“I’m teasing you, dear boy. You have a perfectly ordinary lifeline. Your loveline, on the other hand --” He shook his head, his eyes full of wicked amusement, and let my hand go.
I reached for my glass, the condensation chill on my palm -- washing away the feel of his fingers, washing away whatever fate he pretended to see in the lines of my hand. I swallowed ice water, set the glass down.
“You know Nina’s been released? They can’t seem to figure out how she got the poison into Porter’s glass.”
“Yes, I’d heard,” he said indifferently. He lifted his cocktail -- something called an Admiral’s Tea. He did like those sweet, flavored drinks. “I suppose it will be Ally next.”
“You suppose what will be Ally?”
His eyes locked on mine. “I suppose the police are looking at her closely as a possible suspect.”
“Oh!” I chuckled. “I thought you meant…well, people around you have been dropping at an alarming rate.”
He stared at me.
I said gravely, “You know about the attack on Al January, of course.”
“Of course.” He continued to stare at me. “A tragedy.”
“Hopefully not,” I said. “Hopefully he’ll pull through.”
He licked his lips.
I smiled confidingly, “Granted, your original interest in this investigation was the same as mine. Mostly. We neither of us wanted to be suspects in a murder investigation --”
“And to that end, you succeeded beautifully,” Paul assured me. “Neither of us are suspects any longer.”
“Aren’t we?” I arched my brows, mirroring his own elegant surprise. “But suppose the police don’t arrest Ally? Suppose they look elsewhere? There’s only you, me, and Valarie left. Al getting clobbered pretty much puts him out of the running.”
“The attack on Al might not have anything to do with Porter’s death. He told me once they have a great deal of crime in that neighborhood.”
“Jake may successfully be redirecting that investigation, but I don’t think there’s much doubt that the attack on Al was connected to Porter’s death.”
He sipped his drink and said nothing.
“Jake’s influence will only stretch so far,” I said. “Someone is going to be arrested and eventually tried for Porter’s murder. The LAPD take a very dim view of homicide -- even among the rich and famous.”
He gave me another of those long, bright looks.
“You’re absolutely right,” he said. “This isn’t going to go away on its own. In fact…yes, this is rather perfect timing. I’m having a small get-together on the Pirate’s Gambit tomorrow. Just a few friends from the party. Why don’t you join us? You’ll be able to do what you do so well. Snoop.”
“Is that what I do so well?” I mocked. “I was sure Jake would give me higher marks for…well…other things.”
His eyes locked on mine, and they were glacial blue. Then he smiled. “Tens all across the board, I assure you. I’m planning to seduce you myself.”
“I’m planning to let you,” I said. “But maybe tomorrow we can chat some more about getting this movie made from Murder Will Out.”
He said slowly, “You know, Adrien, that might not be so easy now. Porter was our financial backer and Al was writing the script…”
“Oh, I can write the script,” I assured him blithely. “And I’m sure you’ll come up with the money from somewhere.” I raised my brows at the expression that fleeted across his face. “No?”
He smiled -- and I blinked at the radiance of shining eyes and all those teeth.
“Oh, yes,” Paul said. “I’ll come up with whatever is necessary.”
* * * * *
When I got back to the Cloak and Dagger, I found the cat dying outside the side entrance.
I nearly stepped on him -- it was dark and I was preoccupied with my own thoughts. Having arranged your own murder is not a comfortable feeling.
There was a feeble meow, and I saw the pale glimmer of his form right before I put down my boot.
I knelt and I could see in the wan security lights that its skinny frame was streaked with dark, its narrow flanks moving quickly up and down. It looked flat -- like a cartoon cat after it’s been run over.
I whispered, “What happened to you?”
Not that I was expecting an answer, but it gave another of those pained meows.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. Didn’t I tell you?” I informed it. I rose, went inside, and ran upstairs. The timing could hardly be worse if the damned cat had planned it. I grabbed a towel from the cupboard, hurried back downstairs, and stopped behind the counter long enough to look up the address of the nearest emergency animal clinic.
There was a place on Colorado Boulevard that was supposed to be open from six in the evening to eight in the morning. I rang them; they were still in business and accepting customers. I thanked them and went outside to see whether the customer was still alive.
He was breathing, which is always a good sign.
As gently as I could I picked him up, placed him on the towel, wrapped it around him, and put him in my car. I drove to the emergency clinic, the cat purring on the seat beside me.
“What’s his name?” the young man at the front desk asked as my towel and cat were whisked to a back room.
“Uh…John Tomkins,” I said.
“That’s different,” the receptionist said, writing it down.
“He was a pirate,” I said. “I mean Tomkins. I don’t know about the cat. Would you have any idea how long this might take?” I needed to call Jake before it got too late.
He shook his head, his expression politely sympathetic.
I sat down to wait, picking up a battered copy of Cat Fancy. Just the name… I was not -- had never considered myself -- a cat person. And I didn’t plan on starting now. Yet here I was, watching the clock and reading an article on nutrition for young cats.
After about ten minutes, the vet came out. “It looks like a dog got hold of him.”
I couldn’t imagine where Tompkins found a dog to tangle with. “Is he…uh?”
He waited.
I gestured, which I guess was supposed to signify animation -- or maybe what the hell was I supposed to do next.
“He’s alive,” the vet supplied -- and I was astonished at the relief I felt. Mostly, I told myself, because I didn’t want to hear what Natalie would have to say about the damned cat getting itself mauled.
The relief vanished in the wake of a nine hundred dollar bill for testing, X-rays, stitches, etc. The only good news was they were going to keep Mr. Tomkins overnight, so I wouldn’t be tempted to strangle him.
I took my bloodstained towel and my bloodstained credit card back, bade them good night, and returned to Cloak and Dagger.
By then it was eleven thirty, which was way too late to be calling married friends at home, but I didn’t have a choice.
I rang Jake up on his cell. It went straight to message.
I said, “Can you call me when you get this? It’s…” A matter of life and death? I didn’t want to be melodramatic, but it sort of was. And no sort of about it. “Urgent,” I compromised.
I clicked off, went back downstairs to check the security gate and all the locks -- jeering my own unease. Why did I keep putting myself in these situations when they obviously scared the hell out of me?
As I returned upstairs the phone was ringing. I picked it up.
“What’s wrong?” Jake asked. His voice was sleep-roughened, but he sounded alert.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“I’ve set myself up to go sailing with Paul Kane tomorrow. I’m pretty sure he’s going to try to kill me.”
There was a very long silence, and then Jake said, “He’ll have to take a number.”
“Look…” And then I couldn’t think of what to say to him. I knew what I was asking -- I’d known before I ever tried to set myself up as bait -- and I knew it might just be too much to ask of anyone.