Some Like it Lethal

by Nancy Martin

  “Oh, nothing that formal. I just snap for my own pleasure. And for Miss Keough now, too, of course.”

  I said, “Andy has been accompanying Kitty Keough to social events. I think Andy aspires to be a social reporter himself someday.”

  “Oh, it’s my calling,” Andy assured me seriously. “It’s my wildest dream.”

  “Is Kitty here, Andy?”

  “Yes. She stepped out to freshen up.”

  Hadley was undeterred from his line of questioning. “What do you do with all your snaps, Andy? Do you keep them in an album?”

  “Not all of them. I have so many!”

  “What do you do with the rest?” Hadley asked. “The ones that don’t go into albums? Do you destroy them?”

  “Oh, no, just store them in envelopes.”

  “What kind of envelopes?”

  Andy raised his camera lens to his eye to frame a picture of the children assembling on the stage. “Just standard photographer envelopes.”

  “The white, laminated kind, you mean?”

  “Yeah, those. Do you think I should try getting some shots of the kids? You know, just in case Miss Keough wants to add some warmth to her column this week?”

  “I’m sure she’ll add a little warmth,” I said. “It’s almost Christmas, after all.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  “Interesting,” Hadley said. “Don’t you think so?”

  “I take back all the rude things I ever said to you, Hadley. You’re brilliant.”

  “Oh, look, there’s Pixie Northram, the cosmetic surgery addict. Do you think it’s safe for her to stand so close to a radiator? She’s going to melt.”

  While the chorus finished organizing itself, a cherubic little girl in blond pigtails saw Spike and ran over to us. Her velvet sash had come untied, and both ruffled socks had worked their way down into her patent leather shoes. Her face was sticky with pink goo. She pulled her thumb out of her mouth to ask, “What kind of dog is that?”

  “A Moravian possum terrier,” Hadley volunteered.

  “He’s ugly. Can I pet him?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I said gently. “He’s not very friendly.”

  Spike, trembling with the extreme effort of staying calm in such close proximity to very tempting prey, growled deep in his throat.

  The little girl frowned at me. “If you don’t let me pet him, I’ll tell my daddy to fire you.”

  “Well, I don’t actually work for your daddy, so I think I’m safe.”

  Hadley said pleasantly, “Buzz off, brat.”

  She glared up at Hadley. “You’re prissy.”

  “You’re odious.”

  “You’re stinky.”

  “That’s practically a synonym, you little gremlin. It doesn’t count.”

  “I hate you!”

  “Double for me.”

  “Hadley—”

  “See here, you little urchin, we’ve got more important things to do besides listen to your adenoidal fussing, so take a powder before I kick your butt from here to Christmas Eve.”

  She opened her mouth for a comeback, then decided she was beaten. With a wail, she ran off, trailing her velvet sash on the floor behind her.

  “I love children,” Hadley said. “Usually with hollandaise.”

  Just as the chorus hummed to the quaver of a pitch pipe, Tottie Boarman made his entrance. First came an honor guard of assistants armed with the latest electronic gadgetry, plus one carrying a briefcase. Then Tottie marched in, looking more like a general setting foot on a battleground than a host emceeing a children’s Christmas party. He had a hard expression on his face, every inch a man who was making an appearance against his will.

  Hadley and I happened to be the first guests in his path.

  “Pinkham,” Tottie said. “Isn’t it illegal for you to be in a room with impressionable little boys?”

  “Well, if it isn’t Ebenezer,” Hadley replied. “Happy Holidays to you, too, Tottie.”

  “Don’t give me that Christmas crap.” Squinting at me, Tottie said, “You’re Charlie Blackbird’s grand-daughter?”

  “Yes, I am. I’m Nora.”

  “Your idiot father borrowed a thousand bucks from me before he ran off to Brazil or wherever the hell he’s hiding.”

  “I think he’s in Argentina at the moment.”

  “Having a wonderful time, no doubt. On my dime.”

  Fortunately, I was saved from responding.

  Delilah Fairweather hurried up to us, pasting Christmas cheer on her face. “Mr. Boarman?”

