“You’re mumbling again, Flora,” Beatrice told her. “Speak up, will you?”

Flora came up to the side of the bed and looked like she was shouting, but the words were far away. “Bea, honey, you forgot to put in your hearing aids.”

“Oh, dear.”

Flora rustled in the nightstand drawer by Beatrice’s bed and came out triumphantly with two beige plugs that Beatricefitted in her ears each morning. She helped Beatrice insert them and then stood back, laughing. Flora was a three-hundred-pound Filipino woman, and her body jiggled all over when she laughed.

“Is that better, honey?”

“You don’t need to shout, Flora,” Beatrice said, which made Flora laugh again.

“Do you want the television back on?” Flora asked.

Beatrice shook her head. “No, I missed the story I wanted to see.”

“Wha t story was that?”

“Well, I missed it, so I don’t know! But they were showing a photograph of a lovely girl I knew back when I was a nurse.”

“That’s nice,” Flora said. She was bustling around the room, straightening up, and had stopped paying attention. “Did you see they caught that terrible man? The one who killed all those people? Shot him off the top of a building. Bang, bang.”

Flora fussed at the bedside. She nudged Beatrice forward, then grabbed and fluffed her two pillows with a meaty brown fist. “It’s romantic, though. He killed all those people to get revenge for his mother. His mother! My boys, it’s hard enoiigh getting them to show up for my birthday party.”

“Who was his mother?” Beatrice asked.

“What? Oh, one of those showgirls from the 1960s. She had to give up her baby. Isn’t that tragic? Can you imagine? I would go crazy giving up one of my babies. I’d be happy if they were living here when they were fifty. Of course, the way my boys are going, they might well be!”

Beatrice frowned. “Are you talking about Amira Luz?”

But Flora was already on her way out of the room and didn’t look back. Beatrice was alone again, except for Rowena, who was snoring. She remembered now-that was why she had taken her hearing aids out. Rowena snored like a 727 on takeoff.

Beatrice thought about Amira Luz and smiled. It was so funny to see this beautiful, pregnant woman on the balcony of the suite, trying to do these strange, erotic dance moves while her bulging stomach got in the way.

Flora must have been talking about Amira. Why else would her picture be on television after all these years?

It didn’t make sense, though. Flora must have got it wrong.

Beatrice turned on the television again and quickly lowered the volume with the remote. She waved at Raul, then began switching channels to see if someone else would have the story. Amira? No. They had made a mistake.

The invitation came, just as Stride expected. The following night at ten o’clock, they found themselves back in the bone white foyer of Boni’s penthouse suite in the Charlcombe Towers. Boni himself let them in through the double doors and guided them into the mammoth cowboy room. The light was low, just a few pale lamps and the glow from the tower outside.

Boni wore a dark suit again. Stride caught the aroma of cigars and cologne. He still had an easy, charming smile, and Stride wondered if he was like the Cheshire cat, who could disappear and leave only the smile behind to fool people. He used a two-handed grip to shake both their hands.

“You saved our lives, Detectives. Me and Claire. I felt I owed you a celebratory drink.”

“That’s why we’re here?” Stride asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Of course. You will drink with me, won’t you? You’re certainly not on duty now.”

Message received and understood, Stride thought. This was all off the record.

“Ms. Dial, I know you’d prefer mineral water or juice, of course. Detective Stride, what about you? Brandy?”

Stride nodded.

“I have an excellent brandy I think you’ll like,” Boni told Stride. He retired to the bar to pour a glass, as well as three fingers of whiskey for himself.

Stride took a sip. It seemed to melt on his tongue.

“Good, huh?” Boni asked.

“Outstanding.”

“Where’s Claire?” Serena asked.

“I thought she needed a break,” Boni said. “These last few days have been stressful for her. I flew her down to St. Thomas. She’ll be back soon.”

“I’d like to talk with her,” Serena said.

“Of course. I’ll give you the number for the resort before you go. I’m sure she’d love to hear from you.”

Stride took another sip of brandy. He wondered how this game was played. Who would start? How would they dance? What it really came down to was who would say the name first. It was foolish to pretend they didn’t all know what this was about.

As it turned out, Boni moved the first pawn.

“There’s someone here who would like to meet you,” he told them. “I bet you’d like to meet him, too.”

Stride heard a swish of movement behind them, and when he turned, he saw the silver-haired governor of Nevada joining them from one of the interior rooms of the suite.

“Mickey,” Boni called. “Come on in here. Meet those detectives who saved my neck.”

Mike Durand was tall and imposing. He was heavily suntanned, but his aging skin was tight and unblemished. A face-lift, probably, with laser surgery to burn off the blotches of sixty-five years. Capped teeth, too, that gave him a huge alabaster smile. He was dressed in a black tuxedo that practically glowed, and he already had a whiskey in his hand, twice the size of Boni’s. Stride also noticed something that he hadn’t spotted before when he saw the man on television or in photographs. Durand had the meanest, most cutthroat eyes he had ever seen, worse than any hardened criminal’s. He could smile as he slit your throat. A perfect politician.

Durand extended his hand. Stride and Serena didn’t smile back or try to shake hands, and Stride could see a barely contained fury in the governor’s face.

No more pretenses.

“I don’t think they’re going to keep this quiet,” Durand told Boni, as if they were alone in the room. “I thought you said you had this under control.”

Stride watched Boni and realized to his surprise that the old man hated Mickey Durand. There was undisguised contempt in his stare, as if Mickey were a parasite that fed off him, but one that had wrapped itself around his entrails until he couldn’t tell anymore where one organism ended and the other began. Kill one, kill them both.

“They’re police, Mickey,” Boni replied calmly. “Police don’t stop until they know the truth. So you and I, we’re going to tell them the truth. Then we can all put this behind us.”

“They’ll talk. Hell, they could be wired.”

Boni shook his head. “Ihave scanners in the foyer. They aren’t wired. As for talking, don’t worry. I think we can come to an arrangement that keeps us all happy.” He took a slug of whiskey and nodded at Stride. “You already know about Mickey. I know you talked to Moose. What else do you want to know?”

Stride looked at Durand. “Amira,” he said. “Why did you do it? We both know Boni put you up to it. What did he have on you back then?”

Durand didn’t answer. Boni interrupted smoothly. “I saved Mickey’s mother from some problems she was having with the district attorney. She was one of my casino employees. She murdered her sister when she found her in bed with her husband, and I got the charges dropped. So there were debts to be paid, you see. I was already putting Mickey through law school. I saw the kind of potential he had.”

Durand shrugged. “He really didn’t have to convince me, you know. Have you seen what Amira looked like? I would have volunteered.”

“Were you supposed to kill her?” Serena asked.

“No,” Boni said sharply, with another glance at Durand that suggested how much he loathed the relationship between them. “It was just supposed to be a lesson in loyalty.”