Night Vision by Ellen Hart Page B

baguette into chunks. Food might not make Joanna feel better, but for Cordelia, it was a cure-all. “I can’t talk about it.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause Joanna swore me to secrecy. I think you should call David. She needs him.”
    â€œI’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Apparently they haven’t been in touch for a while.”
    â€œWhat’s going on with that woman?” demanded Cordelia. “Joanna never said anything to me about it.”
    Before Jane could respond, the phone rang.
    â€œWill you get that?” asked Cordelia. Her fingers were covered with the creamy cheese.
    Jane grabbed the cordless off the kitchen counter. “Hello?”

    â€œHiya, Babycakes! Did you miss me?”
    Jane didn’t recognize the voice. “Who’s calling, please?”
    â€œJoanna?”
    â€œNo, this is Jane Lawless. I’m a friend.”
    â€œOh, hell,” he said, laughing. “Sorry. This is Fred Kasimir. Joanna’s ex. Is she there yet? I know her plane was due in around three.”
    â€œMr. Kasimir, hi,” said Jane. She’d never spoken with him before. “Yes, that’s right, but she’s resting now. Can I take your number and have her call you back?”
    â€œDo you know if she got the package?”
    Jane felt suddenly wary. “Package?” Just because this man identified himself as Fred Kasimir didn’t mean it was actually him.
    â€œThe screenplay,” he said impatiently. “I put it in the mail four days ago.”
    â€œI don’t know. She hasn’t checked her mail yet.”
    â€œWell, tell her to get on the stick! A project like this doesn’t come along every day.”
    â€œDo you want to leave a number?”
    â€œShe’s got my cell, but I have to turn it off. I’m just about to board a plane. Tell her I’ll be in touch.”
    â€œI’ll do that,” said Jane. “Bye.”
    â€œFreddy Kasimir, huh?” said Cordelia, licking her fingers.
    â€œThat’s what he said. He sent Joanna a screenplay.”
    â€œReally? Fascinating.” She handed Jane a piece of the baguette with a thick smear of Brie on top.
    â€œWhat if it wasn’t Freddy Kasimir? I mean, it could have been anybody.”
    Cordelia stopped midchew. “Boy,” she said, swallowing quickly, “it doesn’t take your paranoia long to move into high gear.”
    Â 
    Shortly after six, Joanna drifted into the kitchen. She’d changed into white jeans and a light blue silk shirt. She didn’t look like she’d rested at all.
    â€œDo we have any scotch?” she asked.

    â€œActually, we do,” said Cordelia.
    â€œGood woman,” she said, lowering herself onto a ladder-backed kitchen chair.
    This time, Cordelia didn’t ask about food, she simply set a plate of olives, cheese, and smoked salmon in the center of the table.
    Jane decided not to mention the call from her ex right now, just in case it turned out to be bogus.
    A few minutes before six-thirty, the buzzer sounded.
    â€œThat’s got to be Nolan,” said Jane, rising and moving over to the phone attached to the kitchen wall. “Yes?” she said.
    â€œJane? It’s me. I’m downstairs.”
    She buzzed him in.
    When he reached the loft’s front door, she hugged him briefly, then stepped back so he could enter. Nolan was wearing a brown polo shirt, dress pants, and, as usual, mirrored sunglasses. The color of the shirt almost matched the color of his skin. Jane was always struck by how much his presence still screamed “cop.” He’d worked homicide with the MPD for sixteen years before retiring.
    Joanna came out of the kitchen to shake his hand. “Thanks for coming.”
    They all sat down around the dining room table.
    Nolan removed a small notebook from his back pocket, then folded his hands on top of the table. “What can I do for you, Ms.