Notorious Nineteen by Janet Evanovich Page B

grunted.”
    “Heartburn from the champagne.”
    At eight o’clock we found our table. It was one table away from Kinsey and to the side of the room.
    “You’re sitting with your back to the wall,” I said. “You arranged this seating so you could keep your eye on Kinsey, didn’t you? Do you think something bad will happen tonight?”
    “I’m being cautious.”
    “That’s more than I can say for the guy next to me. I just sat down and he has his hand on my leg, inching up my skirt.”
    Ranger looked around me to scope the guy out. “Do you want me to shoot him?”
    “Maybe later.”
    The man was ninety if he was a day. Sparse white hair, splotchy skin showing several scars where cancer had been cut out, some drool escaping from the corner of his mouth.
    “Excuse me,” I said to the drooler. “Your hand is on my leg.”
    “What?”
    “Your hand. It’s on my leg, and I’d like it removed.”
    “Can’t hear you,” he said. “Got a hearing problem in that ear.”
    I leaned in and caught the attention of the woman sitting on the man’s other side. “Are you with this guy?” I asked.
    “I’m his wife,” she said.
    “He has his hand on my leg.”
    She reached for a roll. “Better you than me.”
    I rapped the drooler on his hand with my spoon, and the hand was withdrawn.
    “Problem solved,” I said to Ranger.
    “Too bad,” he said. “I haven’t shot anyone all day. I was hoping for later.”
    “Tell me about the cryptic messages.”
    “A few words written on plain white paper and sent through the mail. Things like Your death won’t come easy , and I will grant you salvation through pain . The last message received was It will start soon .”
    “That’s creepy. Have you reported this to the police?”
    “Not yet. No real crime has been committed.”
    The man next to me had his hand back on my leg.
    “Itsy bitsy spider climbed up the waterspout,” he said, his fingers walking their way up to the waterspout.
    “Your wish is going to come true,” I said to Ranger. “Shoot him.”
    He stood and pulled my chair out. “Change seats with me.”
    I took Ranger’s seat and looked around. Everything seemed normal enough. No obviously deranged Special Forces guerrilla guys lurking about. Waiters were serving the entrée and pouring wine. The meal consisted of a chunk of steak, mashed potatoes, green beans and carrots. Straight from the massive casino kitchen. In deference to the fact that the owner was in the room the chef had ordered up a sprig of parsley and an artistic swirl of gravy on each plate.
    I had a few bites of steak and some green beans. I tasted the potatoes, but couldn’t get excited about them.
    “Waiting for dessert?” Ranger asked.
    “I had a ton of hors d’oeuvres. And the mashed potatoes taste funny.”
    Ranger was watching Kinsey, who’d already cleaned his plate and was looking uncomfortable and flushed practically to purple.
    “Does Kinsey have high blood pressure?” I asked. “He’s sweating, and his face is the color of the pinot noir.”
    “Stay here,” Ranger said, scraping his chair back. “Keep your eye on the room.”
    By the time Ranger reached him, Kinsey had slumped in his chair and his face was deathly white. Ranger got him to his feet and moved him through a side door and out of the room. No one paid attention. People were eating and talking. Amanda followed Ranger.
    I kept watch for five minutes, and when Ranger didn’t return I went to the side door. Kinsey was on the floor in the hall, doubled over in a fetal position. Amanda was on her knees beside him. A man in a suit was also on his knees beside Kinsey.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked Ranger.
    “Stomach cramps and nausea.”
    I didn’t feel all that great either, but I wasn’t sick enough to curl up on the floor. I walked a short distance and found a chair. I was light-headed and sweating, and I was working hard at convincing myself I wasn’t going to throw up. I realized I was losing the