Xs, An Allie Armington Mystery (21 page)

When the detective holds up three fingers, I count
ahead. “First thing Saturday morning.”

Cliff ’s relief is more than evident. “Then surely
you can give us an hour or two. How about cocktails tonight, say
around six?” “Not tonight. Old friends are giving me a small
farewell dinner party. Let me get back to you.”

There’s a tinge of panic in his voice. “No need to
play telephone-tag, let’s make the date now. Say tomorrow at
six?”

I purr, “See you then.”

After I hang up, Greene gives me a high five.

I return a halfhearted one and sink onto the
bed.

WIDELY KNOWN FOR ITS THICK, juicy veal chops,
Arturo’s is packed. Not a problem. Mindy knows the owner so our
usual table in the far back corner is waiting for us.

Greene is asking who wants cocktails or wine when I
spot Cliff and Larry Templeton standing at the small bar near the
entrance. They weren’t there when we walked in.

Each man has a drink in hand. Cliff is looking down
at Larry, but it’s plain Larry’s in charge. He’s jabbing Cliff in
the chest with his index finger. He only stops when a waiter
appears and leads them to a table for two on the opposite wall from
us.

Mindy must see them, too, because she taps my
shoulder and points toward Cliff. “Isn’t that the man we saw on the
video tape?”

“Seems so.”

“What’s he doing here?”

“Who knows? It’s a free country.”

Once the two men are seated, I’m able to catch their
reflections in a mirror slightly above and across from them. To me
it seems as if they are engaged in an intense discussion.

Cliff ’s plea to Larry echoes in my head. “Damn it,
Larry, this is serious. Hale wants to push up the date. But there
are things that still need to be done before we can properly
execute stage one.”

Is that what they’re discussing—Hale? Does she mean
to kill again? Am I her next victim?

Mindy’s tinkling laugh draws me back to the
conversation. Her small, pale, well-manicured hand touches Greene’s
sleeve. He’s smiling down at her, dimples engaged, and obviously
pleased that he’s made her laugh.

I turn to see Jaime studying me, but the minute our
eyes meet he looks away.

I wonder what that’s about for only a few seconds,
then scope out the mirror. The table is empty except for two
half-filled glasses.

Mindy puts one hand in front of her mouth and laughs
again. This time both Greene and Platón join in. They look my way,
eyebrows raised, and Greene says, “What do you think about that?
Can you believe it?”

When the drinks come, we all clink glasses, and
Mindy gives the detective an adoring look. The woman is totally
smitten.

We finish our cocktails and go through a bottle of
merlot before the veal finally arrives. Greene orders a second
bottle and we dive into our entrées.

Over dessert, the detective tells everyone about my
invitation for cocktails at six the following evening and calls a
meeting for ten a.m. to talk strategy.

It’s near midnight by the time we exit.

When Greene and Cha head for his car parked around
the corner, Jaime offers to escort me back to the hotel.

We walk a few blocks in silence. Jaime’s hands are
jammed in his pockets, and his head is slightly bent forward. I
keep in step, glad I am wearing loafers with thick rubber
soles.

When we stop for the light on Park Avenue, Jaime
says, “Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

“Yes, a little, but if I can get Sigrid Hale out in
the open, it’ll be worth it.”

“But, Allie, why all this effort to find Carolina
Montoya’s killer? She was a criminal—a drug-runner. She wasn’t
innocent.”

“That may be true, but I knew her long before she
got dragged into the loop. You could say she was almost like a
sister. So delightful and so funny—and a good friend to
Angela.”

The light turns green and we forge across Park
Avenue.

When we turn north on Madison, I say, “Thanks for
walking me this far. I can make it back to the hotel from
here.”

He puts a restraining hand on my arm. “I thought we
might take a nightcap in the bar. You up for that?”

That’s a surprise. Jaime’s been ignoring me since
the last evening we spent together.

We choose the same table, but this time he takes the
seat across from me.

When the tequila arrives, Jaime takes a sip then
settles back. “I enjoyed our last nightcap together very much. In
fact I was hoping that evening would be the beginning of—well, you
know.”

