Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

Ric was busy with a small crowd, and Matt was still doing some sort of business. He’d failed to greet her with even a wave, his ear still plastered to that damn cell phone. I quickly moved from behind the bar to welcome the senior pair. To my surprise, the usually friendly Dr. McTavish barely acknowledged my presence with a nod.

“Some wine?” he tightly asked Madame.

“Perhaps later,” she replied.

McTavish raised a gray-white eyebrow. “Another pleasure postponed?” he tossed off before heading for the bar.

The two were obviously fighting about something. “What’s the good doctor peeved about?” I whispered.

“Never mind,” said Madame. “Tell me what’s happening with your friend, Ellie. Has she called you back yet?”

I shook my head. “I’ve left messages for two days now. She hasn’t returned one call.”

“Did your messages include the fact that you think her husband is having her followed?”

“Yes. At first, I didn’t want to drop a bombshell like that on a voicemail message, but I had no choice. I felt she needed to know...”

“I agree. From what we witnessed at the hotel, Ellie and Ric aren’t fooling anyone, and we don’t know what sort of man her husband really is.”

“I’m worried about her.”

“Do you think her husband would turn violent?”

“That’s the problem. I need to speak with Ellie to find out more. And after that, I plan on speaking with Ric, too. Matt doesn’t want me to upset him, and I’ll be as polite as I can, but I’d honestly like to know what Ric’s intentions are towards Ellie. He’s either planning to leave her again. Or...”

“Or what?”

“He’s making plans for their future together.”

“What do you mean plans? Plans of marriage?”

“Maybe.”

Madame groaned. “If that’s true, there must be something in the air.”

“What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “Gary asked me to marry him. That’s why he’s in a foul mood.”

“But that’s wonderful news. Why would he be in a— wait , what did you tell him? Did you turn him down?”

“I’m thinking it over.”

“You’ve been dating the man for more than a year. He’s an intelligent, accomplished, respected oncologist with the sex appeal of Sean Connery. He’s got a romantic Scottish lilt and actually looks good in a ceremonial kilt—what’s to think about?”

“You don’t understand. Gary’s giving up his position at the hospital in a few months. He wants to move to an exclusive community in Albuquerque. Can you believe it?”

“I hear New Mexico’s beautiful.”

“It’s the desert. What will I do with myself? Listen to coyotes bay all night? Head out to the chuck wagon in the morning to rustle up chicken fried steak?”

I began to laugh, and then realized Madame wasn’t joking. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why Albuquerque?”

“Gary has some friends who’ve retired there and say they love it. He wants to take up golf and the community has a golf course.”

“And you don’t want to golf?”

“I see no point in spending hours hitting a tiny white ball with a stick.”

“I’m sure he has other plans for his retirement.”

“He wants to try camping, too.”

“That sounds interesting.”

“It sounds dreadful.”

“But what about all those trips to the bush you took with Matt’s father? You loved those adventures.”

“I trekked the wilderness— in my youth. I have no desire to sleep among cacti on a cold desert rock at this age. I want to die from dancing the Argentine tango, Clare, not a rattlesnake bite.”

“Oh, come on. You know there’s plenty of culture in a city the size of Albuquerque. Art galleries, concerts, even Broadway shows—”

“But not the original casts. The only show out of New York that doesn’t use a touring company is the Big Apple Circus.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” She began rubbing her temples. “I was ambushed. The man didn’t even have the decency to hint at what was coming, so I told him I had to think it over.”

I tipped a glance at the bar. The good doctor was knocking back his wine rather quickly. “I can see how well that went over.”

She pulled me closer and lowered her voice. “To be perfectly honest, I think it’s unwise to settle down so soon. I’d really like to start playing the field.”

Playing the field at eighty? I thought. Coming from anyone else, I might have doubled over with laughter, but the woman just had a summer fling in the Hamptons with an elderly artist. She wasn’t kidding.

Madame’s gaze shifted to Matt. “Has my son had that phone surgically grafted to his ear?”

I shrugged. “I’m sure it’s important business.”

“So he’s not talking to that woman .”

“No. She’s already here.” I gestured to Breanne Summour. She was standing alone, near the enormous windows, gazing out at the view, the crystal stem of a wine glass pinched in her French-tipped fingers.

Gary McTavish returned; each hand held a glass—one a German Riesling and the other a California Pinot Noir. “Are you sure you wouldn’t care to indulge?” he asked Madame, offering her either.

Madame shook her head. Gary downed the Pinot Noir in a single gulp and started sipping the Riesling.

Madame exhaled in disgust.

“I’ve got to go,” I chirped uneasily, relieved to be escaping the immediate vicinity of the not-so-happy couple.

I circulated for a few minutes and noticed Dante Silva was the only barista who didn’t seem to be busy. He stood with a tray of empty glasses in his hand, watching a new group of people arrive on one of the elevators.

“Dante?”

He jerked, startled. The glasses clinked together on the tray and he reached out with one hand to steady them.

“Sorry, Ms. Cosi—”

“Why are you so jumpy?”

Dante shrugged. “Just nerves, I guess.”

I studied his expression. Dante seemed as uneasy as Madame. “Did somebody ask to marry you ?”

“What?”

“Forget it. Could you grab another tray of brie and sesame cookies from the kitchen, and make another round?”

Dante did a bobblehead impression. “Will do.”

I relieved him of his burden and carried the spent glasses to the bar. Tucker was standing behind it, opening bottles of sparkling water and pouring them into crystal tumblers.

Ric Gostwick approached me from across the room. He glanced at his watch. “Have you seen Ellie?” he whispered.

“I haven’t, and I’m looking for her, too. Hasn’t she been staying with you at the V Hotel?”

Ric frowned. “No, of course not. She’s married.”

“Yes, but... didn’t Matt talk to you? About the private investigator...”

Ric turned his frown into a smile, but his eyes narrowed and his body appeared to tense. He touched my arm and leaned closer. “Matt spoke to me, Clare, but I’d appreciate it if you’d drop all of that tonight. This isn’t the time or place... and, just so you know, Ellie and I are affectionate. We hug and kiss... but we’re not sleeping together.” He held my eyes, shook his handsome dark head. “The day you saw us, she merely came to the hotel to update me on our work; but, of course, I can see how you might have misunderstood.”

It was my turn to tense. Misunderstanding was one thing, but Ric was trying to sell me on the idea that two plus two equaled five. “It’s just that Ellie never returned my calls,” I said carefully, “and I wanted to make sure she got my messages.”

“She got them, Clare. I saw her a short time ago.”

“You did? Where?”

Ric looked away. He shrugged. “Just on the street. She was in Manhattan already, but she had some errands to run before coming to our tasting.”