“Put it on you room tab?”
“If you would.”
Regan looked at me in the mirror across the bar. Her voice was low and magnetic. “We really should start meeting like this.”
I took another shot of bourbon. “I don’t know. What about your husband? And the kids… how many are there now? Six, seven?”
“Fourteen, actually.”
Douglas, the Bartender, returned with our drinks. Regan raised her glass. “To impossible standards.”
We both drank. It felt like we’d started a ritual. Still holding her wine glass, Regan reached under the bar stool and picked up a shopping bag. “Shall we adjourn to a dark corner?”
I pocketed my smokes, drained my first bourbon, and stood up, grabbing my backpack from floor. Carrying my second bourbon, I followed Regan across the room. She had a smooth stride and jaunty posture. Her presence was that of something free and untamed — probably impossible to catch, though she seemed to be indicating availability.
We sat at a small table in a corner. Regan chose the seat next to me, but not too close. She leaned down, away from me, and came up with an elegantly styled accessory item, which also happened to contain cigarettes. I lit a match and held it up to the cigarette cushioned softly between her ripe lips. Again, her cool hand wrapped around mine. Regan drew in, removed the cigarette from her mouth, and blew at the match. My stomach flip-flopped like a fish on a boat deck.
“You brought the box?”
I lit a smoke to calm myself down. “Yeah, but we need to discuss something else first.”
Regan leaned back, holding her cigarette at a very feminine angle, and crossed her legs gracefully. Her manner implied that she was expecting a completely different subject than the one I had a mind.
“Tell me about your father.” my tone was serious, but Regan ignored it.
“This isn’t your idea of foreplay, is it?” She wasn’t going to volunteer anything. She probably never had to in her entire life.
“Tell me about Malloy. Thomas Malloy. Your father.”
Regan’s smile disappeared like a Kennedy at a car accident. A look of panic crossed her face for just a second before she recovered. She was good, but now I had the upper hand. “How did you find out?”
“That’s irrelevant. The fact is, I know who you are. Now I want some straight talk.”
Regan’s hand trembled slightly as she smoked. She didn’t seem accustomed to being out of control. Her agitation just increased my resolve. I had her on the ropes and wasn’t about to let her loose.
“Back in my office, you said that Malloy was a dead man. That’s not the kind of thing you hear from loving daughters.”
“Well, it’s true. He’s brought it on himself. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. He’s never listened to me.”
“Actually, that’s not true. He told me you made him quit smoking.”
Regan jerked forward. “You talked to him? When? Where is he?”
I let another smoke. Regan probably deserved to know what had happened to her father. She was off balance as it was. Maybe telling her now would give me a good indication of their relationship. It was a cold, calculated ploy, but I needed to know.
“I talked to your father last night.”
Regan was impatient. “Where is he? I want to see him.”
“It’s too late.”
The beautiful face went pale. “What do you mean? He’s dead?”
I nodded and took another slug of bourbon.
Regan looked off, away from me. Her legs were crossed and she was leaning forward, elbow on her knee, right hand covering her mouth.
I smoked in silence for several minutes. When Regan turned her gaze back toward me, two glistening lines ran from the corners of her eyes to each side of her mouth. She moved her wine glass and picked up the napkin from underneath. Her composure was almost unbearable. She dried her eyes and nose, then took a sip of the Pinot Noir. She started to speak, but choked slightly.
I’ve never known what to do when a woman cries. More than anything, I wanted to hold Regan and tell her that everything would be fine, that I’d take care of her. But I didn’t. I couldn’t afford to. Sometimes, being a cynic is a pain in the ass. I watched her cry, wanting to comfort her, but knowing full well that more than one sap has fallen for an act just like this one. I followed my head: when in doubt, doubt.
Regan’s voice trembled. “Will you excuse me?”
She headed for the ladies’ room. I watched her until she reached the door, then turned back to my distilled and roasted friends. Suddenly, I realised she’d left her shopping bag and purse. I peered over, into the bag. There was a box inside, very similar to the one I had. I leaned back and took a drag.
She was on the level. My PI instincts we usually pretty accurate, though they only worked sporadically, like a stereo speaker with a short. My judgment of human nature, on the other hand, was terrible, as my choice of wives and investment brokers clearly showed. But I was sure this time. Regan was so upset, she’d forgotten all about the box. If she’d been putting on an act, she never would have let it out of her sight.
I signalled the bar and ordered another drink for both of us. After several minutes, Regan returned the table. To the untrained eye, she looked as though nothing had happened. Her strength of character was enviable. I wanted to get to know her thoroughly. My voice was soft. “I’m sorry you have to find out this way.”
Regan looked up from her wine and attempted a hollow smile. “Me to.”
There was a long pause.
“Do you still want to talk? Or should I come back later?”
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Her shoulders went back and her hollow smile filled out a little. “I’ll be fine.” She downed the rest of her wine. “All I need are a couple more bottles of wine and a little time to think. I’ll have the wine now and do the thinking later.”
I watched her, hesitantly. She took out another cigarette and lit it herself.
I went to the bar and bought back a full bottle of the Pinot. Regan seemed to have regained her composure. I filled her glass and sat back. “I suppose you want to know everything,” She said.
“Of course.”
“OK. I’ll tell you what you want to know, but first, tell me… what happened.”
I explained briefly. The only part of my conversation with Malloy that I mentioned was what he’d said about quitting smoking. Regan listened intently and even smiled at my description of her father. When I finished, she drained yet another glass of wine and refilled it.
“All right, from the beginning. I was an only child. My father and mother both worked for the government and met while they were assigned to Peking. I spent most of my childhood in China. My mother died when I was eighteen. My father and I were always close and got even closer after she died. Until…well, about a year ago. He remarried… someone I didn’t think was good for him.” Regan gestured toward me. “Well, you know her. That’s how you ended up with the box.”
I acknowledged her without speaking.
“After he married Emily, we couldn’t be around each other without arguing. I haven’t seen him for months.”
“How did you end up with the box?”
“He sent it to me. It arrived about a week ago.”
“Do you know why?”
Regan stubbed out her cigarette. “People were trying to get their hands on his work. If he thought they were getting close, he probably divided up the information they were looking for and sent it out a handful of people he could trust.”
“What’s in the boxes?”
“I don’t know, exactly. My father never told me much about his work. He said that it was better for me not to know about it, but I used to snoop around. I found out a few things.”
“Like what?”
“As you probably know, he was a linguist. He had notebooks filled with odd-looking symbols. They look like they might be Egyptian. I think he was trying to translate them.”