Part 26 (1/2)
”Look at me, Stretch.”
I hadn't realized that I wasn't, until he said so. I met his gaze. ”What?”
He leaned toward me and whispered, ”When you get a compliment, try saying 'Thank you,' and nothing else. For instance, when I tell you that your naked shoulders could start a major world religion-”
”Aaron!”
”No, not 'Aaron,' just 'Thank you.' You'll get the hang of it.” He leaned back and rapped the table with his knuckles. ”Now, listen, I just heard something interesting about Lester Foy from my source at the SPD. They've been backtracking his movements lately.”
My mental gears were grinding. ”Foy? He's the killer after all, isn't he?”
”Not. Sorry, Stretch, your little friend Zack is still the prime suspect. On the night of the Aquarium party, Lester Foy was up in Blaine, making an unsuccessful attempt to cross the Canadian border.”
”Are you sure?”
Aaron nodded, and a lock of black hair flopped across his forehead. ”Positive ID from the customs guys. When they asked him to pull over for a spot search, he took off and they lost him. Blaine's a two-hour drive from here. Whoever Dracula was, he wasn't Lester Foy.”
”Oh.” I took a minute to digest this news. ”But that still doesn't prove that it was Zack who killed Mercedes. Dracula could have been...” Who? I couldn't think straight. ”OK, I'm not sure about Dracula. But I know Zack wasn't the murderer. I just know it.”
”Come on, Mrs. Robinson, give it up. Zack fooled all of us, not just you. Admit it, and try to forget the whole thing.”
”I can't forget it. I'm sure I'm right, and once I get some sleep I'm going to figure it all out, you wait and see.”
”More power to you, Sherlock.” Aaron stood up and straightened his bow tie. ”Want to come up to the Sound Lab and jam with me? I'll play 'Wipe Out' for you.”
I smiled. ”Maybe later. I have to get back to work.”
”Kharrnegie!” A vast and crumpled tuxedo front was hovering over me like a Slavic storm cloud. ”I have found you!”
”So you have. Aaron, this is Boris Nevsky. Boris, Aaron Gold, a good friend of mine.”
”And so, a good friend of mine also!” Boris enveloped Aaron in one of his patented Russian bear hugs, then set him down and extended one huge paw to me. ”You prromised to dance! Come!”
”I did not promise! Boris, I'm in no condition-”
”Yes, I know, you were in car smash. I will hold you gently, like flower. Come!”
”Oh, all right.” If I didn't keep moving, I'd probably stiffen to a complete halt. So I picked up my purse and followed Boris up to the main floor, leaving Aaron to arrange his tie all over again.
Chapter Thirty-Four.
”BORIS, YOUR FLOWERS ARE WONDERFUL!” I HAD TO SHOUT HAD TO SHOUT to be heard. High over our heads in the Sky Church, Travis Cook, an elfish fellow with long lank hair and the best sound technician on the West Coast, made magic at his control panels on the balcony. Like a latter-day wizard, he was conjuring up waves of music and dazzling, s.h.i.+fting video projections, filling the vast s.p.a.ce with a pulsing phantasmagoria that throbbed through our bones as we stood at the edge of the crowded dance floor. ”Corinne loved her bouquet! Did she tell you?” to be heard. High over our heads in the Sky Church, Travis Cook, an elfish fellow with long lank hair and the best sound technician on the West Coast, made magic at his control panels on the balcony. Like a latter-day wizard, he was conjuring up waves of music and dazzling, s.h.i.+fting video projections, filling the vast s.p.a.ce with a pulsing phantasmagoria that throbbed through our bones as we stood at the edge of the crowded dance floor. ”Corinne loved her bouquet! Did she tell you?”
The Mad Russian didn't answer, but instead scooped me delicately into his arms for an impromptu tango. We angled across the floor, with smiling guests parting before us, then reversed course and thrust back into the throng.
Most of the faces that swam past were unfamiliar, but I saw Chloe and Howard dancing together, equally oblivious of their sunburns and the beat. Also Valerie Duncan, partnered with Paul's brother Scott but gazing wistfully over his shoulder at someone else. Who? Ah, Roger Talbot, resplendent in white tie. He looked like a head of state at the very least.
