by Ann McMan
“Jorge?” The taller trolley guy called out to a much younger guy, who was busy unloading another cart of dirty dishes. “Ven aquí.”
Jorge wiped his hands on his apron and walked over to where they stood.
“This lady needs to talk with you about Friday night, okay?” He proceeded to push his trolley along toward a queue of parked carts.
Jorge nodded at him and faced Evan.
“Okay,” he said.
It was loud as hell in there. Evan didn’t want to have to shout her questions.
“Look, is there any place we can go to talk that’s quieter?” she asked him. “I promise it won’t take more than just a minute or two—I know you’re busy.”
He looked nervously over at his station.
Tall guy spoke up. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”
Jorge nodded at Evan, and led her into a pantry filled with shelves containing spices and other dry ingredients.
“I’m working for a couple of club members,” Evan said. “People who were in the dining room the night the drunk man broke in and disrupted their evening. They’re upset and don’t think the management is doing enough to beef up security.” She tipped her head to indicate the two guys who’d led her into the kitchen area. “They told me you were working on Friday night. Bussing tables. Is that right?”
“Yeah. I was there.”
“Did you see what happened?”
He nodded. “Look, I need this job. I don’t want to say anything that will get me fired, okay?”
“Nobody will know I talked with you,” Evan assured him. “That’s why I came in through the service entrance tonight. They don’t even know I’m here, okay?”
“That’s how he came in, too.”
Evan perked up. “He?”
“The drunk dude. A couple of guys were out there unloading stuff to setup for some banquet Saturday morning. They said he walked right in off the platform and took off down the hall like he knew where he was going. They figured he was probably working for somebody, so . . .” He shrugged.
“But you saw him when he got to the dining room?”
“Yeah. I was bussing that night and just got back with an empty trolley. It was pretty busy in there, too. Fridays are always packed.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Jorge made a face. “He went in through our service door, so nobody saw him. Any other way, he’d never get that far. He pushed right past me and Roger.”
“What’d he do once he was in there?”
“He started yelling.” Jorge blew out a breath. “All kinds of crap, too. Cursing. Knocking shit off tables.”
“Was he just yelling in general, or was he yelling at somebody in particular?”
Jorge thought about it. “It seemed like he kept popping off about the same two people, so I guess he was looking for them.”
“Did he use any names?” Jorge began to fidget a bit. He kept shifting his weight from foot to foot. Evan could tell he was getting antsy—probably about how long their conversation was lasting. She reached out a hand to reassure him. “I promise we’re almost finished, okay? Just another minute and you can go back to work.”
Jorge nodded. “I don’t know any of the people who belong here,” he said. “We’re not allowed to talk to people in there, so I’m not sure who he was looking for. But he kept yelling shit about the same two people—Judge and Bishop.” He shrugged. “I guess they might be members?” An idea occurred to him. “Are they who you’re working for?”
“You’re a bright guy, Jorge. Do you remember anything he said about Mr. Judge and Mr. Bishop?”
Jorge dropped his eyes. “It was pretty foul. Real nasty stuff.”
“Such as?” Evan prompted.
Jorge shrugged.
“You can tell me,” Evan encouraged. “I won’t be offended.”
“Okay.” He looked at her. “He kept calling them a couple of lying cocksuckers and yelled something about collecting the rent. A lot of what he said was pretty hard to understand—he was really drunk. Club security got in there pretty fast and drug him out. Nobody talked about it after it was over.” He shrugged. “That’s the way things work here.”
“Do you know if either of the men he was pissed at were in the dining room that night?”
“No. But like I said, I don’t know any of the members. We’re not allowed to talk to them.”
“Right.” Evan gave him a big smile and reached out to shake his hand. “That’s just fine. Thank you, Jorge. You’ve been very helpful.” She pressed a folded hundred-dollar bill into his hand.
He stared at Evan in surprise before taking the bill and stuffing it into his pocket. At the doorway to the pantry, he stopped and looked back at her before heading to his station. “Do you need help getting back out of here?”
“Is it okay to just go out the way I came in?” she asked. “My car is out there.”
He nodded. Evan followed him back out into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he asked before she left him, “did anything happen to that drunk guy?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Something happened to him.”
“I figured.” Jorge scratched at his neck. “They don’t like shit like that around here.”
“No,” Evan said. “I guess they don’t.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Julia was tarrying by one of the reflecting pools when Evan found her. She looked lost in thought. Evan didn’t have to wonder about what. The discoveries she’d made about her father and his trust had exploded in the middle of her world like a hand grenade.
It was either that, or she was comatose from listening to the annals of the Portly grandchildren . . .
Evan checked her watch. She’d been gone less than twenty minutes. It was barely 8 p.m. With luck, they could request Julia’s car and be back at her townhouse in half an hour.
“Hi there.” She touched Julia’s elbow. “I hope I wasn’t gone too long.”
Julia leaned into her. “No. But I’m glad you’re back.”
“Me, too. Wanna blow this pop stand?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Evan was relieved by her answer. “What’s the quickest way outta here?”