  Tottie swung on her and immediately pegged Delilah as someone on his payroll. “Yeah, that’s me. Let’s get this show on the road. Am I supposed to light a tree or a menorah or something?” He looked at his watch.

  “Yes, the tree lighting will take place after the choral performance, so if you’ll just—”

  “The tree lighting takes place right now,” Tottie ordered. “And then I’m getting the hell out of here. I have an appointment.”

  “But—”

  The little girl with the sticky face ran past us and threw cookie crumbs at Hadley before dashing away with a squealing laugh.

  The sight of a fleeing victim was too much for Spike. With a murderous bark, he suddenly burst out of my handbag like a fighter jet launched from the deck of an aircraft carrier. He landed with an explosion of trumpeting flatulence and tore off in hot pursuit of the little girl, snapping ferociously at her sash. Over her shoulder, she took one look at Spike’s flashing teeth and screamed.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Tottie.

  Children scattered in terror. Waiters dove for safety. Parents shrieked for police protection. The chorus began singing “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.”

  Hadley said, “You could pretend he’s not yours.”

  I ran after Spike with a desperate hope that he wouldn’t actually hurt anybody.

  Destruction was another matter. Already Spike had clamped his teeth down on the tail of the little girl’s velvet sash. He tried to dig his paws into the carpet to hang on while the child raced in a screaming circle, but her momentum sent him as airborne as a kite in a typhoon. He crashed into the legs of a busboy’s stand, and I saw a tray of dirty dishes teeter precariously. I made a dive to save it, but too late. The whole thing crashed to the floor. Dishes and glassware scattered in all directions.

  A foolhardy waiter made a flying leap to grab Spike, but slammed into one of Tottie’s assistants instead, and the two hit the floor just as the chorus began singing about being saved from Satan’s power.

  I skittered through the debris to try to catch Spike on their next lap around the buffet, but the little girl raced into a crowd of cowering parents and children, who shrieked and scattered like bowling pins. In the melee, Spike finally managed to tear the sash off the girl’s dress. He galloped around the Christmas tree with glee, waving the sash overhead like a victory flag and breaking wind with every joyous leap.

  Andy Mooney swung his camera case at Spike. The puppy immediately dropped the sash and latched on to Andy’s trouser leg. Andy yelped and began to dance. Spike hung on, growling like a homicidal mongoose.

  Hadley lurched up beside me, breathing hard. “Here’s a Christmas cookie. Lure him under the buffet table, and I’ll make a diversion so you can get him out of here.”

  “No more cookies!” I cried. “How do you think he got into this condition?”

  Spike ripped off a hunk of Andy’s trouser leg, revealing an argyle sock beneath. He made a pouncing dive to attack the sock, but Andy kicked his leg into the air with more gusto than a frenzied Rockette.

  Spike immediately lost interest in Andy and decided to attack the bunting on the buffet table. Again, the crowd surged back from his furious assault. With the linen in his teeth, he braced himself and proceeded to yank, yank, yank until the punch bowl teetered on the edge of the table. Two waiters bravely leaped into the fray. One snatched up the bowl in a Herculean clean jerk, but the
slosh of red punch washed over his tuxedo shirt and splashed him in the face. He sputtered, bobbled the bowl and dropped it. Glass and ice exploded on the floor in a tidal wave of faux fruit juice. The second waiter slipped in the sugary lake and executed a belly flop into a tray of macaroons.

  Spike snatched up the little girl’s sash again and made another noisy victory lap around the quaking Christmas tree. Then, triumphant that he’d ruined every aspect of the party, he quit the battlefield and bolted under the table with his trophy.

  The chorus switched to “Winter Wonderland,” but the singing was hardly audible over the weeping of children and parents.

  I crawled under the buffet table.

  Delighted to see me on my hands and knees, Spike ran over and began licking my face.

  “That’s it,” I told him. “I’m never having kids.”

  He wriggled into my handbag and gave a delighted sigh.

