Клео Коул - Decaffeinated Corpse

The Dutch International party was being held at Han Yip’s Rice Shop, an upscale restaurant designed to resemble a downscale Chinese joint. The tables were green Formica, the floors covered with matching linoleum. Han Yip’s menu was displayed on a huge backlit sign over the kitchen counter. Instead of showing faded photographs of chicken chow mein and pork fried rice, there were striking photographs of pan-Asian fusion delicacies beautifully presented on bone white porcelain plates, with no price less than thirty dollars.

While we waited in a short line to be admitted, Madame touched her son’s arm. “I know you’re angry and anxious, but I don’t want you to make a scene.”

Matt had taken a short nap, but he’d never recovered from his caffeine and sugar high. In fact, since he’d arrived at his mother’s penthouse, he’d continued to feed his habit. Now his nerves were more jangled than ever. The veins protruded from his neck as I adjusted his black mask.

“She’s right, you know,” I cautioned. “You’ve got to cool that hot Latin blood, Zorro.”

Finally we reached the door. Madame’s invitation was for her and a guest—in this case her son. But she introduced me as her “amanuensis” and the man at the door let us right through.

“Why didn’t you just tell him I’m your personal assistant?” I whispered.

Madame chuckled. “Did you see the look on that young man’s face? Amanuensis! He probably thinks you’re some sort of personal physician. There’s no way he’d keep you out, for fear of my dropping dead and spoiling the fun.”

The restaurant consisted of two floors connected by a wide, red carpeted staircase. The main floor was quite spacious, with the kitchen in the back. Upstairs was mostly balcony, with ornate golden railings in the shape of twisting Chinese dragons. On both the upper and lower level, two of the four walls were lined with picture windows fronted by simple fiberglass and Formica booths. Between upstairs and downstairs, there were three open bars and five buffet tables. An efficient waitstaff was also circulating among the guests with trays laden with spring rolls, wontons, spicy hot shrimp, and tiny egg rolls.

Munching away, I scanned the room for any sign of our hostess. I didn’t see Monika, but I did spy her husband. I half expected to see Neils Van Doorn in his American mook disguise. Instead, he opted for a pirate of the Caribbean look—red greatcoat, knee length black leather boots, a three cornered hat and an eye patch to complete the effect.

I faced Madame again, saw a look of determination on her face. I followed her gaze to the bar, where an elderly gentleman in a Roman centurion costume stood alone, nursing a glass of wine.

“Excuse me, dear. I see someone I know.”

I watched her cross the crowded room and greet the man. Although she held her mask over her face, the man recognized Madame at once. Apparently, the Queen of Hearts had already started stealing one. But then I remembered Dr. McTavish and knew she’d soon be breaking one, too, if she hadn’t already.

I turned away from the animated couple, scanned the room for Matt. I spied the Zorro costume across the room at one of the open bars. Matt’s back was turned to me, and he plucked a glass off the counter—some kind of cocktail.

Dammit, Matt, don’t start drinking. The man hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours, and I thought he wanted to keep his wits about him (what little were left anyway) to speak candidly with Monika Van Doorn.

I pushed my way through the crowd, searching for any sign of our hostess. When I reached Matt, I touched his shoulder. The man in the Zorro costume turned, and I blinked in surprise. Hat askew, mask pulled up to his forehead, Ric Gostwick offered me a crooked grin.

“You’re looking lovely tonight, Clare,” Ric said. He leaned against the bar and his arm nearly slipped off the countertop. Some of his drink sloshed over the edge of the glass. He didn’t seem to notice.

I pulled my sunglasses off and tucked them into my purse. “How are you doing?”

Ric shrugged.

“I’m sorry about Ellie,” I told him.

“So am I.” Ric’s liquid brown eyes looked haunted. He drained his glass, reached for another.

“Matt told me you were interrogated by the police about her murder?”

Ric’s frown turned into a sneer of contempt. “They detained me for hours, even though they had no proof that I did anything wrong. And even when they let me go, they strongly hinted I was still their ‘person of interest’ in Ellie’s death, and told me I shouldn’t leave town. Apparently, I’m off the hook for Carlos Hernandez... they’re still looking at Matt for that one... No evidence, but if your police are anything like the ones that now operate where I used to live, they’ll trump it up soon enough...”

“Ric, I’m sorry about everything that happened. I—”

“The detectives asked me a thousand questions. I answered them all with a simple question of my own. Why would I kill Ellie? Why? She was my lifeline. I needed her—”

“And yet you’re also wooing our hostess, Monika Van Doorn— Mrs . Van Doorn.”

Ric’s crooked smile returned, and this time he directed his contempt at me. “Little Sister Clare... did you actually use the word woo in a conversation?” He threw back his head and laughed. “You’re such a prude. Presuming to judge how an adult like me conducts his life, as if it’s any business of yours. No wonder Matt...”

His voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to complete the sentence for me to understand where he was going.

“No wonder Matt cheated on me? Is that what you were going to say?”

“You don’t understand. Monika is just business. Ellie was... something else.”

“That ‘something else’ doesn’t include the word love, I noticed.”

“It’s beyond your understanding—”

“You mean you don’t think I’m sophisticated enough to understand your motives, your actions? What you’re trying to accomplish? You’re probably right, Ric. But if I don’t understand, others might not get it, either. Like Jerry Lassiter, Ellie’s husband, who might still love his wife, the woman you were sleeping with. Like Neils Van Doorn—”

Ric snickered into his drink. “Don’t worry about Neils. He’s been the perfect host. Now there’s a civilized man. My relationship with his wife doesn’t bother him in the least! The man even brought me my first drink, we shared a toast with my second. He’s a real man of the world, that one... demonstrable savoir-faire...”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, he had this costume for me, you know? I showed up here, and didn’t have one, but Neils... good man... he presented me with a package and voila ! Inside was my Zorro... but... where is our lovely hostess?” Ric said loudly. “I really ought to give her a kiss. You know, when Monika and I first met? It was at a party like this. I was Zorro and I kissed her, and she never forgot me. Besides... if I don’t find her, I may have to spend the night alone, and I wouldn’t want to do that ... my old hotel room... it’s a crime scene now...”

Ric was beginning to attract attention. He lurched forward, bumping into a woman dressed as Cleopatra. I reached out to steady him and he pulled away; I was nearly jerked off my too-high heels. Ric caught me in his arms, held me close—a little too close. When I looked up, he moved to kiss me. I turned my head and felt Ric’s sour breath on me as he nuzzled my throat. I laughed it off, as if his mauling was some sort of amusing prank. Gently but firmly, I pushed him away.

“I really don’t believe you hurt Ellie, Ric. At first, I thought it might have been her husband, and then maybe Carlos Hernandez, but—”