"Who told you that?"
"A guy who saw the whole thing."
Chaz felt the blood draining out of his skull. He backed against a chair and sat down.
Ricca said, "He saw you push Joey overboard. Told me exactly how you did it."
"And you believe him?" Chaz's voice fluttered like Slim Whitman's.
"How you grabbed her by the ankles and flipped her backward over the side," she said. "God, I haven't slept in two nights."
"The guy's shaking me down is all. He heard about Joey on the news and-"
"This is a first for me, Chaz. Dating a wife-killer."
"Hold on. You're taking the word of some stranger, some dirtbag scammer-"
"You told that detective I was your cleaning lady." There was frost in Ricca's voice. "The cleaning lady?"
Chaz cursed to himself. He remembered Rolvaag bracing him about the phone call from the lobby of the Marriott. The cop didn't even have his notebook open at the time, so Chaz hadn't given it a thought. The sneaky bastard must have total recall.
"Rolvaag came to see you?"
Ricca nodded heavily. "Asking all kinds of questions,."
Chaz tasted bile and swallowed hard. "Well, what was I supposed to tell him, Ricca-that I was calling my girlfriend? The guy's looking to nail my ass."
"No shit. He went to all the trouble of tracing the call."
"I'm sorry. So sorry," Chaz said. "You've got no idea how bad I feel."
Ricca showed no sign of melting. "Here's my question: How come he doesn't believe you?"
"The cop? Oh, please." Chaz laughed scornfully. "He's just trying to make a reputation for himself, busting a doctor for murder."
Ricca rolled her eyes as if to say: Not that "doctor" thing again.
"Let's go grab a bite to eat."
"I'm not hungry," she said, "and your time's up."
Chaz was stunned to see her open the door and motion for him to go. "Don't do this," he said. "Don't give up on me so easy. I'm begging you, Ricca."
And, by God, he was begging.
"It's over," she told him.
"One drink. Give me a chance to change your mind."
"No, Chaz."
"One lousy drink? You won't be sorry."
"All right, but not here. You'll just end up trying to talk me into bed."
Chaz was swept by relief. "Name the spot," he said.
Ricca selected a bar at a nearby bowling alley, for its thunderous lack of intimacy. Saturday was league night and Chaz would have had more success making himself heard over a cruise-missile attack in downtown Baghdad. While Ricca went to the rest room, he fished out the bottle of blue pills and, seeking to avoid a repetition of his painful tryst with Medea, tapped only one into the palm of his hand. He swallowed it dry and checked his watch. The magic mojo potion should start working in an hour, by which time he hoped to have thawed Ricca's heart.
When she returned, Chaz ventured a tender squeeze of her elbow, which she yanked away as if he were infected with some pustular dis-
ease. He was flabbergasted by her animosity, which seemed unshakable, and also by her self-discipline. He had plowed through three martinis before she finished half a Miller Lite. Over the symphonic clatter of bowling pins he apologized repeatedly for the "cleaning lady" reference, which he calculated to be more of a sticking point than his wife's murder.
Still, Ricca didn't cave.
"Time to go," she said.
"Not yet. You've gotta let me finish."
Chaz considered himself a master bullshitter, but the cheap vodka seemed to have blunted his improvisational skills. He found himself blurting, "Didn't Rolvaag tell you about Joey's will?"
"Nope," said Ricca. "Anyhow, you said she was giving all her money to the animals. Yaks and pandas, you said."
"Well, that's what she told me. But yesterday that cop shows up at the door with a new will and asks what do I know about it. A will that Joey signed, like, a month ago!"
"Whatever, Chaz."
"Honey, she left everything to me."
"Why would she do an idiotic thing like that?"
Chaz leaned forward and dropped his voice. "Thirteen million bucks!"
"That'll buy you lots of cigarettes in prison. You should learn to smoke."
"Ha-ha," Chaz sneered, but he was crestfallen. He could hardly believe that the news of his future fortune hadn't rekindled Ricca's ardor. What had happened to that frisky, free-spirited girl who tinted her pubic hair and shaved him a shamrock?
"Don't you understand what this means?" he persisted. "Think of what we can do with thirteen million dollars-the incredible places we can go, all the cool stuff we can buy."
"Chaz, you snuffed your wife."
"How can you say that?"
"Take me home," Ricca said, "right now."
In the parking lot she remarked upon his oddly stilted gait.
"Twisted my knee," he mumbled.
"Doing what-climbing off the bar stool? Turn around and let me see something."
"Just forget about it."
"Chaz, turn around."
He was too vain to refuse. Even in the face of such impenetrable frigidity, Chaz believed that a glimpse of the thickening bulge in his pants might win Ricca over. Her reaction, however, was empty of delight or anticipation.
All she said was: "Are you serious?"
Chaz dusted off a golden oldie. "I can't help it, honey. See what you do to me?"
"Wow. Would you like me to fix it?"
Chaz incautiously moaned in the affirmative. Ricca kneed him and he moaned again, though this time not from desire.
She said, "I want to go home. Can't you get that through your head?"
He drove in silence, his mind blaring. Ricca was definitely going to be a problem. A humongous problem. While she couldn't implicate him directly in Joey's disappearance, she would be valuable to prosecutors seeking to lay out a seedy scenario for murder-the pretty mistress, to go along with Chaz's windfall inheritance. Judging by her disposition, Ricca would be pleased to do her civic duty and testify against him. With little coaxing she would share with salivating jurors a luridly embroidered account of the affair, as well as her current low opinion of Dr. Charles Perrone as a human being. Her appearance in court would be devastating.
Chaz said, "Tell me honestly. You really think I threw Joey overboard?"
"Yep."
"You'd believe a total stranger, some scumbag drifter who shows up at the salon and gives you a wild story."
Ricca said, "I know when men are telling me the truth. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, I know. And, P.S., he didn't exactly look like a scumbag."
"Are you kidding, the guy's a fucking animal! He nearly beat me into a coma with a canoe paddle."
"I'm so sure."
"Check out my nose!" Chaz was amazed that she seemed to be taking the blackmailer's side. Suddenly he remembered Tool's intriguing revelation: The blackmailer had a girlfriend.
Oh Jesus, thought Chaz. Now it made sense. The asshole tracks down Ricca, tries to pump her for more dirt. She says no way, not unless you cut me in on the score. Next stop: Flamingo.
Ricca must have been the girl that Tool had seen on the docks. She was in on the scam!
"Just how much did you tell this guy?" Chaz asked warily.
"Which guy, the cop or the blackmailer?"
"The blackmailer."
"Nothing, Chaz. All I did was listen."
"Yeah, right."
Ricca glared. "Screw you."
"And what about Rolvaag? What'd you tell him?"
"I told him I wasn't really your maid. I made a point of clearing up that little misunderstanding."
"Ah," Chaz said. "So now he knows all about us."
"He would've found out anyway."
"I suppose so."
Ricca said, "Hey, you missed my street."
What other choice do I have? Chaz wondered.
"Where are you going? Turn around," Ricca demanded.
Chaz reached under the seat for the Colt.38, which he had reloaded before leaving the house. He pointed it at Ricca and said, "We're not going home."
"What-now you're gonna rape me?"