“I haven’t announced yet that I’m planning to auction them. I only thought of it, in fact, early this morning. I went to look for them. They were not where I normally keep them-among my lingerie, as I am sure you’d ask anyway. I crashed about for about twenty minutes trying to locate them. Then I asked Morrigana to ring up your office.”
“Why me?”
“I knew you were already somewhat familiar with my affairs through your work for Arturo Mondragon during the negotiations for our divorce.”
“Figured you knew that one.”
“Since you did such outstanding work peeping on me, I thought you might do the same good deeds spying in my service.”
“Tough lady.”
“I use only the best. Whether it’s champagne, bodycream, or private Ds.”
“Smart lady.”
“It’s simple logic. Only the best works best for me. What’s that look, Griffith? I assure you that the pearls are not in their usual place. Stolen?
Misplaced? That’s what you’re here for.”
“Who’s this Morrigana?”
“She met you at the door, I believe.”
“Your-uh-maid?”
“Secretary. Though I shouldn’t call her that- she’s much more. Morrigana helps me put my books together. Helps me a Lot in other ways too. When I’m out here at Charity House I try to get along without any servants unless I have a larger formal gathering. They’re so much work to managing servants by yourself that they’re sometimes hardly worth the trouble at all.”
“Until you want to empty the garbage or make the bed. So why do you keep the marbles out here? Kinda wide open spaces, no one around-”
“Because that particular set of pearls is not really that valuable.
Monetarily.”
“You mean besides that they might be fakeroonskies.”
“The pearls are heirlooms. They’re black. Way out of current fashion.
Supposedly brought from Europe with the bride of a great-uncle. But that’s hearsay. There are one hundred sixty-seven of them-relatively small, but evenly matched in size and blue-black coloration-on one strand with a lock-type closure in platinum. Simple. Elegant.”
“I see. So the butler didn’t do it cause there’s no butler.”
“You don’t think Morrigana-”
“She’s gotta be covered. And I tell you I have to do it straight. You can warn her first that I’m gonna question her, but don’t let her escape, babe. Hate to do it, but I have to chat her up. Who else you got running around here?”
“Veronica Van Damme. I know her through my fund-raising work on behalf of international athletics. She’s a synchronized swimmer and diver in the combined watersports events.”
“Veronica? Did I hear of her? Win any medals? Or is that someone else?”
“Not the Olympics-yet. But she’s won a lot of other titles. As a swimsuit model she’s been on the covers of quite a few magazines-though perhaps not any that you might lead. She’s highstrung, but I’ve found her to be a simply delightful girl.”
“And it shall be delightful I am sure to converse with her-relative to the perhaps-purloined string of shiny ballocks. Who else? Maintenance personnel?”
“Boy comes by for the pool three times a week. Gardener once a week.
Deliveries-but none of the above ever get in past the door.”
“That you know of. Maybe they cased the joint.”
“I thought of that. I have no servants, but I do have the place electronically protected.”
“But on the other hand, you don’t want to think it’s an inside job. I understand. But I gotta do my job.”
“Who do you want to start with?”
“Who’s closest?”
“Morrigana?”
“Yes, Constance?”
“This is Mister Poindexter. Griffith. I believe you two have met?”
Morrigana leaned back from the computer monitor and keyboard. A set of tight tits started up underneath the sheer blousing that covered from high about the neck down to her ankles.
“Sorry,” Morrigana said. “I couldn’t hear what you were saying.”
She pulled the earphones from her ears. Made sure the audiocassette filled with Constance’s morning musings was on hold.
She took in Griffith’s gaze boldly.
Coldly.
Her toes twitched.
She mechanically dangled a pair of slipper sandals laced in gold piping.
Crossed her ankles.
“I don’t know what I should say, Morrigana. But there has been a disappearance here-as you know-about the pearls-uh-”
“I understand,” Morrigana said. “Griffith wants to talk to me about it.”
“Enough said,” Constance sighed. “I’ll be outside. On the sundeck.”
As Constance left, she left the door to the study open wide.
Griffith took a look around the room.
“Aren’t you going to close the door?” Morrigana said, burning the end of a cigarette with a fizzing matchstick. “Give us some privacy.”
“So soon?”
“Thought I might as well get it over with. Do you want me to record our conversation?”
“No. I think my memory will do.”
“Constance thinks the pearls might be fakes. Did she tell you that already?”
“Do you?”
“Don’t know. I’ve only seen them once or twice. Constance never wears them.”
Morrigana blew out a trail of cigarette fumes toward Griffith’s face. “Mind if I smoke?”
“You know what you like. What were the occasions upon which you viewed the pearls?”
“Going through some of her things-you know, rummaging through her clothing-”
“You’re her secretary?”
“Oh. More like a-her advisor. On literary matters. But, yes-we do have a bit of a personal relationship as well.”
“Going through each other’s clothing.”
“Something few men could understand. I have been with Constance for a number of years.”
“And she seems to find you trustworthy. After all, she did have you call my office to set up this appointment. You didn’t jack that assignment around. You had no hesitation meeting me at the door before. All obvious signs-says to me that you’re innocent. But I gotta go through this routine for the record. Think she lost them?”
“Misplaced them-I hope.”
“Want to show me around this office here? Library, study-whatever you call it.”
“Of course.”
Morrigana smirked.
Slid from her seat.
Sucked the cig real hard.
Blew out a scarf of smoke through her wide grin.
“Let’s do a few turns,” Morrigana said. “Tell me where you want to look first.”
“Under your skirt,” Griffith blurted.
“Is that your idea of flirting?”
“It’s called a joke.”
“Only if it’s funny.”
“How’s looking where she keeps the money?”
“Safe,” Morrigana said smoothly. “I can open it for you. Underneath the desk here.”
Morrigana hunkered down to the floor.
Griffith inspected the crack of her ass as she bent forward and twiddled with the knobs on the front of the file-drawer-sized metal box. The material of her dress was gauzy enough to show off not only that she wore no underpants but also the wooly contours of her pubic flocculence erupting from underneath her rump.
Griffith saw her hips pump.
She grunted once.
The door to the safe sighed open.
“Get down, Griffith. Look inside.”
Griffith stewed in his groin.
Shot a finger to his nuts. To loosen them up.
Got down beside her like a pup.
“Sure enough,” he said. “Lots of bucks. Few little trinkets-diamonds, emeralds.”
“But no pearls.”
“Why did she keep them with her lingerie? If she kept her other jewels in here-”
“You’ll have to ask her.”
Morrigana’s breath was thick as a fog.
Hot as a hog in rut.
But yet Griffith knew she was no slut.
He said, “Thought maybe you’d know. Being so close to Constance and all.”
“We’re friends. But not that close.”
She threw her head back haughtily.
“Watch your noggin,” Griffith said as Morrigana’s head bumped the underside of the overhanging desk.
He brought his palm up to cup the back of Morrigana’s head.