with the police?”

“The police think this is all a publicity stunt.”

“Why would they think that?”

He glared at me. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Oh, I explained it, as much as I know.

But I don’t know much, do I? No. Because Gabe had to keep it all to himself; this was his

project, his baby, so I don’t know anything. There isn’t any reason for them to come after

me. Unless Gabe lied to save his own skin.”

I ignored most of that. “But why would the police think that this is a publicity stunt?”

“Because someone” – he leaned so far forward that he nearly tipped out of his chair –

“some anonymous person called the cops and told them that Gabe had a habit of

taking…stress breaks.”

Stress breaks? Did that mean a drinking binge or booking time at a private hospital?

“He does?”

He gave me another of those red-rimmed glares.

“So…the police think that Gabe disappeared voluntarily?”

He jerked a nod. “So they say,” he said thickly, at last.

“Is that a possibility?”

He said dully, “No. Not this time.”

But other times. That did kind of change matters, at least from the police perspective.

“How long do these stress breaks usually last?”

He got up as though he couldn’t bear to sit still any longer. The metal object in his

drooping bathrobe pocket knocked loudly against the end table, and I flinched. I hoped the

thing didn’t go off while I was in the room.

Refreshing his drink, he answered, “A few days. A week once. But that time was

different. He got married that time.”

I counted backward. Gabe had been gone six days so far.

“So he’s married?”

Bob made a wet sound between a snort and a raspberry – not very attractive. “No. It

lasted eight months.”

“Might he have met someone? Or is there already someone in his life? Girlfriend,

maybe?”

“Several. He’s the proverbial chick magnet.”

Okay, so he wasn’t gay. And he and Bob were definitely not involved. If anything, Bob

was jealous of Gabe’s success with women.

“Does he have any kids?”

“God, no.” He looked at me like I’d suggested something truly aberrant.

“Does he have any enemies?”

He gaped at me. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing. You seem sure that he didn’t take off on his own volition. Maybe he

was…kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped!”

“Well, he’s fairly wealthy, I assume?”

A funny look crossed Bob’s face. He slowly put the glass to his mouth and drank, his

eyes unfocused.

“His publisher would pay to get him back, I’m guessing.”

“He wasn’t kidnapped!”

“No? No ransom note? No demands?”

I didn’t think for a moment that Gabe had been kidnapped. If he had been, law

enforcement would have been all over the case. I wanted to hear what Bob had to say on the

subject.

“These people don’t want ransom!”

“You said the night of the signing that Gabe was under a lot of pressure. If he did take

off on his own, where would he go? Would he go home?”

“New England in the winter?” He gave a short laugh. “Not likely. He prefers the

sunnier climes.” He laughed unsteadily and raised his glass again. “Some like it hot, that’s

what they say, right?”

“Did he change his will after he was divorced?”

“No. Yes.” He slopped his drink. “I don’t remember.” He stared at me. “What kind of a

question is that? In fact, why are you asking all these questions?”

I said apologetically, “I guess it’s the mystery writer in me.”

He continued to stare at me in glassy-eyed offense.

I decided to push my luck. “You and Gabe must be pretty close after all these years?”

“Yeah, we’re close. We’re like brothers.” He held up two intertwined fingers, which is

not actually how I think of brothers. “We’ve been together since…for…you know? And I do

not like your insinuations.”

The interview was going down the drain fast. I needed to make it quick, before the last

of Bob’s coherency dissolved like the ice in the booze. I said, placating, “I’m not insinuating

anything, Bob. I just wonder if there was another explanation for Gabe’s disappearance.”

“I’ve told you what happened to him. I told the police. No one wants to believe me.”

He shuffled back to his chair, sat down, letting his head fall back against the cushions.

“How did you find out someone painted an inverted pentagram on my doorstep?”

“Gabe saw it. He saw that you had tried to wash it out, but he knew from the shape.”

Eyes closed, he drew a circle in the air, then wiggled his finger in an air-doodle.

Now that was interesting. That meant that Savant hadn’t disappeared straight after

leaving my shop. He had hooked up with Bob at least one final time. Yet, if I had understood

the newspaper account correctly, according to Bob, he hadn’t seen or spoken to Gabe after he

had gone out that morning.

I didn’t say anything, sipped my drink.

Bob went very still. “Oh, I see,” he whispered. He opened his eyes.

“What do you see?” He seemed to have focused on a point over my left shoulder. I

glanced uneasily over my shoulder, half-expecting to see an ectoplasmic manifestation.

“I think you better leave,” he said, sitting up, reaching for the phone. “Before I call

hotel security.”

“Uh…okay.” I preferred hotel security to being shot, and I was relieved that he hadn’t

remembered that option.

I put my glass down. I let myself out while Bob still struggled to get out of his chair.

On the elevator ride down, I kept thinking over what he’d said. Gabe had to keep it all

to himself, this was his project, his baby … But weren’t they all?

I stepped out of the elevator in the lobby in time to see Betty Sansone and a Harry

Potter look-alike, both garbed in those long, black, leather duster-style coats, stepping into

another one. Young guns from the fifth dimension.

Straightaway, I tried to crowd back on the elevator, but was too late. The doors shut. I

moved to the next one and punched the button, waiting impatiently. Passing guests gave me

reproving glances.

At last the elevator opened. I stepped in, pressed the button for Bob Friedlander’s floor.