six ounces of Bombay Sapphire in me, not to mention the vermouth. Plus—let’s see if I can put this delicately—my brain’s missing some blood thanks to Gina being so close. My corporal contents have shifted.
A crowd of alarm driven bar patrons streams into the small elevator lobby, but instead of opening, the elevator doors lock shut. I reach for Gina’s hand as the swelling crowd of panicked seniors herds toward the stairs. I don’t see or smell any smoke, but Gina and I don’t have any choice but to go along. We’re swept up like leaves in a water-filled gutter.
I slip my arm around her waist to keep us together.
Outside in the parking lot, Gina and I huddle with two or three dozen other bar patrons, hotel guests and staff . Branchtown fire crews unload hoses while others rush inside the Martha Washington. I don’t spot Tony, Ms. Strawberry or Ann Marie Talbot anywhere in the crowd, but Carmela’s out here with Gina and me, Mr. Vic’s daughter talking with three young women and a uniformed cop.
FOURTEEN
Gina Farascio’s unruly gaze fixes on two Branchtown police cruisers bouncing into the Martha’s parking lot. Behind the black-and-whites, I recognize Detective James Mallory’s dirty brown Crown Victoria. He hits the driveway at thirty miles an hour.
I’m guessing Branchtown’s Bravest found something inside the hotel of serious interest to Branchtown’s Finest. Arson? Or maybe somebody got burned.
The number of people waiting to return has dwindled considerably, no doubt a casualty of alcoholic thirst. I could use another see-through myself. In fact, I’d head back to Luis’ right now if it wasn’t for Bluefish’s now-missing one hundred thousand. I’m beginning to consider final resting spots.
“Carr.”
I shift to see Detective Mallory stalking me from behind. He’s got two uniformed officers with him and a tense, don’t-screw-with-me expression. Actually, the only time he doesn’t have that nasty cast on his face is when he’s coaching Little League Baseball. Even then he talks to the kids like the umpire instead of a coach.
He grips my arm. “Talk to me, pal. Over there, by the patrol car.”
Mallory tugs me over hands on, like he’s dragging a convict up before the judge. He nudges me against the black-and-white’s rear fender and pushes his face up close. I think he might have had a beer with lunch. Sam Adams? Our noses are almost touching.
“Know a woman named Ann Marie Talbot?” he says.
Gulp. “Yeah.”
Mallory’s eyebrows snap higher. I can almost feel wind.
“She’s an investigator with the American Association of Securities Dealers,” I say. “She’s been auditing Shore.”
“Did you see her today?”
“No.”
“You sure? I found your name on a pad by her telephone.”
Double gulp. Why was Mallory up in Talbot’s room after the fire? My stomach begins to fill with battery acid. Is there a criminal reason why I haven’t seen Tony or Talbot?
“I had an appointment , but didn’t go,” I say.
Mallory grins. Now his breath smells like gasoline. Maybe he was drinking brandy. “You’re a bad liar, Car r. You expect me to believe you were at her hotel, but you didn’t keep that appointment?”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. It’s the truth. I sent an associate to keep my appointment.”
Oh, my, that was dumb. Sometimes my Gift of Gab turns into Big Stupid Mouth.
“Yeah? And who would that be?” Mallory says.
I suck a big breath. Considering what Tony was carrying, and what he may have been doing with it, I’m not the smallest bit anxious to reveal his identity. Or Shore’s semi-serious AASD troubles. Oh, man, when am I going to learn to keep my trap shut?
I stall. “Tell me what’s going on. Why all the questions?”
Mallory right hand jumps up and pinches my shoulder. I want to knock it away. “Who went to see her, Carr? Tell me.”
If people exercised the right to remain silen t, our prisons
A crowd of alarm driven bar patrons streams into the small elevator lobby, but instead of opening, the elevator doors lock shut. I reach for Gina’s hand as the swelling crowd of panicked seniors herds toward the stairs. I don’t see or smell any smoke, but Gina and I don’t have any choice but to go along. We’re swept up like leaves in a water-filled gutter.
I slip my arm around her waist to keep us together.
Outside in the parking lot, Gina and I huddle with two or three dozen other bar patrons, hotel guests and staff . Branchtown fire crews unload hoses while others rush inside the Martha Washington. I don’t spot Tony, Ms. Strawberry or Ann Marie Talbot anywhere in the crowd, but Carmela’s out here with Gina and me, Mr. Vic’s daughter talking with three young women and a uniformed cop.
FOURTEEN
Gina Farascio’s unruly gaze fixes on two Branchtown police cruisers bouncing into the Martha’s parking lot. Behind the black-and-whites, I recognize Detective James Mallory’s dirty brown Crown Victoria. He hits the driveway at thirty miles an hour.
I’m guessing Branchtown’s Bravest found something inside the hotel of serious interest to Branchtown’s Finest. Arson? Or maybe somebody got burned.
The number of people waiting to return has dwindled considerably, no doubt a casualty of alcoholic thirst. I could use another see-through myself. In fact, I’d head back to Luis’ right now if it wasn’t for Bluefish’s now-missing one hundred thousand. I’m beginning to consider final resting spots.
“Carr.”
I shift to see Detective Mallory stalking me from behind. He’s got two uniformed officers with him and a tense, don’t-screw-with-me expression. Actually, the only time he doesn’t have that nasty cast on his face is when he’s coaching Little League Baseball. Even then he talks to the kids like the umpire instead of a coach.
He grips my arm. “Talk to me, pal. Over there, by the patrol car.”
Mallory tugs me over hands on, like he’s dragging a convict up before the judge. He nudges me against the black-and-white’s rear fender and pushes his face up close. I think he might have had a beer with lunch. Sam Adams? Our noses are almost touching.
“Know a woman named Ann Marie Talbot?” he says.
Gulp. “Yeah.”
Mallory’s eyebrows snap higher. I can almost feel wind.
“She’s an investigator with the American Association of Securities Dealers,” I say. “She’s been auditing Shore.”
“Did you see her today?”
“No.”
“You sure? I found your name on a pad by her telephone.”
Double gulp. Why was Mallory up in Talbot’s room after the fire? My stomach begins to fill with battery acid. Is there a criminal reason why I haven’t seen Tony or Talbot?
“I had an appointment , but didn’t go,” I say.
Mallory grins. Now his breath smells like gasoline. Maybe he was drinking brandy. “You’re a bad liar, Car r. You expect me to believe you were at her hotel, but you didn’t keep that appointment?”
“I don’t care if you believe me or not. It’s the truth. I sent an associate to keep my appointment.”
Oh, my, that was dumb. Sometimes my Gift of Gab turns into Big Stupid Mouth.
“Yeah? And who would that be?” Mallory says.
I suck a big breath. Considering what Tony was carrying, and what he may have been doing with it, I’m not the smallest bit anxious to reveal his identity. Or Shore’s semi-serious AASD troubles. Oh, man, when am I going to learn to keep my trap shut?
I stall. “Tell me what’s going on. Why all the questions?”
Mallory right hand jumps up and pinches my shoulder. I want to knock it away. “Who went to see her, Carr? Tell me.”
If people exercised the right to remain silen t, our prisons
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