  I peeked out from under the table in time to hear a fresh wave of shrieks as the decorated tree gave one last precarious wobble and began to keel over. Hadley darted over to the buffet table and motioned me to make my escape, obviously ready to sacrifice himself so I could make a clean getaway. Clutching my handbag closed, I crawled out from under the table and inched to the nearest exit—a fortuitously close service door.

  In an instant, I was safely out of the ballroom and leaning against the service corridor wall and panting in exhausted humiliation.

  Two men from the hotel security team rushed up. “Are you all right, miss? We heard there’s a rat in the ballroom.”

  “A rat? Yes, right there.” I pointed a shaky finger toward the door I’d just come through.

  They dashed past me.

  I looked around to decide which way I could make my quickest escape and saw Tottie Boarman hot-footing it away from the party. Alone, he darted down the service hallway, heading for the back of the hotel. He was carrying a briefcase.

  To Spike, I said, “Where in the world is he going?”

  With a throaty growl, Spike suggested we follow.

  Outside, it was getting dark. The slight snowfall had increased to a thick flurry that looked picturesque and would soon have the city engulfed in several inches of traffic-stopping white stuff. I gave Tottie a head start, and he walked quickly across the street, glancing over his shoulder only once to make sure he wasn’t being followed. I turned my back and pretended to be waiting for a cab. When I turned back, he had flipped up the collar of his suit around his ears and gathered the lapels with one hand to stave off the cold. Or to become a man who wouldn’t be recognized. Then he set off walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction from where his car ought to have been parked.

  More curious than ever, I followed him.

  We went about three blocks, then cut one block east, then two more. I noticed his gait gradually slowed down and looked more pained as we walked. In ten minutes, we were in the park at Rittenhouse Square. The fast-falling snow had driven most neighborhood people indoors to their apartments in the surrounding high-rise buildings. I kept a screen of trees between Tottie and myself so he wouldn’t see that he’d been followed.

  He stopped at one corner and glanced around. I had just enough time to sit on a snow-covered park bench and duck my head. When I looked up a moment later, Tottie was crossing the square and heading for the tables where people often played outdoor chess in the summer. Now, however, the tables were empty.

  He came to a hobbling stop beside the chess tables and glanced toward a Barnes and Noble bookstore where two customers were lingering on the sidewalk and chatting as the afternoon light faded into evening. Tottie seemed troubled by their presence and glared in their direction for a long time. I used the moment to find a secluded spot behind a lamppost and some overhanging tree branches.

  “Nora?”

  I gasped and spun around.

  Hadley caught my elbow and eased me back into the shadow of the lamppost. “Steady, kitten. What in the world are you doing?”

  “My God, you scared me. I’m following Tottie. Look.”

  Hadley peered across the park. “What’s he doing?”

  “Certainly not acting like a man who’s giving a Christmas party right now.”

  “What’s in the briefcase?”

  “I doubt it’s old issues of the Fortune magazine.”

  We tried to determine what Tottie was doing, but he appeared to simply stand beside the tables, watching the bookstore customers.

  “Is the party a disaster?” I asked.

  “I left before the police showed up. Look. Tottie’s on the move again.”

  We peeked around the lamp. The bookstore customers had parted ways. As they left, Tottie suddenly walked away, too.

  I said, “He forgot the briefcase.”

  Empty-handed, Tottie began heading diagonally across the park. Hadley and I edged around our lamppost to avoid being spotted.

  “Hold the phone,” Hadley whispered. “Check out that car.”

  An aged white Mercedes eased to a stop along the curb opposite the side of the square where Tottie was headed. The driver killed the headlights, but left the engine running. The driver’s side door opened and a woman got out of the car. She wore a heavy fur coat, which I recognized.

  The woman left her car and headed into the park. “That’s Kitty Keough.”

  “What’s she doing?”

  All the puzzle pieces suddenly made sense. “She’s picking up Tottie’s briefcase.”

  “Well, hitch me to a sled and call me Rudolph! She’s the blackmailer?”

