Not One Clue: A Mystery

by Lois Greiman

  “Is he here now?” I asked, keeping the conversation flowing.

  “I do not believe Elaine is to come this night.”

  “And what of Ghazi?” I asked, glancing about, but at that moment someone spoke from near my elbow.

  “Sergio,” she said, and I jumped, already paling as I pivoted wide-eyed, to find Laney within spitting distance. She glanced at me, smiled vaguely, and turned back toward her man-slave. Ethan Engles was at her side, looking happy as a clam just to be in the same universe. “It’s great to see you.”

  “My queen!” he said, and leaning in, kissed her on both cheeks. It was like watching birds of paradise mate, but she pulled away after a moment, only holding his hands, looking completely nonplussed. She was wearing blue jeans. She’d left her tawny hair loose to fall over her frayed T-shirt, immediately making every woman in the room feel underdressed. But none of that mattered, because my head was spinning. Was it possible she hadn’t recognized me?

  “I did not think you planned to come this night,” Sergio said.

  “I didn’t,” she admitted. “I’ve been crazy busy with wedding plans. But I wanted to pop in for a minute to wish everyone well.” She turned toward me then.

  “That is an amazing dress.”

  I gave her a sick look and tried to think of something to say, but she only smiled.

  “And it looks great on you,” she added.

  I shot my attention to Morab. His brows were somewhere in his hairline.

  “Do you two know each other?” Ethan asked.

  “I …” I began, and ran out of words. Laney just stood there, smiling benignly.

  “Patricia Ruocco,” she said finally, and offered her hand.

  “Fani,” I breathed, not daring to try the last name, and Ethan laughed. “You should have seen her with Pitt.”

  I glanced at him, guessed his misconception, and ran with it.

  “You are the Amazon Queen.” I managed inadvertently to sound breathless, but in that moment I saw wicked recognition gleam in Laney’s eyes. What the hell had I been thinking? Laney would probably still be able to out-think me postmortem. I gave a mental sigh. “I very much enjoy your show,” I said, and wanted, rather badly, to hide under the buffet table. But I could hardly give up the accent now.

  She smiled. “And I’m always amazed at your talents.”

  Sergio glanced from Laney to me, then lit up like a Greek god in a bonfire. “Ahh yes,” he said, beaming at me. “You were in Morel’s film. The one with Liam Neeson.”

  Laney was frowning, but then she brightened. “Of course,” she said. “The prostitute.”

  I gave her a look.

  “A very well-cast movie,” she said. “But I’m even more impressed with your current role.”

  “Current role?” Ethan asked.

  “Fani is working in Minsk,” Sergio said.

  Oh, dear God!

  “Minsk,” Laney repeated. “I didn’t hear about that one. I’ve always wanted to go there. I hear it’s beautiful. But how do you feel about the Belarus Democracy Act, Fani?”

  I resisted gritting my teeth at her. “I did not have a great deal of time while there,” I said.

  “Busy, were you?” She said the word kind of funny, as if she might burst out laughing at any moment.

  “Quite,” I said.

  “Film or television?”

  “Television.”

  “HBO?”

  “Lifetime,” I said.

  “Who’s the producer?”

  So she wanted to play. I tightened my grip on my overloaded plate and lobbed back a name I’d heard bandied about at such parties. “Terrence Riglio.”

  “The director?”

  “Madeline Futone.”

  She raised one brow a tiny amount. “How about the set designer?”

  “François,” I said, remembering the good friend I kept in my bed-stand drawer. “François Desmarais,” I said.

  “Really? I thought he was dead.”

  “He’s not,” I said.

  She did laugh now. Sergio was looking puzzled. But Ethan was just tripping along. “What’s Riglio like to work with? I heard he can be kind of an ass.”

  In for a penny, I thought. “He is like the Hulk Incredible when he is angry.”

  “So he’s a monster?” Laney asked.

  “Oui,” I said.

  She nodded. “I’ve known a couple of those. Even created a few.”

  I gave her a nod for her wit.

  “Who’s the cinematographer?” Ethan asked.

