Gene Wolfe - An Evil Guest

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cassie said.

“Should I let him up?”

“I don’t think so. Is it a note?”

“I’ll see, Miz Casey. Wait a minute.”

There was a lengthy pause during which Cassie sat down; she could hear the voices of two men arguing.

“Miz Casey?”

“Still here, Preston.”

“He says he has to speak to you. He won’t tell me what it is.”

“All right. Put him on.”

Another pause and more argument.

“He won’t, Miz Casey. He wants to come up.”

Cassie grinned. “Please tell him I’m not about to let anyone who won’t talk to me on the telephone come up.”

“I will, Miz Casey.” Preston sounded pleased.

After a brief pause, an accented voice said, “I am Carlos.”

“Señora Casey. What can I do for you, Carlos?”

“You must let me in.”

“I won’t,” Cassie said, and hung up.

There was no local news on vid at this hour. She watched the state news channel instead, waiting for the telephone to ring.

As it did, ten minutes later.

“Hello.” She tried not to sound smug.

“This is Wallace Rosenquist, Cassie. I had planned to escort you from your apartment to my car. An urgent matter intervened. I’d like to apologize.”

“I understand.” She made it sympathetic.

“My driver takes my instructions a bit too seriously at times, I’m afraid. Would you be willing to meet me at Rusterman’s? Carlos will drive you.”

“I’d love to. Meet you when?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. It shouldn’t be long.”

“Wonderful. I’ll go right away.”

After hanging up, she switched on the alarm system.

Carlos held the door of the white limousine for her. He looked taller and darker than the uniformed man she remembered seeing when she had looked down at the white limousine. A sheet of glass — thick glass that looked as if it might stop bullets — separated them. There was a speaker below it through which he could presumably have spoken to her, and a microphone through which she could presumably have spoken to him.

She was tempted to say, “I wasn’t going to shoot you anyway, Carlos,” but did not.

Rusterman’s seemed calmer and richer than it had on the night of the cast party. Its unsmiling hostess might have posed for Vogue . “I’m to meet Wallace Rosenquist here,” Cassie told her. “I assume the reservation is in his name.”

“Of course. Of course!” Had some passing spirit kindled a candle within the hostess, she could have glowed no brighter; her smile looked a little forced, Cassie thought, but it was big and bright beyond all questioning.

An imperious gesture summoned the head waiter, who bowed deeply and escorted Cassie to a private room of medium size that, tonight at least, held only a single table and two chairs. “Would Madame care for wine? We have excellent wines. I shall summon our sommelier.”

“Just water, please. Water and a little ice.”

Her cell phone played “Pigs in Paradise” as the head waiter left; feeling the music far too appropriate, Cassie answered.

“Your alarm’s gone off, Miz Casey.” It was Preston. “I’ve called the cops. They say they’re on their way, only no sirens. I thought you might like to come on back.”

“It was good of you to call,” Cassie said, “but I can’t. Would you ask one of the policemen to call me at this number when they’ve investigated?”

“Sure will, Miz Casey. Okay if I open the door for ’em?”

“Yes. Of course. Preston...”

“What, Miz Casey?”

“There’s a very nice man who works in our building. He fixed my wall.”

“That’s Ian, Miz Casey.”

“Is he there now?”

“No, he’s not, Miz Casey. Ian works days.”

“Please leave a message on his computer for me. Give him my number and ask him to call me in the morning. Will you do that for me, Preston?”

“Sure will, Miz Casey, only I got to go. The cops are here.”

She hung up.

After a time that might have been five minutes or fifteen, a beautifully uniformed waitress brought a tall blue bottle of Swiss spring water that had probably cost more than most wines. With it came a crystal goblet almost as tall as the bottle, a small silver bucket, and a pair of tongs.

Cassie halted the waitress with a gesture. “Do you know Alexis Cabana? Know who she is?”

The waitress smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t, ma’am.”

“She an actress. I asked because you remind me of her, although you’re better-looking.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” The smile widened. “I’m not half as beautiful as you are, I know. People do say, though, that I’m — well, some people do, that I’m not bad at all.” The waitress bent closer. “Are you really meeting Mr. Rosenquist?”

“Supposedly.” Cassie glanced at her watch. “I’ll give him another ten minutes.”

The waitress’s voice fell to a whisper. “Everybody’s got to treat him like he was the governor. He’s a friend of Mr. Rusterman’s.”

“Is there really a Mr. Rusterman?”

“He’s the company president. There was another Mr. Rusterman years and years ago, and he opened the first one. But now this Mr. Rusterman is the president of our whole chain. He’s a cousin or something. I don’t know.”

“I see. Wait a moment, please. Do you happen to know Mr. Rusterman’s first name?”

“It’s Wade, I think, ma’am.”

Reis came well after the ten minutes were up. “I’m sorry I’m late, Cassie. I was unexpectedly delayed.”

He pulled out a chair and sat. “Do you mind if I call you Cassie? India says that’s what everybody calls you. And now that you’ve signed, well, I hope you’re not angry with me.”

Cassie smiled. “Not at all, Bill. Did you find anything?”

His expression changed, and he said nothing.

It was in the eyes, Cassie decided. His eyes had been lying before, and lying skillfully; now they had stopped.

The waitress returned, this time with menus. Cassie studied hers for a few seconds and laid it down.

“Yes, ma’am? What would you like?”

“The half capon Souvaroff, I think, with a tossed salad.”

“We have just about every dressing there is, ma’am. Would you like me to list them for you?”

Cassie shook her head. “Ranch will be fine.”

Reis looked up. “I felt sure you’d order the green goddess.”

“I like ranch.”

“You’d like this better. Waitress, I want you to bring both dressings. A cup of each, not on the salad.”

The waitress said, “Yes, sir,” and wrote. “Would you care for some soup, ma’am? It comes with your dinner.”

Cassie shook her head, and Reis ordered.

When the waitress had gone, he said, “You’ve saved me a great deal of time. Weeks, perhaps.”

“I’m glad. Want to tell me what’s in green goddess dressing? I’m curious.”

He smiled. “A great many things, and I couldn’t name half of them.”

“What makes it green?”

“Money. If I may go back to an easier question, yes. I found several things of interest in your apartment.”

“Before the police got there. I thought you looked like a fast worker.”

“Sometimes. One was a note. The first word was infected . Do you know the note I mean?”

Cassie shook her head. “I had a lot of company this afternoon. One of them must have left it.”

“No doubt. I don’t think I’ve told you why I want you to try the green goddess. It’s because I think of you like that. A green goddess. You were wearing green the first time I saw you.”

“In the play? I wasn’t. That was brown.”

“So it was. I was thinking of the party. I took you home, remember?”