Roger was squiring Monica Lamott, as requested, but smirking over her shoulder at a gorgeous young thing I recognized from the Sentinel's art department. Another conquest so soon? He was incorrigible. I returned my attention to the path ahead and jerked my partner to a halt just before we clipped the metal struts of one of the light towers.
”Boris, slow down, please! Now tell me, did you talk with Corinne? I thought maybe after your divorce-”
”Corinne! Why always do you talk of Corinne?” He blew out a gusty breath, like an exasperated horse. ”Corinne is no more fun since she stopped to drink.”
”Corinne stopped drinking?” Corinne had pa.s.sed on the tequila shooters back at the bridesmaids' luncheon, but I remembered all too vividly how sick she was in the Aquarium ladies' room. ”I don't think so, Boris.”
”Da! She stops to drinking, she cries, she gets fat, she vants to get merried. Please, no more Corinne.”
”Sorry...”
He kept on talking, but I had ceased to listen. No alcohol... weeping... nausea... As soon as I could, I extricated myself from Boris and made my way to the edge of the dance floor. Corinne? I grabbed a gla.s.s of sparkling water from a pa.s.sing waiter. I had to think, though the pounding music and strobing lights made it nearly impossible. Perrier, Aaron said she was drinking Perrier....
”Great party, Carnegie!” Burt Lamott patted my bruised shoulder heartily and jostled my water gla.s.s so that it spilled on my dress. Filling out her dress... eating like a horse... What was it Valerie said? ”Roger's terribly discreet with all his women.” The memories were connecting so fast I could hardly follow them. All his women... and she was in the ladies' room when Mercedes told me...
I left the Sky Church in a daze, feeling feverish, as if an electrical charge was flickering through my brain. Venus had long red fingernails... I pushed rudely through the milling guests... but when she came out of the water her fingers were cold and blunt, no long nails. What did that mean?
Valerie Duncan walked past, and I stopped her, fumbling to formulate my question, stumbling over the words. ”At the, the cemetery, the funeral, Angela talked to Corinne about something, it seemed to make her angry. Just before they got in your car. Do you know what they were talking about?”
”Not really.” Valerie was in party mode, and did not look pleased at the reminder of recent events. ”Something about a necklace. I didn't pay much attention.”
”No, of course not... Sorry.”
A necklace. A necklace, or a ring on a gold chain? And the man in a black cloak... I stopped dead. What if the man in the black cloak never existed?
”Isn't this great?” Paul Wheeler, buoyant and beaming, stepped back from the guitar sculpture and stood before me, blocking my way.
I clutched his arm. ”Have you seen Tommy?”
”It's like a, a super wedding. Elizabeth's a super girl. And you're a super-”
”Paul, where is Tommy?”
He frowned, blinking his glazed-over eyes. ”I think they went upstairs. Why?”
” 'They?' He's with his daughter?”
”No, with Corinne.” The bridegroom smiled at me rea.s.suringly. ”Don't worry. She'll take care of Tommy.”
The next few minutes were the stuff of nightmare: surrealistic lights and ominous sounds, seemingly infinite obstacles, an overwhelming sense of urgency and dread. I rushed past Paul and up the stairs to the mezzanine, fighting the crowd all the way, then stopped to catch my breath at the railing that ran around the atrium and the wide, glittering head of the tornado of guitars.
Across the atrium were the Milestones galleries, behind me the Sound Lab, and off to my right a gla.s.s wall that overlooked the Sky Church and formed the rear of the technical balcony where Travis was working. And everywhere were wedding guests by the dozen, blocking my view and confusing me further. Where would she take him? Was he beginning to remember? And, most critical of all, did Corinne have her gun with her tonight?
My first thought had been to contact the EMP security guards on my walkie-talkie, and have them apprehend Corinne even if they had to clear the building to find her. If I was wrong, well, better safe than sorry. But then I held off. If I was right, Corinne would be armed, and a challenge from a guard could easily spook her into harming the already fragile old sportswriter.
Because, whether Tommy remembered it or not, I was certain that I knew who smashed that jagged stone into Mercedes Montoya's skull, as she lay helpless in the water where Zack had pushed her. Corinne Campbell, one of Roger Talbot's many mistresses, who seemed ”so ordinary and tedious” by comparison with the haughty Mexican beauty. Corinne, who by some evil chance had overheard her rival gloating about the engagement ring, the ring she coveted for herself.