  Laney was smiling, happy as a songbird.

  “Georgianna Winstead,” I said easily. ’Cuz, shit, I was in too deep to back out now. Might as well employ another woman while I was making crap up.

  “I don’t think I know her,” Ethan said.

  “She is young,” I said. “But has much talent. Do you not agree, Ms. Ruocco?”

  “I think I’m feeling a little nauseous.”

  “Perhaps it is the champagne,” I said.

  “I think it’s the baloney,” she countered.

  “They’re serving baloney?” Ethan asked, and Laney broke eye contact, calling an unspoken truce.

  “I think it might already be gone,” she said, and smiled. “I heard they—” she began, stopping abruptly, and I knew immediately that I was in big-ass trouble, because her eyes were shining with manic happiness. I stiffened even before she spoke. “Look who just arrived.”

  “Who?” I asked. I had lost my accent, and possibly my mind. I was scared to turn around. Terrified to look.

  “Rivera,” she said.

  “You’re lying,” I hissed.

  She raised her perfect brows. “I don’t lie, Fani.”

  “It is true. She does not,” Sergio said.

  But I was already clasping Laney’s arm. “You’ve got to get me out of here.”

  “Out of here? Don’t be silly. The party’s just started,” she said, and patted my hand like I was a wayward child. “You’ve already met Brad without swooning. Mr. Rivera will be a piece of cake.”

  “I’m serious, Laney,” I said, but just then I felt someone approach from behind and knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my remaining minutes were limited.

  21

  Of course I hate her. I just don’t know why yet.

  —Christina McMullen,

  on more than one occasion

  I felt the hairs creep up on the back of my neck. Felt my face redden and my pulse fire up like a rocket ship. Lieutenant Rivera was right there, behind me. Why? I didn’t know. Maybe Laney had suspected I would come here and worried for my safety. Maybe Murphy’s Law was simply overactive during this particular phase of the moon. Or, for all I knew, Rivera might be invited to all the Hollywood shindigs. It wasn’t as if I knew every intimate detail about him. Then again, it wasn’t as if we were complete strangers, either. We had indulged in a little heavy petting, a bunch of long-winded kisses, and that one memorable shower situation. Not to mention the airing of a basketful of dirty laundry. Certainly we’d developed enough of an emotional connection to allow him to see through a cheap wig and a phony accent.

  Unless he was so enthralled with coppery boobs and fake hair that he wouldn’t even recognize me. In which case I’d kick him in—

  “Senator,” Laney said, and smiled.

  Senator! My heart did a hard thump in my fish-skinned chest. The senator was here? The dark lieutenant hadn’t arrived to blow my cover and drag me off to the slammer? It was his political sire? I gave Laney a wild-eyed stare but she was busy beaming at the newcomer and studiously ignoring me.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said, and reached for his hand.

  I turned, feeling hopeful and desperate and sick to my stomach all at once, but he was already kissing her knuckles and beyond noticing me.

  “Your Majesty,” he said, and gave her his trademark slicker-than-snot smile. Miguel Rivera had charmed women from puberty to menopause with less. “You look as regal as
ever.”

  For a moment I considered slinking into the crowd before he could withdraw from Laneyland, but even as the thought flittered through my sizzling brain, Laney turned her spiteful gaze on me.

  “Senator, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.”

  He straightened, and even as he shifted his attention toward me, I saw his eyes spark with Latino interest. It was then that my heart began pounding in my left ear.

  “Senator Rivera … Fani,” Elaine said.

  He caught my eyes with his. The world receded around us. For an instant I considered passing out before he demanded to know why I was playing dress-up, but then he spoke.

  “Fani,” he repeated. His accent rolled over me like a tide washing me out to sea. “What an unusual name. You must be the queen’s lady-in-waiting.” Reaching for my hand, he bowed over it. “As lovely as Her Majesty herself.”

  I gritted my teeth at Laney, then smoothed it into a smile as he straightened.

  “And what is your family name, lovely Fani?”

  Oh, my hell! What was Fani’s last name? I didn’t have a clue. Not an inkling. Not a flippin’—

  “I’m afraid she’s not fluent in English, Senator,” Laney said.

