Lightning flashed briefly, silently, along the western horizon.
The barmaid placed Jeff’s brandy on the table, and he noticed that her long nails were polished to match the red geraniums encased in clear lacquer on the tabletop. She placed his printed bar tab on the table, then walked toward a man and woman in the opposite corner. They were the only other customers, and he would have thought of them as a couple, except had they been a couple, they would’ve taken their increasingly erotic mating dance to a room. Jeff averted his gaze and stared into his glass. He hoped this last round would induce sleep.
The Cupola Bar was a two-level lounge at the top of the hotel. Three of its four sides were glass, offering a panoramic view of the lakes. Jeff was on the upper level, which was actually a gallery with a rail to keep the tipsy from tumbling through the square opening and into the lower level. If anyone did take the plunge, he would take with him an eight-foot glass chandelier that descended out of sight through the opening.
While he drank, Jeff thought about the events of the evening. After finishing dinner with the Hursts, he had gone to The Terrace Room to check out the band and have an after-dinner drink. But it was crowded and noisy, and the sight of all those couples dancing had only served to make him miss Sheila. He’d gone back to his room and called her.
After he’d reported every detail about his dinner and the people he’d met, Sheila had said, “To tell you the truth, I don’t know which sounds more eccentric.”
“Eccentric or not, I’ll have my work cut out for me if Jennifer Hurst is bidding for the cabaret set.”
“It’ll keep your skills sharp.” Sheila sighed. “So, what’s on your interesting agenda for the rest of the evening?”
“A movie, probably. The hotel’s showing An Affair to Remember.” He never went out to movies back home, opting instead to rent videos so that he and Sheila could watch them together. “I wish you could be here.”
“Well, I can’t, so let’s not talk about it.”
“Why can’t we talk about it? I miss you, damn it.”
“Let’s just change the subject, okay?”
Jeff grudgingly agreed, not wanting to get in a fight long-distance. They talked about inconsequential things and rang off on a note of mutual dissatisfaction.
That’s when Jeff had headed downstairs to kill a couple more hours in what he suspected would be a long evening.
No longer in the mood for a movie, he headed back upstairs to find the bar. He’d been told that the Cupola was only one flight up from his room.
Rain pelted the glass behind him. Brandy and rain: There was a combination that should help him sleep. Jeff drank slowly. He thought about asking if it was Napoleon brandy, but didn’t. He was beginning to resent this inner voice that encouraged premonitions.
“A porcelain for your thoughts.”
Jeff jumped, then stood and smiled. It was Jennifer. “My thoughts aren’t worth that much, but I’d guess you have plenty of pieces to spare.” He held a chair for her.
“Too many, probably. I’ve had to hire someone to come in and help me dust every week.”
“I do the same thing.”
“See? You need a wife to do that for you.”
“You’re a wife. Besides, I could have two wives and they couldn’t keep up. I have an ancestor who was a lumber baron. My home has more rooms than a military funeral has guns. Some people might say I inherited a white elephant, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” Jeff took a drink. “Where’s Ben?”
“He stopped to say hello to some friends.” She motioned toward the opposite corner, then smiled flirtatiously. “Were you afraid I’d hunted you down alone? No wonder you’re still single. You’re too skittish. You need to relax.”
“I’m afraid if I do, you’ll start undressing me.”
“Well, not here.” She smiled and sat back. “I’m only having fun, and probably way too much to drink.” As if mentioning drink reminded her that she had one, she sipped something blue from a martini glass. “You’re safe with me, Jeff. Although I do have an older sister—”
“What’s going on over here?” Ben pulled up a chair.
“I was just telling Jeff about Meagan,” she said with a look toward Jeff.
“Meagan? Hell, Jennifer, she wouldn’t know a Model T from a Yugo. What would they have to talk about?”
“I suppose you’re right, sweetheart. It was just a thought.” She gave Jeff a nervous glance. “I think I’ll go powder my nose.”
“We need to turn in soon, anyway,” Ben said. “Lots of ground to cover tomorrow.”
Jennifer stood. “You’re right. Let’s just meet back in the room in a few minutes, okay?” She leaned over and gave her husband a long kiss, then told Jeff good night and strolled toward the stairs.
Jeff wasn’t sleepy yet, and he hoped Ben would stay a little longer and visit. There was one sure way to make that happen. “Ben, tell me more about your sports collection.”
True to the collector temperament, Ben began talking about his baseball cards and autographed pigskins and pennants. He told about his favorite find and his best deal and the one that got away, stories that Jeff had heard many times from many people. The items were different, but not the people or the passions.
The barmaid announced last call.
Ben glanced at his watch. “Jennifer’s probably given up on me.” He rose and told Jeff good night.
After Ben left, Jeff turned his attention to the window. The rain had almost stopped, but the lightning still flashed, saying it wasn’t through trying to stir up things.
Something in the gardens below caught his eye. Someone was there—a man—at the foot of the stairs by the lighted walk that led to the swimming pool. It seemed quite late for a stroll in the gardens. But the streetlamps were still burning, casting small beams of light across the walkway, and Jeff supposed the guy didn’t mind getting wet.
Jeff tried to get a closer look. It appeared the man was talking with someone, although Jeff couldn’t see the other person because of the overhang of foliage. Something about the man seemed familiar, and Jeff searched his mind for who it was. The brandy had begun to take effect, however, and all the people he’d met during the course of the evening began to mix in his brain.
As the conversation continued, the man seemed to become more aggressive. He paced back and forth, like an irritated coach on the sidelines, again tweaking Jeff’s memory, but he still couldn’t place who it was. Then the hidden party stepped forward quickly and back again. From Jeff’s vantage point high above, he caught only a glimpse.
But it was enough of a glimpse to tell him that it was a woman. A woman wearing a large hat and what looked like a black dress. The hat’s wide brim shielded most of her body from Jeff’s view.
Just then, the man popped his forehead with the heel of his left hand. Only one man had a gesture like that. The man arguing with the woman was Frank Hamilton.