  With my heart beating in little jerks, I watched Kitty make her way through the snow to the chess tables. Her molting mink coat was unmistakable, but the darkness had begun to gather quickly around us, and the lamps had not yet flickered on. It was difficult to see what she was doing. She lingered only a moment at the chess tables, then rushed back to her car, slipping precariously on the sidewalk.

  “Does she have the briefcase?” I asked.

  “I can’t see. I’ve got an idea,” Hadley said. “We have to split up. You go after Tottie, and I’ll follow Kitty. My car’s parked just around the corner. Call me tonight, and we’ll compare notes.”

  I turned and looked up into his handsome face. His eyes were alight, and I felt a rush of grateful thanks. “Hadley, this isn’t your problem.”

  “Nonsense, kitten. I’m having more fun than Mrs. Claus when Santa leaves her alone with all those elves. All we need is decoder rings, and we’ll be independent crime stoppers!”

  “Hadley, thank you. You’re a real friend.”

  “Just don’t call me Watson. I’m too young for the role. I’ll phone you later. Now go.”

  He gave me a shove in Tottie’s direction. I glanced back to see him dashing off toward his car in high spirits.

  I hitched my handbag more securely on my shoulder and tailed Tottie across the square. My boots slipped in the icy snow, and I found myself breathing hard as I peered ahead and tried to catch up. Tottie paused at the corner to allow a limousine to leave the Rittenhouse Hotel and pass by. The headlights caught him square in the eyes. And he turned his head to avoid the glare. Then the limousine’s headlights raked me, too, silhouetting me perfectly against the dark backdrop of the park. Tottie saw me.

  He panicked and ran across the street. The limousine swerved to miss him. Another car had just rounded the corner and cut sharply aside, just ahead of a following city bus. Tottie leaped out of its way. The car slammed glancingly against the curb anyway, and the bus slew sideways in the slush to avoid ramming it. Horns blew.

  When the oncoming car straightened, it was headed straight for me.

  I threw myself out of its path, but my feet slipped out from under me and in the next instant I was somersaulting over some shrubbery. I twisted in midair, trying to avoid crushing Spike in my bag. Then the snow rushed up and smacked me in the face.

  Silence.

  A door slammed and someone came crunching through the snow. A tall f
igure in black leather and jeans. Above me, he said, “The women in Scotland didn’t throw themselves at my feet. What a nice welcome home.”

  Chapter 10

  Even alone, Michael always seemed like a man who had an entourage. He just naturally exuded the presence of a Mafia prince.

  He helped me to my feet and I tottered over to the side of one of his ridiculous muscle cars, which should have made any red-blooded gangster blush with shame. It was red and low-slung except for the rear wheels, which had been hoisted up to accommodate tires that looked as if they’d been pumped up by giants. The car looked ready to take a load of television hillbillies on a joyride.

  Michael leaned me gently against the passengers door and smoothed my hair away from my damp face. “You okay?”

  “My dignity is beyond repair.”

  Then I forgot about hillbillies and noticed that the snow was suddenly looking very pretty and romantic. Michael’s dark hair was windblown and flecked with flakes, and the curving planes of his face looked both dangerous and amused. The sapphire blue of his eyes still took me by surprise, especially when they reflected a daunting amount of sexual arousal. His hands cupped my elbows, and he eased his knee warmly between my thighs.

  Smiling, he said, “I missed you.”

  “If you kiss me right now, I’ll bite you.”

  He laughed. “Have I done something?”

  “You almost ran me down!”

  “I saved you from being run over by a bus.” He pulled his knee back from where it had felt really good. “What the hell were you doing, anyway? You don’t usually run out in traffic.”

  Spike fought his way out of my handbag and interrupted my response by leaping onto Michael’s chest. With excited piglike squeals, the puppy wriggled his whole body and licked Michael’s chin.

  I suppressed the urge to do the same thing.

  Michael grabbed Spike by the scruff of his neck and detached him. Spike burrowed his head inside Michael’s half-open jacket and continued to make adoring noises. With a grin for me, Michael said, “Don’t you want to kiss me, too?”

  “I’m too busy thinking you’re supposed to be in Scotland.”

  “I just got back.”