Greatest Hits Mysteries Boxed Set (Books 1-4)

by Langtry, Leslie

  I held out my right hand. “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Coney Bombay.” I watched with amusement as recognition fought with logic across that cute face of hers.

  “You…you’re that carnie…” Veronica stuttered. It was so sweet, I was thinking of calling her Ronnie for short. “How did you…? What are you…?” She seemed to be completely incapable of ending a sentence.

  “Tell you what,” I started as I pushed the glass of wine back at her. “Take a deep breath and I’ll explain it over dinner.”

  Ronnie picked up her glass and drained it in one swallow. I’ve never seen a woman do that before – in fact, I was pretty sure she’d never done that before. And I found it somewhat arousing.

  “I can’t afford a drink here. What makes you think I can afford dinner?”

  I signaled Arturo, who picked up the phone to make the reservation immediately.

  “It doesn’t really matter, does it? After all, I’m buying.” I stood and guided her by the elbow to the elevator that would take us to The Parisian – the exclusive rotating restaurant at the top of the hotel. Veronica never said a word. She just stared at me as though she was still trying to work out what a guy like me was doing in a five-star hotel. I kind of liked that.

  “What are the odds we would run into each other again?” I asked once we were seated in the plush, chocolate velvet booth.

  “I’d say one million to one.” She attempted a smile. It was hard to tell whether she was happy to see me or not.

  “And yet here we are.” I placed the white linen napkin across my lap and ordered a bottle of white wine. In French. Yes, I wanted to impress her. I had no idea why.

  “Yes. Here we are.” Veronica looked around, and I wondered if she had changed her mind about having dinner with me.

  “Well, thank you for accepting my invitation. I’d be willing to bet seeing me was somewhat of a shock.”

  The sommelier arrived and opened the wine. He poured a small amount and I tasted it. After nodding my approval, he poured for both of us.

  After a few sips, Veronica hiccupped (rather charmingly, I might add). “This is a lot different from the drink we shared a year ago.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “So, why are you here?”

  “Sick friend. A carnie. You’d like him.”

  “Why’s that?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t have any teeth.”

  Veronica sighed. “I guess I deserve that. I’m sorry I was so rude last year. I shouldn’t put labels on people.”

  “Apology accepted. So why are you here?” I volleyed.

  She squirmed uneasily in her chair. “Conference. I’m presenting my thesis.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  “I already gave it this morning.”

  The waiter arrived and took our orders. We sized each other up for a moment.

  “I should apologize also,” I said. “I was a bit rough on you.”

  She nodded. “Yes, you were. I like what I’m doing. I love school.” She flung her arms up. “Why does everyone find that upsetting?”

  “Who is everyone?”

  “My family, my friends, the faculty. They all think I need to take some time off and go somewhere. See stuff. Do things.”

  “I would agree with that.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I was like you. I stayed in college for eight years. I did some traveling here and there”—mainly to kill people, but no need to mention that—“but I always returned to my ivory tower.”

  Her eyes changed. No, the look in her eyes changed. She had a look of faint recognition within those green depths.

  “Why did you leave the university?” Was she really interested?

  “Because the minute I got my PhD., they offered me a teaching post. It scared the hell out of me. In that moment I saw my body aging while standing in the same place over the years. I saw the same people around me, the same city, teaching the same kind of students over and over. And I didn’t like it.”

  Veronica shook her head. “I don’t understand. It sounds wonderful to me.”

  Our food arrived. The sommelier wisely brought another bottle of wine and poured. Veronica watched with hungry eyes. I’d forgotten that she was a student. Most likely, a dead-broke one. I wondered how she could even afford the hotel…unless the university was footing the bill.

  “So you became a carnie? And now you can afford all this? I don’t get it.”

  I smiled and tucked into my steak. It was amazing – medium rare. Just the way I like it.

  She giggled without waiting for my reply. “I shouldn’t drink this much. I rarely drink at home.” And then she guzzled another glass of wine.

  “Well, enjoy it. I want you to.”

  We didn’t speak while we attacked our food as genteelly as possible. I was starving. The fight with Vic had taken a lot out of me, and I hadn’t had the heart to devour Sartre’s fruit and veggie cache.

  After half an hour, Veronica sat back and sighed. “That was the best dinner I’ve had in a long, long time.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I grinned. I love to see women eat. It is so boring to see girls nibble at salads all the time.

  “It was delicious. And the wine was excellent.” She leaned across the table. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question?”

  “I’m all yours,” I said, a little more truthfully than she probably imagined.

  “How can you afford this hotel? This dinner?” She was blunt. It was adorable.

  “I manage.”

  “You must have really done something with your plans as a Kissinger impersonator.” She grinned.

  I laughed. “And I get dental too.”

  “But seriously…” Veronica wasn’t letting me off the hook. It must be that Midwestern say-what-you-think mentality. It reminded me of Australians and Dad.

  “I inherited some money.” And that was all I was going to say about that.

  “Must be nice,” she responded with a smile. Pushing her plate away, she looked up at me. “I’m done. What should we do now?”

  I leaned in. “What about the conference? Isn’t there somewhere you have to be?”