Then I hadn’t misread that kiss. Something happened.
But what? I take a sip, set my glass on the table and gather my
courage. “What changed your mind?”

He stares at me through lowered lashes. “You don’t
beat around the bush, do you?”

“Why waste time being coy? I’m eager to clear up
whatever seems to have gotten in the way of our friendship because
I really like you a lot.”

He gives me another once-over, takes a sip of his
drink and says, “When I got down to the lobby, it struck me like a
bolt of lightning.”

“Lightning?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but the evening we shared
was wonderful. And then kissing you felt so right. I suddenly
realized how very much you had come to mean to me. So, it seemed to
make good sense that I return to your room to—to—” He gives me a
half smile.

“I was about to knock when something or someone hit
the other side of the door to your room. God help me, I’m
embarrassed to say I put my ear against it and listened.”

I remember backing into the door, trapped in Bill’s
arms as every last shred of my resolve melted.

Heat floods my cheeks, and I look away.

Jaime leans across the table to touch my hand. “I
heard Cotton say he wanted you. That’s when I decided to make my
exit.”

“You should have waited. Bill left right after you
did.”

Jaime gives me a hopeful look. “Then it’s finally
over between you two?”

“It should be, shouldn’t it? Bill has lied to
me—again and again. There’s no doubt he’s in with Danes and Hale.
In fact you were the one who confirmed that there was no contact
between Bill and the men in the van. But, heaven help me, I can’t
bring myself to believe he’s solely working with the other
side.

“He was very worried about what I saw on the ground
floor of the townhouse. In fact he told me not to make a move until
I heard from him. Good thing he didn’t tell me to hold my breath.
It’s been two days—and I’m so damn frustrated I could scream.” My
tears come as a complete surprise, but it’s impossible to hold them
back. Ashamed, I cover my eyes with my hands.

When I feel Jaime’s arms around me, I lean into his
shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m just exhausted.”

His voice is soft above me. “Betrayed is more like
it.”

THE TEAM, including the two men who will be
stationed in the van across the street from the townhouse, is
seated around the table. Though we all have on our outerwear, we
shiver while Greene goes over the plan.

The men in the van will go on duty at five
forty-five, track my arrival and departure and report my movements
to Greene and Jaime, who will be parked not far from the
townhouse.

After the detective gives everybody a high five and
sends us on our way, he stops me at the door. “I gotta hand it to
you, Allie. You’ve got guts. Don’t worry. We’ll be on you like
white on rice.” I’m about to thank him when he grows serious. “I
mean that about the coverage. We’re solid on you. Just know that
the men will be tracking the transmitters and reporting to Jaime
and me.”

I suppress a small shiver and give him my biggest
smile. “Hey. I’m not one bit worried. I should be in and out of
there with no trouble at all.”

The detective gives me a long hard look. “Yes, if
all our plans go well, your visit should be a ninety-nine
percenter. But remember that precarious one percent. A lot of
things could go wrong, like what if Danes frisks you and finds your
weapon?”

I shrug. “I’m licensed in Texas to carry a concealed
weapon. I have my permit on me.”

Greene nods. “If he takes it?” “He takes it.”

“Okay then, say both transmitters go dead and we
have no ears. What do you want Platón and me to do then?”

“This may be my only chance to find out who Hale is.
The chance that both transmitters would conk out is slim to none.
But, if you should lose contact, give me until tomorrow morning
when the bank opens. After that, it’s your call.”

————

Because I’m a freak about being punctual, I’m at the
front door of the townhouse at one minute to six.

Cliff opens the door. “Right on time, I see. Come on
in.”

Once were in the living room Cliff turns. “Let me
take your coat.”

I slip it off and hand it to him. “Where is she? I
thought we were to meet.”

“In her suite.” He pauses, “Or should I say yours?
Cocktails will be there. But first, I want to show you your
doppelganger. I’m telling you, the resemblance is eerie.”

He motions me into the dining room and points to a
large square canvas above the sideboard. “Voilá.”

I gasp and take a step back. The face is definitely
mine. The body is not. The line drawing is of a Rubenesque nude
reclining on a chaise longue, legs splayed—the expression on her
face—pure ecstasy.

