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THERE WERE CONTRITE creases on Samantha’s forehead and a seductive pout to her mouth. Everything else was beautifully intact.
"Did you just get back?" I asked, wondering how much she heard of my exchange with Alan and whether it meant anything to her. The way she leaned against the doorjamb suggested she’d been there a while, but she didn’t ask me about the phone call. Her so-called tennis game had taken all day and well into the evening, and she seemed eager to explain.
"You didn't seem to need me much, and after tennis this friend and I got talking. Then we decided to shop. Before I realized how late it was, it was seven. I couldn't expect Pascaline to cook for me then, so we just went to a restaurant.
“You don't mind, do you? I mean, you never said exactly what we were doing today."
If she expected me to be miffed, I’m afraid I disappointed her. While she was playing tennis and chatting and shopping and eating out, I had enlisted the aid of two minors so I could break into another man's hotel room. There I’d discovered a murder confession and probably evidence of another. Then I’d zonked myself out with wine and finally whipped my mental processes into a frenzy over a treasure that would never be mine even if I found it. Samantha Carlisle's temporary absence was more of a convenience than a disappointment.
I told her we had had no plans at all.
"Good," she said, as if that settled it. "How are you feeling?"
"Tip top," I said. "Want to give me a try?" The question was meant to help me learn whether her companion had been male or female, or perhaps whether she only loved me for her money. Either way, it didn’t work.
"Why, Richard," she cooed. "You do feel better." Then she turned and teased me with her hips all the way back to the den.
I stepped inside ahead of her and switched on a few soft lights. When I was in the bedroom, she told me to wait there, that she was getting a drink first. I heard her rattling things in the little kitchenette, and soon she reappeared carrying two glasses of red wine. A sensuous smile parted her lips and her breasts tempted me from inside her unbuttoned blouse. I began to set my wine aside to reach for her, but she gently nudged the glass toward me.
"A toast, my dear, to hidden treasure and sex," she whispered, sliding her eyes from my mouth to my knees.
"To your favorite things in the world," I agreed, tapping my glass against hers.
"Drink! Drink," she urged me, so I gambled it was only knock-out drops and took a sip. That seemed to relax her, and she drank deeply from her own glass.
"Why don't you bring in the bottle," I suggested.
"Certainly, darling," she agreed, and mercifully left the room to fetch it.
The only absorbent item at hand was a T-shirt I’d left on the floor. I dumped all but the last few sips of my wine into it and shoved it under the bed before Samantha returned. Then I raised my glass for more.
"My! You are thirsty," she observed.
"Hungry, too," I replied, reaching for her wrist to pull her toward me.
My grip was not what I expected. Dizzy again, I collapsed back onto the pillow, and Samantha slipped away. My wine glass fell to the floor and made lovely jingling sounds like the silver bells you hear at Christmas.
With half-closed eyes I watched Samantha re-button her blouse.