Linda Fairstein - Likely To Die

“Your detective and I have been having a marvelous time, Alexandra. He’s told me so much about you, I’m just fascinated to meet you.”

“Didn’t believe me when I told you Creavey and I hit all the nightspots with a duchess, did you?”

Before I could answer, Jennifer held up her finger in protest. “I keep telling Michael I’m not a duchess but he delights in calling me one. We went absolutely everywhere in the neighborhood last night and he’s promised to return the favor as soon as I’m in New York.”

I couldn’t quite picture Lady Turnbull on a barstool at Rao’s in her strapless gown and tiara surrounded by a crew from Manhattan North Homicide, but I’d seen enough politicians, movie stars, and moguls there to know Mike could make it happen.

“I feel terribly underdressed for your-”

“Don’t be silly. Bernie and I just get all done up like this because we’re hosting the banquet. It so suits the setting, don’t you think?”

I clung to the duchess and the cop like a fifth wheel for at least another half an hour and another neat Glenrothes. I kept looking to see whether Mr. Karl was keeping an eye on his consort but he was clearly either comfortable with her style or secure in his skin.

Shortly before eight o’clock, Graham began moving among the guests announcing that dinner would be served in the French Dining Room. Lady Turnbull took Michael by the hand and led him down the corridor while I sort of shuffled along behind them trapped in a conversation about juvenile delinquency with the tedious Danish criminologist. She took her place at the head of the elongated banquet table sparkling in the reflected surroundings of gilded walls and ceiling, dangling chandeliers of all sizes, and countless table-top candelabra.

As I slipped past Jennifer to search for the place cards bearing my name and Mike’s, she pointed at the seat next to her and beckoned to him. “Since this is the French Dining Room, I’m taking the liberty of keeping Hercule Poirot right here beside me. With all the talk of crime at this meeting, I can’t think of anybody to keep me safer.”

“Poirot’s a Belgian, Mikey. He wasn’t French and neither are you. Remind her your roots are in Bay Ridge and maybe she’ll give you back to me,” I whispered, dreading the thought of sitting between the Australian penal expert and the Teutonic ethnologist.

“Don’t be rude to my duchess, Blondie. Room service might be the answer if you’re in one of your moods again.” He winked at me and pinched my arm as I walked behind him.

I was two-thirds of the way down the table before I saw my name, placed between Lord Windlethorne-that must have been Mike’s doing-and Ambassador Richard Fairbanks, the American delegate to the Pacific Economic Conference. A waiter pulled out the chair to help me into my seat.

Windlethorne joined me almost immediately and I was treated to a lecture on British libel law as interpreted through the most recent court cases, which outlasted the service and consumption of the starter, a Cornish crab with lime pimentos. Midway through the second course of salad smothered in truffles, Windlethorne was diverted by the woman to his left-whom I wanted to kiss in gratitude-and I introduced myself to Fairbanks, whom I had not met earlier.

The Ambassador was charming, attractive, and funny and I managed to stay engaged in conversation with him throughout the next three courses, as I lost count of the varieties of white and red wine that accompanied each dish.

When all of the desserts and champagne had been finished and the ormolu clock had chimed midnight, Bernhard invited the heartier participants to follow him along for cigars and port. The Europeans with the earliest airport departures began to peel off and say goodnight, as did a number of the spouses who complained about the odor of all that smoke.

I would have been happy to call it a night, too, except for my fascination with Jennifer’s interaction with Mike. She was all over him again as they headed out of the dining room, so I reminded myself how much I loved the smell of my father’s cigars and made my way after them into the library with its wood-paneled walls and immense fireplace. I positioned myself next to Ambassador Fairbanks and his wife, Shannon, and eventually Jennifer and Mike worked themselves around the room to us. Chapman was carrying an extra glass of port for me. “This could be the smoothest thing I’ve ever tasted. You gotta try it.”

Graham came over to the sofas where we had seated ourselves near the crisp fire. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, leaning in to speak to Chapman. “Your mother returned your call during dinner, but asked me not to disturb you. She said she was just calling back with the information you wanted and to tell you when I saw you and that you’d understand. Mrs. Chapman said that last night’s category was Geography and that I was to tell you the answer.”

“Hold it, Graham.” With a cigar stuck in the corner of his mouth and half a load on, Mike liked the way Jennifer was playing and flirting with him and delighted in her reaction to Graham’s cryptic message.

He started to explain to her what Jeopardy! is and she squealed back at him, grabbing him by the wrist, “I know exactly what it is. I always watch it when we’re in the States.”

“Ten bucks, duchess. You in it for Geography?”

“Fifty bucks, detective. How about you?” She had turned to me asking if I was still in the party.

Knowing my chances were slightly better than with the Bible or Physics, I told her I was in for fifty with her.

“Carry on, Graham.”

“Madam said to tell you that the question was-” He paused as he looked down at the sentence he had written out on the back of a Cliveden postcard. “ ‘Formerly called Mount McKinley, this highest peak in North America is known now by its Native American name meaning Great One.’ ”

Jennifer pounded the arm of the sofa shouting “Got it!” at the very same moment Graham was asking Mike whether he had understood the message. “D’you know it, too?” she asked me.

I smiled lamely and offered, “What is Mount Rainier?”

Her feet were drawn up under her gown now, and Jennifer shook her head at me to tell me that I was wrong. Then she looked over at Mike on the sofa next to her.

“Clueless, m’lady,” he said, beaming that great white grin back at her.

“What is Denali? That’s the name of it now. Bernie financed an expedition to the peak of it last summer. For an environmental group or something. Isn’t that amazing?”

Truly amazing. Even more astounding was the fact that Mike was digging in his pocket for the payoff, which he’d never done so quickly with me in all the years we’d been playing together. Mostly what I got were IOUs. This dame needed his fifty like I needed another drink.

“Excuse me, Graham. Could I please have another drink-a bit more port?”

He had just returned with my glass when Bernhard made his way across the room to reclaim his gorgeous treasure and take her upstairs to bed. Mike got to his feet to accept kisses on each cheek from his duchess and promises to both of us that she’d see us in New York before very long. We thanked Mr. Karl for his generosity and resumed our places on the sofas in front of the fire as the conferees continued to trickle out of the room.

Someone had turned on the CD player that was sitting on a table in the corner. Bette Midler’s voice came at me asking if I wanted to dance under the moonlight. I walked to the double doors that led onto the terrace. A few people had strolled outside to enjoy the bracing night air, escape the cigar fumes, or distance themselves from the heat of the fire.

I moved to the edge of the balcony and rested my crystal wine glass on the solid stone slab that overlooked the starlit gardens, breathing in to clear my head and my mind.