  “Oh, my apologies,” he said, and switched to Spanish.

  I could literally feel the blood rush from my left ear to my cheeks, but I managed to shake my head.

  He pulled back slightly as if surprised. “¿Hablas español?”

  I shook my head harder.

  Laney actually laughed. If she were any giddier she might very well burst into song. “I believe she is …” She thought for a moment, eyes glowing with glee as she tried to place my weird-ass accent. “French?”

  “Ahhh …” said the senator, then, “Quel est votre nom de famille?”

  For several moments I hoped the world would end. Or, if not that, perhaps a bomb could explode under my feet. Wasn’t L.A. supposed to be a dangerous city? What the hell were all the damned crazed bombers doing this time of night?

  I realized suddenly that I was holding my breath.

  “Fani?” he said.

  Shitski, I thought, and opened my mouth.

  “I must …” I paused, face burning and wondering frantically if there were still other people in the room. “… practice my anglais.”

  “Ahh.” He was still holding my hand. “A laudable effort. When first I came to this country I, too, found the language problematic. But that was back …” He stopped and laughed. His gaze never left my face. “Listen to me, rambling on when you must be famished.” For a moment he flickered his attention to my overstuffed plate. “But you have no champagne.” He drew back as if shocked. “As a gentleman and a Latino I feel it my duty to rectify the situation.” He raised a hand without ever slipping his gaze from mine. A server appeared as if snatched out of the sky. Rivera retrieved two glasses from his tray. “Please, eat,” he said. “Seeing a woman indulge brings me great joy. There is something almost sexual about the act when you are truly hungry, is there not?”

  I stared at him. Oh God, oh God, oh God, I thought. He was coming on to me. Wasn’t he? Yes, I was sure of it. Wasn’t I? Rivera’s father. The ex-senator was making a play for me. I was in purgatory and … Looking over Laney’s shoulder, I saw Solberg hurrying toward her and felt myself drop into hell, heart rumbling like a freight train in my restricted chest. Every muscle was tensed for impact.

  Sensing my mood like a mean-spirited clairvoyant, Laney raised one brow a quarter of an inch, then turned to follow the direction of my horror. She flickered her gaze over the crowd for a moment before her face lit with newfound joy.

  I wanted quite desperately to plead for her silence, to waylay Solberg, to …

  But time had run out. He was beside her in an instant. Fortunately, he failed to do so much as glance my way. Laney was all-consuming. “I didn’t see you at the door,” he panted. “I was worried.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, turning toward him with a smile that melted all comers. Sergio and the others seemed to be gone. Perhaps they had dissolved in her effervescent presence. “I saw that Fani had arrived and wanted to say hi before she disappeared.” We watched his face in tandem as he turned toward me. “I don’t know if you two have met.”

  He glanced at me distractedly. “Hi.”

  I didn’t bother to respond, but it hardly mattered; he had already turned back toward Laney.

  “You didn’t have any trouble with the doormen, did you, Angel?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, smile beatific. If I hadn’t known her better I would have thought she didn’t have a mean bone in her stunning little body. “Everything was fine. No problems. You’ve met Senator Rivera, haven’t you, Jeen?”

  “Sure.” He gave the senator a brief nod before turning back to his obsession. “But I think there may be a bit of a miff with security,” he said, and glanced behind him.

  Laney’s smile faltered a little. “What’s that?”

  “I, umm … I’m not sure they believed I was with you,” Solberg said, and just then I saw two burly guys in suits striding toward us. Solberg looked as pale as an anemic onion but stood his ground.

  Burly One and Burly Two slowed slightly as they saw Elaine, then stopped six or so feet away, looking as if they didn’t know if they should salute or pass out.

  “Ms. Ruocco!” said the first one, eyes wide, jaw lax.

  The other was slightly more controlled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ruocco. Security’s usually tighter. But this guy’s so skinny. He slipped in between us and dashed off before we could—”

  “Kevin,” Laney said, and smiled at the speaker. “And Greg, isn’t it?” she asked, shifting her gaze from one to the other. They stared at her in immediate infatuation. Laney never forgot a name. She probably still sent birthday cards to the midwife who had brought her into the world. Solberg, on the other hand, frequently forgot who I was.