  “No, tonight’s banquet was called off. Somebody died here or something. I guess he was supposed to speak.”

  “How awful.” I didn’t really mean it. I felt like a hero saving her from a boring speech and a rubber chicken dinner. Killing this Vic saved my lady fair.

  “Yeah. Some diplomat’s kid.”

  I divided the remaining wine into our two glasses and tried to ask as nonchalantly as possible. “How did he die?”

  “No one has said, but the consensus is he had an accident.”

  My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, as if on cue. I took it out and checked the screen.

  “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, Veronica, I have to take this.” I left the table before she had the opportunity to ask me what kind of calls a carnie would get that would interrupt dinner.

  I found a nice, quiet corner and answered. “Hello, Mum.”

  “Squidgy!” Mom shouted with enthusiasm. “Nice work!”

  “Tell him it’s all over the news!” I heard my Dad shout in the background.

  Mom mumbled something at him, then returned to me. “Anyway, well done. And word is you helped Paris and Dak with their assignment. You’re such a good boy.” I could actually feel her fingers closing on my cheeks.

  “Thanks, Mum. Anything else?”

  “No, why?” she asked, as if anything was important enough to tear her little boy away from her.

  “I’m on a date.”

  Mom promptly exploded. “You are? Oh, Squidgy! How wonderful!” I heard her mumble something to Dad about grandchildren.

  “Mum, I’ve got to get back.” I didn’t want Veronica to run off.

  “Okay! Have fun!” I thought I heard her say “Get married,” but that might have been my imagination.

  I returned to the table and joined Vero
nica. “Sorry about that. Now, where were we?”

  “Who was it?” Ronnie asked. I found her complete lack of tact refreshing. I really did.

  “My sick friend. He’s rallied. He says, ‘Hello.’”

  “Hmmm.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll bet he did.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “Of course not.” She wobbled indignantly. “I’m just a little buzzed. That’s all.”

  Veronica stood. Then she toppled back into her chair, giggling. Oops.

  She giggled again. I liked it. But I was concerned that she’d had a bit too much to drink. And for some reason, I was pretty sure that Veronica Gale wasn’t much of a drinker.

  I motioned for the check, and within a few minutes I was leading one tipsy anthropologist back to where she thought her room might be. All I had wanted to do was loosen her up. But if this woman got any looser I was afraid her head would come off.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lieutenant John Chard: The army doesn't like more than one disaster in a day.

  Bromhead: Looks bad in the newspapers and upsets civilians at their breakfast.

  - Zulu

  Thirty minutes later I was convinced Veronica had no idea where her room was. And to tell you the truth, I was getting a little worried. The hallways were filled with suits – men I assumed were from various government agencies. And they noticed that I was dragging a drunk woman around with me aimlessly through the hallways.

  “Excuse me, sir.” asked a tight-lipped man in a boring black suit for the seventh time. “Are you lost?”

  “No, I—” was cut off completely as Veronica launched herself into my arms and kissed me. It was nice. I enjoyed it. Maybe not half as much as the federal retinue watching us. Against my will, I came up for air.

  “I’m taking her to our room right now,” I answered as Veronica burst into a fit of giggles.

  “Yes! We’re goin’ to our room!” she shouted enthusiastically.

  Once inside my room, I locked the door and looked out the peephole. No one there. That was good.

  “So, what now, sailor?” Veronica flopped drunkenly onto my bed and promptly passed out.

  “What now, indeed.” I sighed. Very carefully, I removed her shoes and dress. For a moment I felt guilty staring at her in her underwear. She really was a lovely young woman – slender and shapely. Too bad she was something I didn’t like in a woman…unconscious.

  After covering her up, I sat in a chair by the door, watching her and listening for any movement outside. My thoughts drifted to the memories of women past. If I were a gentleman, I’d say there weren’t many. Of course, then I wouldn’t be a gentleman because I’d be lying. No, I’ve had my fair share of women over the years. Nothing permanent since, well, since Frannie Smith. I liked to keep things detached.

  It just wasn’t in me to find one partner and settle down. I liked living off the cuff. And I guess if you think about it, I was already in a monogamous relationship with a guinea pig.

  Sartre squeaked as if she knew I was thinking about her. I pulled her out of the cage and onto my lap. She snuggled up, and I stroked her fur as she purred and fell asleep. Great. I couldn’t seem to keep any women awake.

  There was one meaningful relationship in my sordid past. Shutting my eyes couldn’t make the memory of one Frances Smith go away. The pain that stabbed my heart was just as fresh as the day she said good-bye. Frannie. She broke my heart.

  Isn’t there always one love who can take your heart and give it a slow, painful death? Nothing worked. Leaning back and closing my eyes, I allowed the inevitable wash of college memories to flow. It’s funny how your brain disobeys you. I didn’t want to think about that. Fortunately, Sartre sunk her teeth into my flesh and it all went away, dissolved in a mist of pain.

  That was the pig’s way of letting me know she had to pee. And since I didn’t want to get soaked, I decided to put her back. I threw in a few carrots and sat back down in the chair, willing myself to sleep.

