"Neither am I, you son of a bitch," countered Nigel, his voice now harsh. "Now, call your wife. For some reason she's worried about you."
Leo shook his head and gave us an odd smile. "She's worried that I won't show up for her party? Well, you can tell her not to be. I'll be home first thing in the morning, and I'll be at her blasted party tomorrow night. Wouldn't miss it for the world. But tonight, I'm celebratin'."
"What are you celebrating?" I asked.
Leo gave a broad grin. "My luck."
The music suddenly switched to The Divinyls "I Touch Myself." The curtains pulled back, and Leo's friend sauntered onto the stage. She waved at Leo and blew him a kiss. I shifted my chair so it faced away from the stage.
"Would this newfound luck of yours have anything to do with what happened to Fat Saul?" I asked Leo.
Leo didn't look at me. His eyes remained fixed on the spectacle behind me. "Yeah. I heard about that. Too bad."
"You owed him money, didn't you?" I asked.
"Yeah. So what? I've got it."
"Is that so? Where'd you get it?" I asked. "From Audrey?"
Leo's mouth curved into a sly smile. "No, not from Audrey. Not directly, anyway. But it seems she is my lucky lady." He started to laugh. "Who'd have ever thought she'd be lucky?"
I reached over and laid a restraining hand on Nigel's fist. "Does Frank know you have his money?" I asked.
Leo watched the stage, still laughing. "Yeah. He knows."
"Really? When I talked to Frank, he said he hadn't heard from you."
"Yeah, well, shows how much you know. As of this morning, we've talked. Ask him yourself, if you don't believe me. I got his money. He knows that. I didn't have a beef with Fat Saul, and I don't have a beef with Frank."
Behind me the crowd gave a hoot of approval. Leo craned his neck to get a better look.
"Seems like Fat Saul might have disagreed with you on that," I said. "I got the impression that he was looking for you the night he died. He might have thought you'd skipped out on him. Tell me, did he find you?"
Leo dragged his eyes away from the stage and glared at me. "What the hell is it to you?"
"Nothing," I admitted. "But some friends of mine in the department are kind of curious. I told them I'd ask you if I saw you."
Leo took another sip of his drink. "You a cop?"
I shook my head. "Not anymore. But people around you seem to have a nasty habit of dying."
"You mean like Lizzy?" Leo asked, his eyes suddenly alert.
"Oh, so you know about Lizzy. How did you find out?" I asked.
Leo's eyes shifted away from mine. "Read about it in the papers."
"Papers haven't reported it yet. Besides, I'm not convinced you can actually read. Try again."
"Fine. Frank told me about it when I talked to him," Leo said.
"Really?"
"Really. Look, I didn't have anything to do with her death."
"Still," I said, "you have to admit, it might look suspicious to those who aren't cognizant of your stellar reputation."
Leo looked at me, confused. "What did you ... ?" he began, but the crowd began to cheer wildly, and he focused again on the stage. Seconds later, a lacy black bra flew through the air and landed on our table. Leo went to grab it, but Skippy got to it first. He sat back, the bra dangling partially out of his mouth, and resumed staring at Leo.
I sighed. Leo was drunk and belligerent. I wasn't going to get anything more out of him tonight. Nothing coherent, anyway. "Okay," I said, pushing my chair back and standing up. "I don't have anything more to say. Nigel, did you want to say anything?"
Without a sound, Nigel stood up and slugged Leo across the jaw. Leo toppled off his chair and landed in a messy heap on the floor.
"No, I'm good," he said. Shaking out his hand a few times, he offered me his arm.
"May I see you home, Mrs. Martini?" he asked.
"I'd be delighted, Mr. Martini," I answered.
twenty-five.
The next morning we were awakened once again by the sound of the phone. Nigel briefly looked at it before burying his head back into his pillow. "Remind me to have that damned thing disconnected," he said. "It's an utter nuisance."
The phone continued to ring. I poked him. "It's an utter nuisance which is A: On your side of the bed and B: Most likely from one of your relatives."
"You don't know that," Nigel mumbled. "It could be from one of yours."
"Doubtful. My family has the good sense not to call before ten a.m."
"You forget your Aunt Martha."
"That's true. But as she's been dead for over a year now, I don't think it's her."
"You may have a point there," he said, grabbing for the receiver. "But we'll see who has the last laugh if you're wrong."
"If I'm wrong, I don't think anyone will be laughing."
"Hello?" Nigel said, his voice hopeful. "Aunt Martha?" He paused. "Oh, hello, Aunt Olive."
I smiled, wiggled my fingers at him, and snuggled back under the covers. "No, I wasn't asleep," I heard him say. "Of course not. Why would I be at ... seven-twenty in the morning? No, actually, Nic and I were just concluding a most utopian-like ... hmmm? No, I suppose you wouldn't want to hear about it. I see. Really. I see. Well, that is interesting. What? No, we can't come over for breakfast. No, I'm sorry. I know. I know. Okay. Okay. Okay. That's right. Bye."
"So, what time do we have to be there for breakfast?" I asked from under the covers.
"Nine-thirty."
I sighed. "I think I would have preferred Aunt Martha after all."
_____.
As requested, we arrived at Aunt Olive's at nine-thirty. "Well, Leo's back," Olive said, in lieu of a greeting when we entered the room. She was sitting in her favorite chair, wearing a gold silk pantsuit and a peevish expression. Her fingers drummed an angry tom-tom on the armrest. "He showed up early this morning on Audrey's doorstep, flowers in hand, to beg for forgiveness," she bit out. She then remarked at length on both Leo's canine heritage and his mother's marital status, before ending with a dire prognostication as to the fate of his soul.
