cinched in by a tight belt, her double denvers threatening to bust loose from her tight white tee shirt with Bob Marley stenciled on the front, Flash turned every male head in the place.
Like her wardrobe, everything about Flash Gordon was overstated, from her red hair to her full lips painted a pouty pink to her in-your-face personality. Hanging out with her was like being strapped to the back of a honeybee—exhilarating, nauseating, terrifying—and sometimes life-threatening. That girl had a nose for trouble.
God knew what she’d dug up on Mary Swearingen Makepeace. Milking me like this meant she’d found something good. Her stonewalling would normally light my short fuse, but, since I had food to keep me happy, I let her have her fun.
I was busy stuffing a Chinese egg roll in my mouth when she returned. Two continents down, three to go, and I was already full. I couldn’t remember being this much off my feed before—except for that time I got food poisoning and darn near died.
Flash plopped two fully laden plates on the table, then her heinie in the chair. “I’m a two-fisted eater. So sue me.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Not out loud.” She took a huge bite out of a hamburger, oozing cheese and mayo. A little splotch dribbled on her chin, but she didn’t notice—or, if she did, she didn’t care. With her mouth full, she leaned over and grabbed an egg roll off my plate, adding it to the pile on hers, then gave me a grin—hard to do with her mouth full.
I narrowed my eyes at her. She knew I considered swiping other people’s food a capital offense.
She swallowed the bite of hamburger, then grabbed a cube of watermelon off my plate and popped it into her mouth, her eyes dancing with glee as they challenged me.
Pushing my plate out of her easy reach, I cleared the table in front of me.
“Is that all you’re going to eat? Are you pregnant or something?” She eyed me, a look of horror on her face.
Crossing my arms, I raised one eyebrow at her. When I pointed to her chin, she dabbed at it with her napkin.
“Okay, okay.” She wolfed another bite of burger, then started paraphrasing the notes she kept in her head, her mind like a steel trap. “Do you remember a guy named Joseph Ferenti?”
“The name doesn’t strike a chord.”
“He was a fight promoter out of Atlantic City, strictly smalltime. Twenty-five years ago he was put on trial here in Vegas on what the general consensus seemed to think were trumped-up charges.”
“Charges of what?”
“Fight-fixing and some gambling anomalies. The paper didn’t spell out the exact charges, but it sounded like he was making his own book, although I’m not sure. Does it matter?” She reached for my plate, then yanked her hand back with a yowl when I slapped it. Shrugging, she wolfed another bite of burger while waiting for me to answer.
“I can get someone to search the court files if we need the particulars. Right now I don’t think they matter.”
Flash paused a minute, thinking. “Where was I…oh, yes, anyway, many thought a wet-behind-the-ears assistant DA was trying to make a big splash. You won’t believe who it was.”
“Daniel Lovato.”
She looked crestfallen. “Man, how’d you know?”
“I’m clairvoyant.” I took a sip of water, then grimaced. Tasteless beverages are not my thing. I wondered, could taste-free beverages be an acquired taste? How would that work? The strangest details sidetracked me. Should I be worried? “What happened to Mr. Ferenti?”
“Twenty years in the Big House.”
I whistled. “Major time for a minor crook. So what does any of this have to do with Ms. Makepeace?”
“She was his squeeze. Apparently, Mr. Ferenti had some not-so-minor business associates. Lovato got the Feds to promise her immunity and a spot in the witness protection program for her and her kid if she rolled on everyone. Since she and Mr. Ferenti weren’t married, he couldn’t block her testimony against him, so he got the book.”
“And Daniel used her to clean house of all the other vermin.”
Flash grabbed a glass of wine from the waiter before he had time to set it on the table and took a slurp. “Yup. It made his career.”
“And Mary and her kid—Mr. Ferenti’s child—disappeared,” I said, thinking out loud.
“Now it’s your turn.” Flash leaned back, a satisfied look on her face. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“The Ferenti kid?” I raised my eyebrows at her and waited.
Flash thought for a moment—I could almost see the wheels spinning. Then she looked up, her eyes bright. “Numbers Neidermeyer?”
“We can’t prove it…yet. But from what we have, and what you’ve given, we’re pretty close to connecting some of the dots.” I took a sip of my wine, swirling it around in my mouth before I swallowed. “What happened to Mr. Ferenti?”
“About five years after he was sent up, he lapsed into a coma and died. Apparently he had developed diabetes. He’d been complaining to the medical staff for months, but they ignored him,”
Flash said, as she eyed the now cold food on my plate. “Here’s the interesting part. At the funeral, everybody said his kid was inconsolable, totally beside herself.”
“And Ms. Makepeace?”
“She never really got back on her feet. Funny thing though, she died about the same time as her husband.”
“Anything unusual about her death?” I said, as my thoughts whirled.
“You mean other than one shot to the head and her body found floating in the Hudson?” Flash polished off her burger then licked each finger, savoring the last tastes.
“Was anyone ever charged?”
Flash shook her head. “No. Obviously, it reeked of a Mob hit, but that’s as far as it went.”
“And the grandmother? Don’t tell me she was whacked, too?”
“No, heart attack. Not too long after her daughter’s body was found.”
First, Numbers lost her father, then her mother, then her grandmother—a chain of sorrow started by Daniel Lovato. Even though I couldn’t prove it, I knew in my heart I had my first answer:
Numbers Neidermeyer had come to town for revenge.