the last minute because of some crisis at the hotel. That left the three of them to trudge along without her. Eventually, they all became so annoyed with her continual excuses that they started referring to themselves as “the Stood-Up Club” — Rudy’s term. Bram laughed at it now, wondering when Sophie would return from her meeting at the paper.
As he was about to lead Ethel back to her throne, she dropped like a ten-pound sack of potatoes on top of his loafers. He looked (town at her, amazed at her lethargy. She couldn’t even sit down and wait like a normal dog; she had to fall over. “Come on, old girl. You have to get your afternoon nap, especially if you’re planning to have your usual rock ‘n’ roll evening lying on your pillow under the dining room table.” He slipped the mail into the pocket of his jacket, then glanced up, surprised to find Sophie leaving through the front entrance. She was with a man Bram had never seen before. From their laughter and the intimate way the man maneuvered her through the doors, Bram wondered who he was. He would have shouted for Sophie to stop but didn’t want to make a scene. The guy was probably just some bozo she’d met on the elevator. Nothing to get excited about. But where was she going?
Dragging Ethel over to the concierge desk, where Hildegard O’Malley was seated, he asked if Sophie had left him a message.
“None that I know of,” she replied in her schoolmarmish, rounded tones.
He thanked her and was about to walk away when he heard a voice behind him say, “Does
that
belong to you?”
Bram turned to find the woman he’d met in the bar last night peering curiously at Ethel. She was dressed in gray slacks and a gray silk blouse. Both items of clothing accentuated her slim figure. Bram eyed her briefly, noticing she looked like a million bucks.
“Lela, hi. I didn’t see you there.”
“I was just using the hotel fax.” She glanced down at die puddle of black fur covering his shoes.
“This is … ah, Ethel.” He wiggled one of his feet, trying to get her to stand. “Ethel, say hi to Lela Dexter.”
Ethel opened one eye.
“Actually, that was a rather warm hello for her.”
“Is she yours?”
“Afraid so.”
“But that’s the dog that sits on that blue pillow between the club chairs in the lobby. I was told she belonged to the owners of the hotel.”
“She does.”
“ You
own this place?”
“Well, technically, my wife owns it. But it’s a community-property state.” He gave her a mischievous grin.
“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Baldric.”
“All good ones, I hope.”
Placing a hand on her hip, she glanced up at the clock over the reception desk. “Do you have any plans for the afternoon?”
You had to give it to this woman. She wasn’t shy, and that made Bram all the more intrigued. “That depends on what you’ve got in mind.”
“A visit to Kitchen Central. It’s somewhere in St. Paul. The streets in this town are a maze of confusion even to my New York sensibilities. There’s a book signing I’d like to attend. I thought it might be nice to have some company. If you like, we could have coffee afterward. My treat.”
It sounded much more fun than reading through a stack of boring newspaper clippings in an empty apartment. He could always do the preliminary research for next week’s radio interviews later. “Sure. Why not? I’ll even drive.”
“I guess I picked the right escort.”
“I guess you did.” He grinned.
Half an hour later they entered the Har Mar Mall. Since Sophie had dragged Bram to this particular shop more than once during the past few years, he knew right where to find it. A good two hundred yards away from Kitchen Central’s entrance, they could see a line forming.
“Who’s the celebrity
du jour
?” he asked, observing several people carrying the same book.
“Constance
As he was about to lead Ethel back to her throne, she dropped like a ten-pound sack of potatoes on top of his loafers. He looked (town at her, amazed at her lethargy. She couldn’t even sit down and wait like a normal dog; she had to fall over. “Come on, old girl. You have to get your afternoon nap, especially if you’re planning to have your usual rock ‘n’ roll evening lying on your pillow under the dining room table.” He slipped the mail into the pocket of his jacket, then glanced up, surprised to find Sophie leaving through the front entrance. She was with a man Bram had never seen before. From their laughter and the intimate way the man maneuvered her through the doors, Bram wondered who he was. He would have shouted for Sophie to stop but didn’t want to make a scene. The guy was probably just some bozo she’d met on the elevator. Nothing to get excited about. But where was she going?
Dragging Ethel over to the concierge desk, where Hildegard O’Malley was seated, he asked if Sophie had left him a message.
“None that I know of,” she replied in her schoolmarmish, rounded tones.
He thanked her and was about to walk away when he heard a voice behind him say, “Does
that
belong to you?”
Bram turned to find the woman he’d met in the bar last night peering curiously at Ethel. She was dressed in gray slacks and a gray silk blouse. Both items of clothing accentuated her slim figure. Bram eyed her briefly, noticing she looked like a million bucks.
“Lela, hi. I didn’t see you there.”
“I was just using the hotel fax.” She glanced down at die puddle of black fur covering his shoes.
“This is … ah, Ethel.” He wiggled one of his feet, trying to get her to stand. “Ethel, say hi to Lela Dexter.”
Ethel opened one eye.
“Actually, that was a rather warm hello for her.”
“Is she yours?”
“Afraid so.”
“But that’s the dog that sits on that blue pillow between the club chairs in the lobby. I was told she belonged to the owners of the hotel.”
“She does.”
“ You
own this place?”
“Well, technically, my wife owns it. But it’s a community-property state.” He gave her a mischievous grin.
“You’re full of surprises, Mr. Baldric.”
“All good ones, I hope.”
Placing a hand on her hip, she glanced up at the clock over the reception desk. “Do you have any plans for the afternoon?”
You had to give it to this woman. She wasn’t shy, and that made Bram all the more intrigued. “That depends on what you’ve got in mind.”
“A visit to Kitchen Central. It’s somewhere in St. Paul. The streets in this town are a maze of confusion even to my New York sensibilities. There’s a book signing I’d like to attend. I thought it might be nice to have some company. If you like, we could have coffee afterward. My treat.”
It sounded much more fun than reading through a stack of boring newspaper clippings in an empty apartment. He could always do the preliminary research for next week’s radio interviews later. “Sure. Why not? I’ll even drive.”
“I guess I picked the right escort.”
“I guess you did.” He grinned.
Half an hour later they entered the Har Mar Mall. Since Sophie had dragged Bram to this particular shop more than once during the past few years, he knew right where to find it. A good two hundred yards away from Kitchen Central’s entrance, they could see a line forming.
“Who’s the celebrity
du jour
?” he asked, observing several people carrying the same book.
“Constance
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