Part 9 (1/2)
”I want to spend the evening with you. I hear you're the loveliest woman in Manhattan.”
She laughed. ”You'd be in for a big disappointment.”
”I've made up my mind. When I've made up my mind, nothing on G.o.d's earth can change it. Five hundred dollars.”
”That's too much. If you-”
”Young lady, five hundred is peanuts. I've made millions in the oil business. Five hundred-and I won't tie you up all evening. I'll be there around six o'clock. We'll relax together-then go out to dinner. You'll be home by ten, plenty of time to rest up for Vegas.”
”You don't give up easily, do you?”
”That's my trademark. I'm blessed with perseverance. Down home they call it pure mule-headed stubbornness.”
Smiling, she said, ”All right. You win. Five hundred. But you promise we'll be back by ten?”
”Word of honor,” he said.
”You haven't told me your name.”
”Plover,” he said. ”Billy James Plover.”
”Do I call you Billy James?”
”Just Billy.”
”Who recommended me?”
”I'd rather not use his name on the phone.”
”Okay. Six o'clock it is.”
”Don't you forget.”
”I'm looking forward to it,” she said.
”So am I,” Billy said.
11.
Although Connie Davis had slept late and hadn't opened the antique shop until after lunch, and although she'd had only one customer, it was a good day for business. She had sold six perfectly matched seventeenth-century Spanish chairs. Each piece was of dark oak with bowed legs and claw feet. The arms ended in snarling demon heads, elaborately carved gargoyles the size of oranges. The woman who purchased the chairs had a fourteen-room apartment overlooking Fifth Avenue and Central Park; she wanted them for the room in which she sometimes held seances. she wanted them for the room in which she sometimes held seances.
Later, when she was alone in the shop, Connie went to her alcove office at the rear of the main room. She opened a can of fresh coffee, prepared the percolator.
At the front of the room the big windows rattled noisily. Connie looked up from the percolator to see who had come in. No one was there. The windows were trembling from the sudden violence of the winter weather; the wind had picked up and was gusting fiercely. the wind had picked up and was gusting fiercely.
She sat down at a neatly kept Sheraton desk from the late 1780s and dialed the number of Graham's private office phone, bypa.s.sing his secretary. When he answered she said, ”h.e.l.lo, Nick.”
”Hi, Nora.”
”If you've made any headway with your work, let me take you to dinner tonight. I just sold the Spanish chairs, and I feel a need to celebrate.”
”Can't do, I'm afraid. I'm going to have to work most of the night to finish here.”
”Can't the staff work a bit of overtime?” she asked.
”They've done their job. But you know how I am. I have to double-check and triple-check everything.”
”I'll come help.”
”There's nothing you can help with.”
”Then I'll sit in the corner and read.”
”Really, Connie, you'd be bored. You go home and relax. I'll show up sometime around one or two in the morning.”
”Nothing doing. I won't get in your way, and I'll be perfectly comfortable reading in an office chair. Nora needs her Nick tonight. I'll bring supper.”
”Well ... okay. Who am I kidding? I knew you'd come. ”
”A large pizza and a bottle of wine. How's that?”
”Sounds good.”
”When?” she asked.
”I've been dozing over my typewriter. If I'm to get this work done tonight, I'd better take a nap. As soon as the staff clears out for the day, I'll lie down. Why don't you bring the pizza at seven-thirty?”
”Count on it.”
”We'll have company at eight-thirty.”
”Who?”
”A police detective. He wants to discuss some new evidence in the Butcher case.”
”Preduski?” she asked.
”No. One of Preduski's lieutenants. A guy named Bollinger. He called a few minutes ago and wanted to come to the house this evening. I told him that you and I would be working here until late.”
”Well, at least he's coming after we eat,” she said. ”Talking about the Butcher before before dinner would spoil my appet.i.te.” dinner would spoil my appet.i.te.”