Julia pointed to a distant bank of French doors. “Right through there. That sunroom is fairly close to where we had our cocktails.”
“Our reverse martinis?” Evan teased.
“You seem pretty impressed with those.”
“Impressed? Hell . . . that thing changed my life.”
Julia smiled. Evan thought that was a hopeful response, so she decided to pursue the topic.
“I think you’ve been holding out on me. I have to wonder what other things you’ve got up your sleeve.”
“I don’t believe I’m wearing sleeves tonight.” Julia’s literal reply was tinged with irony.
Evan tugged at her velvet coat. “Not unless this counts.”
“I suppose it could.”
Evan considered Julia’s sleeves. “I’m guessing you could artfully conceal a few things in there.”
“Believe me,” Julia said. “I gave up on hiding things from you a long time ago.”
Evan offered her arm, and they started walking toward their entrance to the club.
“Did you get the information you needed?” Julia asked casually—probably in the event anyone passed by them close enough to overhear their conversation. There were still several couples milling about.
“Yes. I met a most obliging fellow in the kitchen. He was very helpful.”
“I’m eager to hear about it.”
“No more eager than I am to get these shoes off.”
Julia laughed. “I think they look charming.”
“You would. They’re Stevie’s.”
“You know,” Julia pondered, “it does amuse me that your daughter is such a . . .” She paused in an apparent attempt to find the right word.
“Girl?” Evan offered.
“Well. That’s not exactly whe
re I was going with my observation. But . . . yes, that’s also true.”
“I don’t get it, either. I blame the Cohens.”
“You always blame the Cohens.”
“I know, right?” Evan bumped into her playfully. “It’s a great system.”
“While I was waiting on you, I found myself pondering something.”
Evan thought Julia had an easy baker’s dozen of things to ponder tonight, and most of them were things she’d just learned about. “What’s that?” she asked.
“My father’s trust. I remember when I found out about it, not long after he died. I thought the name of it was curious but I just attributed it to his snobbish affectations. He never lost an opportunity to pontificate about the superiority of his ‘classical education.’ But now I think I understand the abhorrent significance behind his choice of the name, Ganymede.”
Evan’s curiosity had been mildly piqued by that mystery, too. But she wasn’t yet prepared to tell Julia about her own discoveries about Lewis Donne—and the name of his trust didn’t hold any particular meaning for her.
“It’s an odd name,” Evan suggested. “What does it mean?”
“It’s from Greek mythology,” Julia explained. “Ganymede was the boy who carried water for Zeus.”
Evan stopped dead in her tracks and jerked Julia to a halt in the process.
“He what?”
“What is it?” Julia laid a hand on her arm. “Is this significant in some other way?”
“You might say that.” Evan’s mind raced at light speed. Miller had rambled about being punished after carrying water for . . . someone. She tried to remember what he’d said. It wasn’t Zeus—it was another name. Something occurred to her.
“What’s the Roman name for Zeus,” she asked. “I can never remember that shit.”
“Jupiter. And the Roman name for Ganymede is Aquarius.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Evan directed Julia to a nearby bench and promptly sat down on it. “I need a minute.”
“What is it?” Julia took a seat beside her. “Evan? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry,” Evan took hold of her hand. “It’s something Miller said to me when I went to see him. He droned on and on about how he’d carried water for ‘them,’ and how Jupiter punished him. I just thought he was nuts.”
“You think he was talking about the club?”
“I do now. He was working this jigsaw puzzle—of the Homer painting, remember?”
Julia nodded.
“He kept calling the boys in the picture ‘little stars.’ And then he said something about Aquarius coming out when it’s cold.”
“Ganymede,” Julia said. “Dear god . . . Evan? What were they doing? What was my father doing?”
Evan didn’t answer her question. She didn’t need to.
“I asked Miller if he meant Judge Cawley when he said Jupiter punished him,” Evan continued. “But he just kept talking about Aquarius, and how Aquarius was the one who got punished.”
“Zeus raped Ganymede. He fell in love with Ganymede’s beauty and abducted him.” Julia was speaking in a near monotone. Evan feared she might be going into shock. “After Ganymede served him as a cupbearer, Zeus turned him into a constellation.” Julia met Evan’s eyes. “Aquarius.”
“I guess Miller wasn’t crazy, after all. He was just communicating in the only language left to him.”
“I want to leave now.” Julia gripped Evan’s hand like a vice. “I want out of this place.”
“Me too.” Evan stood up. “We’re finished here.”
Once they got inside, a black-coated steward assured them that Julia’s car would be brought up in just a few moments. He apologized for the slight delay and told them the valet was delivering another car. They elected to wait outside on the steps for Julia’s Audi to arrive.
The valet appeared shortly, delivering a silver Maybach. The big entrance door opened and a very well-dressed man emerged. He was small in stature, with an expanding waistline and hair that matched the color of his car. He had a craggy, scarred face and appeared to be in his late seventies.
The valet held the driver-side door open for him. “Here you are, Ambassador. I hope you enjoyed your evening.”
