Fatal Liaison by Vicki Tyley Page B

time to change out of his business suit and
tie. Compared to everyone else there, he was way overdressed. A barman took his
order and while Greg waited, he used the time to remove his tie, rolling it
into a neat ball before shoving it into his pocket.
    A tall glass of vodka and tonic arrived as he was in the throes of
unbuttoning the neck on his shirt.
    “Thank you.” He paid for his drink and when the barman returned with
his change took the opportunity to ask, “Do they hold these type of functions
here often?”
    The barman shrugged. “Don’t really know, mate. It’s the first one
I’ve worked at.” A small group of people at the other end of the bar demanded
the barman’s attention. He excused himself, leaving Greg alone with his drink.
    Strike two.
    He picked up his drink, skolling half the glass in one swig. The
ice-cold vodka and tonic gushed down his throat, hitting his empty stomach with
a jolt. Without giving his stomach a chance to recover, he emptied the glass
and signaled for another.
    With his drink replenished, he turned to face the room. Where should
he start? How should he start? Perhaps he should’ve left it to the police to do
their job. They knew what they were doing – he didn’t. Yet in two whole days,
they were no closer to finding Sam. He couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.
    A chestnut-haired woman at a nearby table glanced up, her sleek bob
skimming her naked shoulders. She caught his gaze and smiled. One of her table
companions, a high-foreheaded guy in square-rimmed glasses, shot Greg a look of
annoyance. Taking it as his invitation, he took his drink and headed over to
their table.
    “Excuse me interrupting like this,” he said, withdrawing the photo
of Sam from his jacket pocket, “but I’m hoping you can help me.”
    The woman sat up, her neck lengthening.
    “Do any of you remember this woman?” Greg asked, proffering the
photo. “Her name’s Sam. She’s my sister.”
    A hand grabbed it. “Looks vaguely familiar,” said a pinch-faced man
with thinning dark hair, “but can’t say where from. Sorry.”
    Another hand, another platitude.
    And so it went around the table until it reached the chestnut-haired
woman. “Sweet-looking girl. Why are you looking for her? Is she missing?”
    “Yes. Do you know her?”
    The woman shook her head. “Sorry. I hope you find her soon. Nick?”
She held out the photo to the guy with the glasses.
    He took it, gripping it by the corner, and studied it. “Sam, you
say?”
    Greg nodded.
    “Know the face – not the sort of face a guy would forget in a hurry
– though not the name. I remember her from another function, but that was
awhile back. Have you checked with the agency owner?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Good luck, mate,” Nick handed the photo back to Greg. “Hope she
turns up soon.”
    Greg was still contemplating his next move when a leggy,
tousle-haired blonde sailed past him. Two steps later, she reversed.
    She squinted at his chest. “Justin, is it? You look lost.”
    “I am a bit.” Wasn’t that the truth?
    “You’re more than welcome to join our little party. Hang on a sec
while I top-up the supplies.” She nodded at the trio of empty glasses clamped
in her hands.
    Helping her to carry the drinks, he followed her back to her table
at the rear of the room. On the table’s far side sat an attractive round-faced
brunette, who at that moment was throwing barely veiled questioning glances at
her friend. Opposite her, perched on a barstool, was a pale faced,
high-cheek-boned man of around his own age.
    The blonde, whose name he was yet to discover, set the drinks on the
table and spoke to her friend. “Where did Her Majesty disappear to?”
    “Pauline? Not sure. Said there was something important she had to
attend to,” replied the brunette.
    Brenda, whose name he’d finally managed to read, climbed onto the
barstool and motioned him to the vacant spot on the bench. “Megan doesn’t
bite.” She chuckled. “Not