Before the doors shut, an elderly couple boarded. The man was bowed beneath the weight of

shopping bags stuffed with white and silver wrapped Christmas presents. The woman carried

an apricot toy poodle. Which is to say, it was a live poodle, but one of those pocket-sized,

yappy ones. It wasn’t yapping at the moment, but its lip had caught on its tiny incisor in a

sneer, as though it knew what I was thinking.

“Six,” the elderly man rapped out.

“Sorry?”

“Six,” he said impatiently. “Six. Six. Six.”

I pressed the button for the sixth floor.

We started our slow ascent, the three of them surveying me in open curiosity. I

realized I was tapping my hand against the wall and stopped.

“Aren’t you Lisa English’s son?” the woman said.

Oh, God.

“No.”

I glanced at them, then away. I guess it’s true about married people starting to look

alike after a while. Or maybe they were brother and sister. They were both deeply tanned

and correspondingly creased, and they had sparse hair dyed that awful fake red-blond color

that certain seniors go for. They reminded me of shrunken heads – but with all the limbs

still attached.

The woman whipped out a blue rhinestone – I assume they were rhinestones –

lorgnette from her Louis Vuitton bag. She viewed me closely. Smiled. “You are! He is, isn’t

he, Ralph?”

“Feh,” said the old guy. I hoped that’s what he said.

“She’s such a lovely person!”

“Mmm-hmm.” I couldn’t help it. I pressed the button again, leaned into it, as though

this would speed the elevator.

“She’s the true force behind the success of our annual Paws and Claws Ball.”

Lisa had always been an active supporter of the SPCA, despite the fact that I was never

allowed to have a dog or a cat as a kid (she was a staunch advocate of tropical fish, as I recall).

“Her fundraising efforts on behalf of the Opera Guild are nothing short of miraculous.

And now she’s getting married, I understand. Isn’t that lovely?”

“Lovely.”

“So romantic.”

“You bet.”

“December weddings are so special.”

She smiled fondly into the watery eyes of the poodle. It licked its chops.

The elevator lurched to a stop on the sixth floor. The doors slid languidly open.

“Do tell your dear mother hello!”

“Will do.”

She continued to smile at me as they shuffled off. I hit the Close Doors button. Hard.

The elevator shot up the last floors. The doors opened onto a silent and empty hallway.

No sign of the extras from The Matrix. I strode down to Friedlander’s suite. I heard the

phone ringing from inside.

He answered on the first knock. His glasses were askew, his hair sticking up in un-

groomed tufts. He straightened the specs, examined me in disbelief.

“You! What do you want?”

“I thought you should be aware that there are two kids who might be involved in

Gabe’s disappearance in the hotel. They were headed upstairs.” I wasn’t sure myself what

threat Sansone and company posed. I figured they’d probably like to get into Gabe’s room,

although they could hardly search the place if Bob was present.

He goggled at me. “Are you insane? Kids? You think this is about juvenile delinquents?

Mind your own business, or I will call the police.” He slammed shut the heavy door.

Chapter Thirteen

When I got back to the store, Velvet had already closed and gone home. I checked to

make sure she’d battened down the hatches, but it looked secure. The day’s receipts and cash

drop were in the top drawer of my desk.

My cell phone was ringing. I glanced at the number display. Jake. I smiled sourly. Kind

of late, in my opinion, to worry about his calls being traced.

I pressed the button.

“Can you talk?” he asked brusquely.

“What did you need?” I was equally curt.

There was a pause. He said mildly, “You want to fill me in on the Savant situation?”

It was hard to believe that I hadn’t found time in a week to tell him about Savant and

his weird behavior. I had planned to, but it had never seemed quite the right moment. Or

maybe I just hadn’t been in a rush to get my ass chewed for tracking mud through Jake’s

murder investigation.

Not that I had ever intended to wander into Jake’s case. I had wanted to find out who

had vandalized my store and sent Angus running for cover. But that wasn’t going to cut any

ice. From the start, Jake had believed that these events were connected – irritatingly

enough, he appeared to have been right.

So I told him then about the missing disk, the warning about Blade Sable, all of it. I

filled him in on Bob Friedlander’s erratic behavior this afternoon. I figured Friedlander

might make good on his threat to turn me into the cops. It might defuse the situation if I

came clean first.

He listened without comment until I wound to a stop.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?”

“When did I have a chance?”

Silence.

“Did you find the disk?”

“No. I did look. Maybe not as carefully as I should have.”

Another silence.

“The cult thing is far-fetched.”

“You’re the one who first came up with the cult theory. Remember?”

Crackling noises.

He said finally, “You’re sure the girl you saw in the hotel was the same one who came

into the store with the murder vic?”

“Yes.”

“Assuming you’re not mistaken, she could have been there visiting a guest. Or maybe

she works there. She could be staying there herself.”

Satan would have to give these kids a mighty generous allowance to afford rooms at the

Biltmore, but I kept my mouth shut.

“And you think Friedlander is lying about the last time he saw this missing literary

genius?”

I answered indirectly. “I don’t know what Savant’s net worth is. He seems like a guy

who might have trouble hanging onto money. I think it would be helpful to find out who

inherits his literary estate.”

“You mean the rights to his books?”

“That’s part of it.”

“You think they’re queers?”

“Uh, no,” I bit out. “I don’t. But I think something’s queer. Friedlander suggested that