  The bouncers were still staring at Laney. The larger of the two looked as if he was going to cry.

  “I’d like you to meet my fiancé,” Laney said.

  For a moment the oversized duo looked confused, then disbelieving. Then they both looked as if they were going to burst into tears.

  “I’m sorry …” Kevin cocked his head a little, obviously not buying such a wild tale. “I thought you said …”

  “Kevin, Greg, this is Jeen,” she said, and tucked a hand behind J.D.’s scrawny biceps. And fuck all if Solberg didn’t look as if he was about to cry.

  I resisted rolling my eyes.

  “I’m sorry … I just …” Greg glanced at Kevin as if to make certain the world was still round, that the Earth still revolved around the sun, that there was still a God, then he tilted his head a little. “The music … it’s kind of loud.” He flickered his gaze to Solberg, as if to reassess, but nothing about his following demeanor suggested he thought himself out of line. “And I sustained a little hearing damage in Baghdad. I’m pretty sure I didn’t hear you right.”

  “Gentlemen,” said the senator. In retrospect, I don’t know how he kept a straight face. Had I not been absolutely certain I was about to be dragged from the room by security myself, I would have been on the floor in stitches. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding. But as you can see, Mr. Solberg is, indeed, Ms. Ruocco’s invited guest. Her betrothed, in fact.”

  “Her …” Greg began, but couldn’t seem to finish the rest of the thought.

  “Sí,” said the senator, and nodded sagely, as if only his calmness in the face of Laney’s impending marriage would keep the world from spinning out of control. “Her husband to be.”

  I think Kevin swore and I’m quite sure Greg crossed himself.

  “But thank you for your diligence,” Rivera said. “I shall surely keep your constancy in mind should I have security needs of my own in the future.”

  They both looked a little like somnambulists, hoping to awaken soon. “Thank you,” Greg said.

  “Very gracious of you, sir,
” said Kevin, and then they wandered off, surely questioning the hapless humor of the cosmos.

  “Well then,” said the senator, rubbing his hands together and turning back toward me, “where were we?”

  I dragged my attention regretfully in his direction.

  “Ahhh, yes, I was inquiring about your origins,” the senator said, and lifting an elegant hand, waved me toward a tall, just-vacated table. It was the approximate size of a pansy petal. “Please, let us sit.” He smiled. “So that you can tell me every tiny detail of your life.”

  Oh, dear God. “There is only tiny to tell,” I said.

  “Don’t believe a word of it, Senator,” Laney said. “Fani’s life could be a novel. Already I feel as if I’ve known her for years.”

  “I will listen with rapt attention to every word that falls from her lovely lips,” Rivera said, and Laney grinned as she turned away, but Solberg remained as he was, scowling with what looked like painful intensity.

  “Don’t you have a dress kind of like that, Angel?” he asked.

  She laughed like a sadist in a sweatshop. “I missed you,” she said, and kissed his cheek.

  His eyes immediately assumed that glazed look I had seen Laney invoke in the male species since her fifteenth birthday.

  “You’re the light of my solar system,” he said, and suddenly even being seduced by Rivera’s oversexed father seemed more appealing than hanging around the two of them.

  I turned toward him. “So you are senator?” I said in broken something or other.

  And Laney laughed again.

  22

  Only a dumb shit brings a water pistol to a gunfight. I ain’t no dumb shit.

  —Vincent Angler, armed and

  dangerous

  “Fani Kolarova?” Vincent said, and grinned across the acre of plush backseat at me.

  “I couldn’t really run with Jessica Rabbit,” I said, and he grinned, his teeth whiter than the buttery leather seats.

  “Did you find out what you needed to know?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, and sighed.

  “You didn’t get no readings on whether one of them is the dude who’s sending your friend the mail?”

  It had been one hell of a night, but I was almost to Sunland. Almost to bed. “I’m going to have to give it some thought,” I said.