  I didn’t sleep much. Sitting up in a chair, fully clothed, will do that to you. Morning slipped through the sheer curtains, stealing across Veronica’s face. She looked like she was lost. She kind of was, just didn’t know it.

  I decided to grab a quick shower. As I stepped out into the room wearing nothing but a towel, Veronica suddenly sat straight up. This time, she looked terrified.

  “Oh God. Oh no! We didn’t…did we?” The blanket slipped from her chest and she clawed at them to cover herself.

  I smiled. “What? You don’t remember?” Technically, I wasn’t lying. Granted, there was a certain amount of sordid innuendo there, but I really hadn’t confirmed anything.

  Her eyes widened. I hoped it was more that she regretted not remembering a night of passion with me. However, it appeared she was more concerned that she had. This woman was uptight indeed.

  “Relax,” I said. “You were so drunk we couldn’t find your room, so I brought you here. Nothing happened.” Now why did I say that? I could’ve had a good time with this.

  “Oh,” she said. Did I detect a note of regret? Or was that what I wanted to hear?

  I tossed her the big, fluffy hotel robe, and she slid into it and dashed for the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?” she asked a few moments later as she stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was smoothed, face washed and teeth brushed. I wondered if she used my toothbrush. It wouldn’t have bothered me if she did. A germaphobe, I ain’t.

  I looked down at the yarn and needles in my lap. “Knitting.”

  “You knit?” She seemed shocked.

  “Yes.” I held up the scarf I was working on. It was a lovely café au lait, baby alpaca. I have to admit – I’m a bit of a yarn snob. Only the best will do.

  Veronica reached out and touched the scarf, fondling the fibers. It was a definite turn on.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered and pointed to the curving rows that ran through it. “What are these things called?”

  “Cables,” I answered. “They thicken up the fabric, and I like the way they look.”

  “You told me you’re working in Florida. Why are you knitting a wool scarf?”

  “I’ve got a trip coming up.”

  I wondered why she didn’t press me for more information. Maybe she wasn’t that curious when it came to me.

  “I think it’s cool that you knit,” she said with a lopsided smile. Damn, it looked good on her.

  “Thanks. It’s kind of my form of meditation.”

  “Like yoga?”

  “No, more like Buddhism.” That was true. I found working with yarn and needles very soothing. It gave me something to do while I thought about whatever I wanted to think about. Knitting was something of a Bombay family tradition; although to the best of my knowledge I was the only man who did it. That didn’t bother me.

  “Well, I guess I’d better get back to my room,” Veronica said abruptly.

  I nodded. “I’ll walk you there.”

  “You don’t have to. I may have forgotten last night, but I know where it is now.”

  “I insist. Besides, I want my bathrobe back.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “I was just going to put on my dress from last night.”

  “Then everyone from your conference who sees you will know what you were up to last night. At least in a robe, they might figure you’ve just been for a morning swim.”

  A look of fear spread across her face. She nodded and I picked up my keys and led her to the door.

  I started laughing exactly one minute and thirty-four seconds later.

  “What?” she asked as she reddened.

  “Come on! You are two doors down from me. And you couldn’t remember that?” I chuckled and followed her into her room.

  “I had a lot to drink,” she said, not a little defensively.

  As I wandered around her room, Veronica grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom.

  She was a slob. Not in a bad way, ju
st kind of messy. There were no half-empty pizza boxes but papers and files were strewn haphazardly about the room. The phone rang and I jumped, knocking over a stack of papers.

  Damn. I knelt down and began picking them up. I couldn’t help but notice that this wasn’t research for her anthropological thesis.

  “What happened?” Veronica knelt beside me and I could smell soap and shampoo. Lavender. Very nice. She must have taken the world’s fastest shower.

  “Sorry.” I indicated the papers. “Your phone rang and I inadvertently knocked this stuff over.”

  She grinned. “You? Clumsy? That’s outstanding.”

  “Enjoy it. You won’t likely see it again.”

  Veronica laughed and even though it was at my expense, I liked it.

  “So what is all this?” I held up a piece of paper with forensic information on it.

  “Oh, um, just a pet project. It’s nothing.” She grabbed for the paper and started shoving as much as she could into the folder.

  I pointed to a photo I recognized. “Hey, isn’t this Senator Anderson?”

  She frowned. “You recognize him?”

  “I do keep in touch with the world. Of course I know who he is. I think most Americans do.”

  Senator Will Anderson had been a maverick up-and-coming Democrat. A fire-and-brimstone type, he dominated the political scene, going after corrupt politicians. Everyone seemed to like him. His name was brought up often as a potential presidential hopeful.

  “He was found dead of a heart attack, right?” I asked as I handed her the picture.

  Ronnie frowned at it. There was something more to her expression than just regret that his life ended too soon.

  “I worked on his campaign all through college. He was amazing.” She looked at me with a nervous grin, then shoved the photo into the file. My stomach clenched, just a bit. I ignored it.

  “So why do you have a four-inch-thick file on him in your hotel room? He died four years ago.”

  “It’s just a hobby of mine.”

  “Politicians who die before their time are a hobby for you?”