Bordelaise was supposed to have arrived yesterday. I’d sent a car to the airport to meet her, only to be told by the driver she was not on the flight. And not a word from her since. I paced the apartment, wondering where she’d gotten to. The house phone rang, and I grabbed it, angry as a hornet.
“You could at least have called!” I yelled.
“You missed me that much?” Montana said. Sighing, I apologized. He said he was downstairs and I told him to come on up.
“Sorry,” I said again as he stepped from the elevator. “I thought it was Bordelaise. She was supposed to be on yesterday’s Continental flight, but she’s gone missing somewhere between Chicago and London. And she doesn’t answer any of her phones.”
“Has she ever done this before?”
I said she had. “She’s a creature of impulse, a spur-of-the-moment gal. If anything more exciting comes along, she’ll take it. Regardless.”
“Want me to do anything about it?”
“She’ll show up,” I said, hoping I was right.
We sat side by side on the white sofa in front of the tall windows overlooking the gray park. It was late afternoon, and I asked Montana if he would like tea, coffee, a drink. He shook his head and said he wanted to get down to business.
“I met Dopplemann,” he said, and my eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Oh, you really are good,” I said. “You found him after all.” I listened while he filled me in on their meeting.
“But why did he run away?”
“That’s what I need to find out. I have a meeting in Washington tomorrow with a man who claims to have known him well.”
“An old friend?”
“I doubt it. Dopplemann’s a very inward person; it would be hard to be ‘friends’ with him.”
“And what about Rosalia and the Andalusian honeymoon hotel?”
“You could do worse than spend a honeymoon there.”
“I could do nothing worse than be condemned to go on another honeymoon. My first one was hell—ten days in Hawaii with half of L.A. and their noisy offspring and my new husband on the cell phone all the time, calling God knows who—probably some other twenty-year-old blonde he wished he was with. And I got food poisoning from bad shrimp and spent two of those days in bed—alone—while he went out fishing with the guys. At least that’s what he told me. Now I wonder.”
“You can’t hang on to the bad memories for the rest of your life. Get past it.”
“Trouble is, I still don’t know what I did wrong.”
“You did nothing wrong except marry a bad guy.”
I looked Montana in the eyes. “Seriously, though,” I said, “do you believe I did nothing to cause a husband to walk out on me?”
“I’d guess he was just a walking-out kind of guy. I’m willing to bet he’s already walked out on the twenty-year-old he left you for and is on to the next, or maybe even the one after that.”
“He’s a jerk,” I said.
He agreed; then to my surprise, he took my hand in both of his and brushed his lips across it. Heat swept up my arm. I told myself it was only a little kiss on the hand and that of course it meant nothing, that there was nothing between us but a failed marriage and a lonely childhood. “We’re both walking wounded,” I said in a voice that trembled as he let go of my hand.
“Then let’s make a deal. I promise to protect you from the bad guys of the world, and you promise to keep me company so I won’t feel lonely.”
“It’s a deal.” We stared solemnly at each other for a long moment, then he took my chin in his hand, tilted my face up to his, and this time he gave me a proper, though gentle, kiss. I had an urge to clasp him to me, to give him the other, harder kind of kiss, but I pulled myself together and, eyes lowered, cheeks pink, moved away.
Montana was all business again. “So now we’ve located all the suspects on Bob’s list, plus we have motives for each of them. I’ve also invited the red herrings; a guy Bob knew by the name of Brandon van Zelder, in his forties, good-looking, knows everybody who counts, good backgammon player, and women love him. He’s bringing along a young woman singer. I know her well. I thought she’d create a good diversion, entertain us when things got a little sticky. Then there’s Reg Blunt.”
“Reg? From the Ram’s Head?”
“Bob wanted to invite him. He said he was a true friend, and believe me, Bob didn’t have many. He also wanted to invite Ginny Bunn. So, that’s our little cruise group,” he said.
Before I could comment, the house phone rang. It was Bordelaise, and she was downstairs.
She breezed in wearing skintight jeans, stiletto boots, and a Chanel tweed jacket, smelling delightfully of Arpège, the scent she’d used since we were both in our teens.
“Sweetie,” she yelled, dumping her Chanel tote and skidding across the parquet, flinging her arms around me in a giant hug that almost sent me sprawling. “I missed you,” she added, holding me at arm’s length and peering worriedly at me from under her thick blond fringe.
“I’m okay,” I said, not sounding too confident about it. “Where were you?”
She gave me a familiar grin that lit up her elfin face. “I made a small detour to Paris, darling, somebody I met in the departure lounge at O’Hare. He was young and hot and”—she shrugged—“well, you know, I’ve never been one to resist temptation.”
I sighed. “Bordelaise, this is Harry Montana. I told you about him.”
She took in his lean, cool length. Out of the side of her mouth she whispered, “Yours or mine, sweetie, just let me know,” then she sauntered up to Montana, who was standing by the window looking very Darth Vader in his black, kind of sinister in a way that was catnip to a woman like Bordelaise.
“Harry,” she said, offering him her hand and a challenging smile.
He grasped her hand and gave her a little bow. “I’ve heard all about you from Daisy.”
She threw me a look over her shoulder. “I do hope not all.”
“I told him you’re coming on the cruise with us.”
Bordelaise widened her eyes as she smiled up at him. “I always wanted to go cruising.”
“Then I’m sure you’ll enjoy the Blue Boat.” Montana looked across at me. “You two have a lot to catch up on. Nice meeting you, Bordelaise.”
“Likewise,” she said, watching his narrow butt appreciatively as he walked away. “See you onboard, Harry,” she called, grinning that wicked little grin.
“Well.” She beamed as the door closed behind him. “You kept him a nice little secret, girlfriend, didn’t you? Anything going on between the two of you, might I ask?”
“Not a thing,” I said firmly. “And I’m sure he’s never even thought about it. He’s not interested, nor am I.”
“Then you certainly have lost your touch, sweetie. We’ll have to see what we can do about getting it back again.”
“We’ll catch up on everything,” I said, showing her to my room, which course we would share, the way we always had. “And I want to hear all about the Paris interlude.” Still remembering her with Montana, I found myself having to push back a niggling feeling of something that just might have been the green-eyed monster.