There is nothing like the arrest of your waitress for murder to bring a dinner party to a close.
One minute the room was filled with people thanking me and saying good-bye. The next I was standing there alone with Gretchen, who had tears in her eyes.
She hugged me and kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, “Thank you, Billy. For the dinner, but especially for the closure.”
She stepped back and said, “You may not believe me, but my heart goes out to that poor girl.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?” I said.
As she made her exit, Cassandra entered the room, one eyebrow arched.
“The princess was sniffling,” she said. “Crocodile tears.”
“I don’t think so,” I said.
“Clearly, you don’t,” she said. “Well, no one can say you don’t throw one hell of a party.”
“Thank you. I assume you know what just happened.”
“It is my job to know what happens here during the hours of operation.”
“The customers in the main room didn’t …”
“No. The detectives took her out the back way. You know there’s something you have to do now.”
I nodded. “I don’t suppose you could help—”
“As I’ve said a hundred times, I draw the line when it comes to HR issues.”
With that, she did an about-face. Considering the spikiness of her heel, I was a bit surprised she didn’t screw herself into the floor. I looked back at the empty, partially bused table and saw that there was one liqueur that someone—the commander, I think—had left untouched.
I picked it up and shot it, barely experiencing its syrupy kick.
Then I headed to the bar to tell Juan that the woman he loved had just been arrested for murdering Rudy Gallagher.