"I haven't the faintest, Jack. Did you know the guy? I could find out his name for you."
"Thanks, Marta, but that won't help. Never mind."
After saying goodbye, he cradled the receiver and sat staring at the floor. In his mind's eye he was watching Kusum steal into a hospital room, grab a young man with a gauze patch over his left eye and casts on both arms, and hurl him through a window. But Jack couldn't buy it. He knew Kusum would have liked to do just that, but he couldn't see a one-armed man being capable of it. Especially not while he was busy spiriting his grandmother out of the hospital.
Irritably, he shook off the images and concentrated on his other problem: the disappearance of Grace Westphalen. He had nothing to go on but the unlabeled bottle of herbal fluid, and had only a vague gut suspicion that it was somehow involved. He didn't trust hunches, but he decided to follow this one up for lack of anything better.
He picked up the bottle from where he had left it on the oak hutch last night and unscrewed the cap. The odor was unfamiliar, but definitely herbal. He placed a drop on a fingertip and tasted it. Not bad. Only thing to do was to have it analyzed and see where it came from. Maybe by some far out chance there was a connection to whatever happened to Grace.
He picked up the phone again, intending to call Gia, then put it down. He couldn't bear to hear the ice in her voice. Not yet. There was something else he should do first: Call that crazy one-armed Indian and find out what he had done with the old lady. He dialed the number Kusum had left on the office answerphone yesterday.
A woman answered. Her voice was soft, unaccented, almost liquid. She told him Kusum was out.
"When will he be back?"
"This evening. Is… is this Jack?"
"Uh, yes." He was startled and puzzled. "How did you know?"
Her laugh was musical. "Kusum said you'd probably be calling. I'm Kolabati, his sister. I was just going to call your office. I want to meet you, Repairman Jack."
"And I want to know where your grandmother is!"
"On her way to India," she said lightly, "where she will be cared for by our own doctors."
Jack was relieved but still annoyed. "That could have been arranged without sneaking her out the back door or whatever it was you did."
"Of course. But you do not know my brother. He always does things his way. Just like you, from what he tells me. I like that in a man. When can we meet?"
Something in her voice caused his concern for the grandmother to fade into the background. She was, after all, under medical care…
"Are you staying in the States long?" he asked, temporizing. He had a rule that once he was through with a job, he was through. But he had an urge to see what sort of face went with that incredible voice. And come to think of it, this woman wasn't actually a customer—her brother was.
Jack, you should have been a lawyer.
"I live in Washington, D.C. I rushed up as soon as I heard about Grandmother. Do you know where the Waldorf is?"
"Heard of it."
"Why don't we meet in Peacock Alley at six?"
I do believe I'm being asked out for a date. Well, why not?
"Sure. How'll I know you?"
"I'll be wearing white."
"See you at six."
He hung up, wondering at his reckless mood. Blind dates were not his style at all.
But now for the hard part: a call to Gia. He dialed Nellie's number. After precisely two rings, Eunice answered with "Paton residence," and called Gia to the phone at Jack's request. He waited with a curious mixture of dread and anticipation.
"Hello?" Her voice was cool, businesslike.
"How'd things go last night?"
"That's none of your business, Jack!" she said with an immediate flare of anger in her voice. "What right have you got to pry into—"
"Hey!" he said. "I just want to know if there's been any ransom note or phone calls or any word from Grace! What the hell's the matter with you?"
"Oh… sorry. Nothing. No word at all. Nellie's really down. Got any good news I can tell her?"
"Afraid not."
"Are you doing anything?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
"Detective stuff. You know, tracing clues, following up leads. That kind of thing."
Gia made no reply. Her silence was eloquent enough. And she was right: Wisecracks were out of place.
"I don't have much to go on, Gia, but I'll be doing whatever can be done."
"I don't suppose we can ask for more than that," she said finally, her voice as cool as ever.
"How about lunch today?"
"No, Jack."
"A late dinner, then?"
"Jack…" The pause here was long; it ended with a sigh. "Let's just keep this businesslike, okay? Just business. Nothing has changed. Any lunches you want to have, you have them with Nellie. Maybe I'll come along, but don't count on it. Capisce?"
"Yeah." He had an urge to rip the phone out of the wall and hurl it out the nearest window. But he made himself sit there, say a polite goodbye, hang up, and place the phone gently on the table, right where it belonged.
He forcefully removed Gia from his thoughts. He had things to do.
2
Gia put the phone down and leaned against the wall. She had almost made a fool out of herself a moment ago when Jack had asked her how things had gone last night. She'd suddenly had a vision of Jack trailing her and Carl to the restaurant, and from the restaurant to Carl's place.
They had made love for the first time last night. She hadn't wanted their relationship to get that far this soon. She had promised herself to take this one slow, to refuse to rush or to be rushed. After all, look what had happened with Jack. But last night she had changed her mind. Tension had been building up in her all day since seeing Jack, building until she had felt it was going to strangle her. She had needed someone. And Carl was there. And he wanted her very much.
In the past she had gently refused his invitations back to his apartment. But last night she had agreed. Everything had been right. The view of the city from his windows had been breathtaking, the brandy smooth and burning in her throat, the lighting in his bedroom so soft it had made her bare skin glow when he had undressed her, making her feel beautiful.
Carl was a good lover, a patient, skilled, gentle, considerate lover.
But nothing had happened last night. She had faked an orgasm in time with his. She didn't like herself for that, but it had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Carl had done everything right. It wasn't his fault she hadn't even come close to the release she needed.
It was all Jack's fault.
Seeing him again had got her so uptight she couldn't have enjoyed Carl last night if he had been the greatest lover in all the world! And he was certainly a better lover than Jack!
No… that wasn't true. Jack had been good. Very good. There had been times when they had spent the whole night—Nellie's front doorbell rang. Since Gia was nearby, she answered it. It was a messenger from Carl to pick up the artwork she had told him about last night. And there was something for her: a bouquet of mums and roses. She handed the messenger the artwork and opened the enclosed card as soon as the door was closed. "I'll call you tonight." A nice touch. Carl didn't miss a trick. Too bad—
"What lovely flowers!"
Gia snapped alert at the sound of Nellie's voice.
"Yes, aren't they. From Carl. That was Jack on the phone, by the way. He wanted to know if there'd been any word."
"Has he learned anything?"
Gia shook her head, pitying the almost childish eagerness in the old woman's face. "He'll let us know as soon as he does."
"Something awful has happened, I just know it."
"You know nothing of the kind," Gia said, putting her arm around Nellie's shoulders. "This is probably all a big misunderstanding."
"I hope so. I really do." She looked up at Gia. "Would you do me a favor, dear? Call the Mission and send them my regrets. I won't be attending the reception tomorrow night."