Across from her on the couch, Daphne sipped coffee from a delicate teacup. She also appeared to be in a less-than-joyous mood. Her face seemed thinner, and her eyes were dull. She gave us a half wave and then returned to her coffee.
"Where's Max?" Nigel asked.
"On the phone. Again," groused Olive. "I swear to God he spends more time on that damn thing than with me." Max poked his head out from the kitchen doorway. There were dark circles under his eyes. He held a phone to his ear with one hand. With the other he indicated that he'd be out in a minute. He quickly ducked back into the kitchen.
Olive glared at the space where his head had just been. "See what I mean?" she said.
"Mother, I'm sure it's just business," said Daphne, her voice tired.
"Well, of course, it's just business," Olive snapped. "What else would it be?"
No one answered. Moments later, Max reappeared, the phone gone. "Good morning, Nic. Good morning, Nigel," he said, his voice tired. "Can I get you some coffee?"
"Yes, please," we answered.
He disappeared back into the kitchen. Nigel and I sat down. "What does Audrey say about all of this?" I asked.
Olive rolled her eyes. "I don't really know. I don't think Audrey does either. She was clearly relieved not to have to face the party tonight alone, but she is also angry, hurt, and confused."
"That's understandable," I said. "What does she plan to do about Leo's debt? Is she going to pay it off ?"
"I don't know that either. I didn't think to ask her. She just called us early this morning to tell us the 'good' news that the jackass was back and would be in attendance tonight. It wasn't a very long conversation." She glared at us.
"I don't understand, Aunt Olive," Nigel said. "I was under the impression that you wanted Leo to come home in time for Audrey's party. Well, the party is tonight. You got your wish. I thought you'd be happy."
The tom-tom beat abruptly stopped. "Happy? Happy? Are you insane? Haven't you seen this morning's paper?"
"No, actually, I haven't," Nigel said.
Olive reached down to the floor beside her. Picking up a newspaper, she slammed it down on the coffee table in front of us. "Now what do you say?"
I looked down. It was the Post. In large print, the headline read: "The Martini Knockout." Underneath was a picture taken of us last night. It was a spectacular shot of Nigel's fist connecting with Leo's jaw. It was a little blurry, but there was no doubt that it was us. I was standing next to Nigel, a surprised expression on my face. Next to me was Skippy, the black bra hanging out of his mouth.
"Oh," Nigel said.
"Oh?" repeated Olive. "Is that all you can say? Oh?"
"Well, there's no sale at Penney's, so I guess 'Oh,' will have to do."
"It's outrageous! First of all, why didn't you tell me that you had located him?" Olive fumed. "And second of all, why were you in a strip joint?"
"We got a tip that Leo was there, so we went there. As you can see, the tip was right." Pointing at the picture, I said, "What you see here is merely Nigel convincing Leo that he needed to go home." I paused and then added, "Apparently, it worked because he did just that."
Nigel smiled at Olive. "You're welcome."
"Have you no sense?" Olive snapped. "This kind of press is a nightmare. And on the day of the party, too!"
Daphne regarded her mother with irritation. "Calm down, Mother. Why don't you take one of your pills?"
Max came back into the room with the coffee tray. Putting it down squarely on top of the paper, he said, "Olive, dear, it is what it is. There's no use yelling at anyone, least of all Nic and Nigel."
Olive crossed her arms and took a deep breath. Finally, she tipped her head in agreement. "I suppose you're right," she said grudgingly. "Besides, we have more important issues to deal with."
Max handed me a cup of coffee. "What issues?" I asked.
Max did not answer. He handed Nigel a cup.
"Audrey's birthday is tomorrow," Olive said. "Which means that we have exactly one day to convince her not to pay off Leo's debt."
Daphne sighed. "I think that ship has sailed, Mother."
Olive shot her an annoyed look. "Nonsense. I am quite confident that if we all put our heads together, we can think of something."
Max poured himself a cup and sat down. "Well, short of killing the SOB I don't see what we can do."
Olive sighed. "Daphne, be a dear and fetch me my pills. I feel another attack coming on."
twenty-six.
It started snowing early that afternoon. By nightfall, the city was covered with a shimmery white powder that made driving a nightmare. However, despite the inclement weather, Audrey's guests, who no doubt had also seen the Post, were not going to miss this event. When Nigel and I made our way downstairs to the Olmsted ballroom, the party was in full swing and full attendance. A white-tuxedoed band was serenading a crowded dance floor. Waiters assigned with the Sisyphean task of serving champagne busily circled the room carrying silver trays loaded with crystal flutes. Men were laughing. Women were gossiping. Small children were at home with their nannies as Olive-in the spirit of the holidays-had deemed them persona non grata. Select members of various publications were in attendance as well. Olive had insisted that "the elite press" cover the event. I didn't comment on that decision. It was her oxymoron, not mine.
On the back wall, above a multi-tiered birthday cake, a projector flashed enormous images of Audrey culled from over the years-from her lolling about in a diaper to her lolling about on a yacht. Nigel and I paused in the doorway and took in the raucous scene before us. "Well, this was fun, don't you think, Mrs. Martini?" Nigel said to me.
"Oodles, Mr. Martini," I agreed.
"But I think-sadly-that it's time to leave."
"I quite agree. We don't want to overstay our welcome," I said.
"I'll get our coats."