The man grunted at him and tilted his head at the steps. “She’ll be right along.”
The valet nodded and rushed around to open the passenger-side door to the large car.
When the door to the club opened a second time, Evan’s jaw dropped.
A striking woman wearing a flame-colored satin halter dress and pointed-toe pumps stepped out. She was exotic: tall and elegant, with olive-toned skin and jet-black hair. She looked like a perfect synthesis of wealth and privilege.
She also looked lethal as hell . . .
She should. She was Maya fucking Jindal.
Evan cursed the damn stars that had brought them all there on the same night.
When Maya saw Evan gaping at her, she changed direction and approached where they stood.
“Why hello, you two,” she all but chanted. “Isn’t this a lovely surprise?”
Julia didn’t see the woman approach, but she seemed to recognize the British accent right away. She whirled to face Maya in horror. “What are you doing here?”
“Same thing as you, I’d imagine. Tell me,” she lowered her voice. “How was your chateaubriand?”
Julia seemed to recover her composure. “I’ll assume we have you to thank for the lovely Pauillac?”
“Did you enjoy it?” Maya asked. “I do love a nice Bordeaux. They’re always so reliable. Don’t you find that to be true, Julia?”
“I tend to reserve rankings of reliability for people, not beverages.”
“Dear Julia. You always were such a stickler.” Maya regarded Evan. “Tell me,” she laid a manicured hand on Evan’s arm. “How is that shoulder? Bother you much now that the weather has turned colder?”
Evan fought an impulse to smack her hand away. “I feel it from time to time.”
Maya’s grizzled escort for the evening tapped the melodious horn on his Maybach. Apparently, the ambassador wasn’t used to being kept waiting.
“I’ll be right with you, Edgar,” Maya called out to him. “I’m just saying hello to some very old friends.”
“Don’t let us keep you.” Evan took a step back so Maya would release her arm. “I’m sure Edgar is impatient to be enjoying the rest of the evening he paid for. I feel certain a woman with your—moxie—isn’t easy to come by here in the provinces.”
Maya didn’t flinch. “You do enjoy your petty word games, don’t you, Evan?”
“Whenever possible.”
“It must be nice to have such a rich fantasy life.” Maya shifted her gaze to Julia, and took her time looking her up and down. “I confess that I sometimes amuse myself by indulging in a few fantasies of my own. But then, our fantasies always pale in comparison to the real thing, don’t they, Julia?”
Julia’s blue eyes blazed and Evan had to grab her arm to stop her from slapping Maya.
“It’s good to see that your memory serves you as well as mine does me. Let’s do lunch, shall we?” She waved goodbye and began her descent toward the idling car. “I’ll be in touch, Evan,” she called out before climbing into the car.
Edgar pulled away as soon as the valet closed her door.
Evan and Julia looked at each other.
“That was fun,” Evan said.
Julia’s Audi pulled up and stopped precisely where the Maybach had been.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Julia muttered. “I need a shower.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Julia had to maneuver around an enormous town car when she made the turn into the alley behind her townhouse.
“What the hell is that doing parked there?” Evan asked.
“It’s for me.”
“For you?” Evan was confused. “What for?”
“I hired it earlier. It’s taking me to the airport for my flight.”
“To Paris?”
“Yes.”
“You’re leaving tonight?” Evan was incredulous.
Julia parked her car in its customary spot beside Evan’s Forester. “Yes. At midnight.”
Evan didn’t know what to say.
Julia opened her door. “Would you come in with me while I change?”
“Do you want me to?” Evan wasn’t sure about anything right then.
“Of course, I do. I think you should stay over here, too. Drive home in the morning.”
“And leave Stevie alone?”
“I think you can trust her. Besides,” Julia climbed out of the car, “she’ll probably just spend the night on the phone with Desiree.”
“Thanks for reminding me.”
Evan got out and followed Julia into the house. Julia had a different handbag, a small valise, and a lightweight overcoat positioned near the door. Evan didn’t know how she’d missed those items when she’d arrived earlier. She figured it was probably because she’d been so gaga about how gorgeous Julia looked.
“Why don’t you get us something to drink?” Julia suggested. “I’m going to grab a quick shower and change my clothes, but I’ll be fast.”
“What about your ride?”
“He won’t leave without me,” Julia quipped. She gave Evan a quick kiss. “I’ll text him before I hop in the shower.” She kissed Evan again before heading to the bedroom.
Evan went to a cabinet in Julia’s kitchen to retrieve a bottle of cognac and two small tumblers.
Maybe it’ll help her sleep on the plane?
She splashed some of the cognac into the glasses and considered them, before deciding to give them each a more generous pour.
What the hell? It’s not like I’m driving anyplace, either.
She sent Stevie a quick text message, telling her she’d be spending the night in the city, then proceeded to drink most of her cognac while she waited on Julia to reappear—which took exactly thirteen minutes. Julia had changed into a pair of slacks and a dark blue cashmere sweater that matched her eyes. Her hair was slightly damp, but still looked great.
“That had to be the fastest shower on record.”