At first glance, the picture seems more decorous
than the other two due to the bright floral print draped over the
model’s lower torso. But closer inspection reveals that one of her
hands is also beneath the material—the apparent reason for her
delight.

When I turn away in disgust, Cliff chuckles. “A
little too raw for you?”

“News flash. It’s the beginning of a new
century.”

He smiles and waves away my comment. “Oh, don’t be
so PC.”

We take a few steps to the foot of the stairs and
Cliff turns. “The third floor is a secure area. Do you mind leaving
your purse down here?”

“Is that really necessary?”

“Usually, I would say not at all, but Mother’s been
a little paranoid lately about meeting strangers.” He points to the
console. “Your purse will be safe here. I promise.”

An unexpected move, but one I can handle; after all,
I have the second transmitter on me.

When Cliff sees my hesitation he says, “It’s either
the purse or meeting Mother. Her conditions, not mine.”

Reluctantly I set my purse on the console and pray
the men in the van will still have contact.

Cliff leads me up the two flights to Angela’s old
room. I hesitate before the closed door, heart rolling against my
rib cage. Sigrid Hale is on the other side.

He steps around me, and gives a gentle rap. “We’re
here and thirsty. Open up.”

A series of clicks and slides precedes the snap of a
bolt, then the door swings in.

Standing before me is a woman dressed in a gray
floor-length, long-sleeved, wide-shouldered crêpe jersey à la Joan
Crawford. On her head is a matching turban. Her neck is concealed
with a high collar. She wears darkly tinted silver-rimmed pixie
glasses studded with tiny diamonds.

Sigrid Hale looks me up and down, then whispers.
“Hello, Miss Armington, please do come in.”

Cliff skirts us and heads down the hallway to the
seating area of the bedroom.

What a change from Angela’s taste. Though after
seeing the entry floor, why should I be surprised?

The walls and shutters are a deep green. In fact the
whole room, with the exception of the white ceiling, is
monochromatic. Two easy chairs that share a round table and an
ottoman are across from a comfortable love seat flanked by small
end tables. All are upholstered in a matching fabric, as is the
coverlet for the single twin bed. The effect is stunning—like
stepping into a jungle at dusk.

On one wall is a small desk with chair and, next to
it, a butler’s tray with a wide selection of liquor and wines along
with several sizes of glasses.

Hale sinks into one of the easy chairs and beckons
me toward the other. “Cliff has chosen a very fine vintage for us.
I hope you like it.”

I have to admit I’m totally mesmerized by Sigrid
Hale even though her foundation looks like it’s been put on with a
putty knife and her lipstick and rouge are a garish red. Behind the
darkened lenses of those outdated pixie glasses, long false
eyelashes bat with each word she utters.

While Cliff busies himself at the butler’s tray,
pulling the cork and pouring the wine, I attempt conversation.
“This is very nice. Not that I didn’t enjoy my décor, but the way
you have it arranged is a triumph of spatial use.”

She rapidly bats her false lashes. “Oh thank you. It
was totally my idea.”

Cliff hands her a glass, then offers one to me.
“This is a two-thousand William Fèvre Chablis. We managed to cadge
a case from Sherry-Lehman last month. What do you think?”

I take a sip. “It’s very nice.”

When Hale raises her glass, I notice she’s wearing
gloves. The shape of a ring beneath the left glove catches my
eye.

Cliff cuts through my muddle. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all. This has a lovely nose and a great finish.”

Sigrid gives an approving cluck. “Ahhhh. Then you do
know something about wines.”

Cliff settles on the love seat across from us and
says to Hale, “Not to change the subject, but I’m afraid Miss
Armington is not enamored of her likeness over the sideboard.”

Hale turns my way, eyebrows arched above the pixie
glasses. “I think the face is quite lovely. But I do have to agree
with you. Cliff seems to have slightly naughty tastes.”

I try to keep my eyes off Hale’s glove, but the
oblong on her ring finger is like a magnet. I tear my gaze away and
stammer, “How long did the re-do take?”

Cliff says, “Not long at all. The kitchen took a few
weeks, but there was no reconstruction up here, just a nice coat of
paint.”