Lawrence Sanders - The seventh commandment

Dora was startled. "How did you know?" she asked.

He looked up at her and grinned. "Surprised that we're not total stupes? When Solomon Guthrie was knocked off, he was carrying a briefcase stuffed with company business papers. We went through it. Most of it was about Christmas bonuses for Starrett employees. But there was also a file on recent purchases and sales of gold bullion."

"Oh," she said, somewhat discomfited. "Did you do anything about it?"

"Wow!" he said, wiping his forehead with a paper napkin. "That mustard is rough. Sure, I did something about it; I asked Clayton Starrett what gives. He said the company buys the gold overseas at a good price and sells it to small jewelry stores around the country at a nice markup. He showed me his records. Everything looks to be on the up-and-up. Isn't it?"

"Maybe," Dora said. "I got hold of a computer printout showing all of Starrett's gold business for the last three months, and it-"

"Whoa!" the detective said, holding up a palm. "Wait a minute. Where did you get the printout?"

"Let's just say it was from a reliable source. Will you accept that?"

He ate a moment without answering. Then: "For the time being."

"Well, I went over the printout many, many times and finally found something interesting. In addition to its flagship store on Park Avenue, Starrett has fifteen branches all over the world. Seven of them are overseas, and eight are in the U.S., including Honolulu. All the gold bullion Starrett was selling went to the domestic branches, none to the foreign stores."

Wenden showed no reaction. He helped himself to more fried rice. "So?" he said. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know what it means," Dora said crossly, "but it's unusual, don't you think?"

He sat back, swabbed his lips with a paper napkin, took a swig of tea. "There could be a dozen explanations. Maybe the overseas stores buy their gold from local sources. Maybe there are hefty import duties on gold shipped to those countries. Maybe the foreign branches don't need any gold because they get all their finished jewelry from New York."

"I guess you're right," Dora said forlornly. "I'm just grabbing at straws."

"On the other hand," John said, leaning forward again to start on his ice cream, "you may be on to something. About a year ago nine branch managers, including the guy in Manhattan, were fired and replaced with new people. All the firings and replacements were in Starrett's U.S. branches, none in the foreign stores."

They stared at each other a moment. Then Dora took a deep breath. "You got any ideas?" she asked.

"Nope," Wenden said. "You?"

"Not a one. There could be an innocent reason for it."

"Do you believe that?"

"No."

"I don't either," he said. "Something fishy is going on. Do you know anything you're not telling me, Red?"

"I've told you all I know," she said, emphasizing the know and figuring that made it only a half-lie.

"Well, keep digging, and if you come up with any ideas, give me a shout. Someone is jerking us around, and I don't like it."

She nodded, stood up, and began clearing the mess on the cocktail table. "John, there's leftovers. Do you want to take it home with you?"

"Nah," he said. "I'm going back to the office tonight for a few hours, and I won't be able to heat it up. You keep it. You can have it for breakfast tomorrow."

"With the hot mustard?" she said, smiling. "That'll start me off bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Thank you for the banquet. You were a lifesaver."

"Is the way to a woman's heart through her stomach?" he asked.

"That's one way," she said.

Working together, they cleaned up the place, put uneaten food in the refrigerator, washed plates, cutlery and mugs. Then they returned to the living room and Dora poured them tots of brandy.

"John, you look tired," Dora said. "Well, you usually look tired, but tonight you look beat. Are you getting enough sleep?"

He shrugged. "Not as much as I'd like. Did you know that in one eight-hour period over New Year's Eve there were thirteen homicides in New York. Ten by gunshot."

"That's terrible."

"We can't keep up with it. That's why I don't give the Starrett thing the time I should be giving it. I'm depending on you to help me out."

"I'll try," she said faintly, feeling guilty because of the things she hadn't told him. "Don't you get days off? A chance to recharge your batteries?"

"Yeah, I get days off occasionally. But they don't really help. I keep thinking about the cases I'm handling, wondering if I'm missing anything, figuring new ways to tackle them."

"You've got to relax."

"I know. I need a good, long vacation. About a year. Either that or a good woman."

She nodded. "That might help."

"You?" he said.

She tried a smile. "I told you; I'm taken."

"One of these days you'll be leaving New York-right? Whether the Starrett thing is cleared up or not. Whether the insurance claim is approved or not. You'll be going home to Hartford. Correct?"

"That's right."

"So we could have a scene while you're here, knowing it's not going to last forever. Who'd be hurt?"

She shook her head. "That's not me."

"Oh Red," he said, "life is too short to be faithful. You think your husband is faithful?"

She lifted her chin. "I think he is. But it's really his decision, isn't it? If he's going to cheat on me because he's a man or because he's Mario-that's his choice. No way can I affect it."

"Would it kill you to learn he's been cheating?"

She pondered a moment. "I don't know how I'd feel. It wouldn't kill me, but I'd probably take it hard."

"But you'd forgive him?"

"I probably would," she said.

"And if things were reversed, he'd probably forgive you."

"Probably," Dora said, "but I don't want to find out. Look, John, you said life is too short to be faithful. But I think the shortness of life is all the more reason to try to make it something decent. I see an awful lot of human corruption on my job-not as much violent corruption as you see, thank God-so I want to try as hard as I can to be a Girl Scout. Maybe it's because I want to prove I'm superior to the creeps I deal with. Maybe it's because if I make the one little slip voluntarily, it'll be a weakening and the first small step down a steep flight of stairs. Whatever, I want to live as straight as I can-which can be a mighty tough assignment at times."

"Is this one of them?" he asked. "You and me?"

She nodded dumbly.

He finished his drink, rose, and pulled on his damp coat. He looked at her so sadly that she embraced him and tried to kiss his cheek. But he turned to meet her lips and, despite her resolve, she melted. They clung tightly together.

"You better go," she said huskily, pulling away. "Give me a break."

"All right," he said. "For now."

After he was gone, she locked the door and paced up and down, hugging her elbows. She thought of what he had said and what she had said-and what she might have said, and what the result of that would have been.

She knew she should dig her library research out of the closet and get back to trying to solve the puzzle it contained. But she could not turn her thoughts away from her personal puzzle: what to do about this weary, attractive man who for all his flip talk was serious. Yes, yes, he was a serious man and fully aware that he was on his way to burnout.

"And who appointed you his nurse?" she asked herself aloud.

Mrs. Olivia Starrett and Father Brian Callaway sat at the long dining room table and waited silently, with folded hands, while Charles served tea. He was using bone china from Starrett Fine Jewelry in their exclusive Mimosa pattern.

He offered a tray of assorted pastries from Ferrara, then left the platter on the table and retired, closing the door softly behind him.