V is for Vengeance (Kinsey Millhone 22)

Channing poured her another glass of wine. He smiled when their eyes met, but there was no emotional content. She missed the early days of their romance. Thelma was now the recipient of all that she had cherished in him. If she were honest about it, she’d acknowledge how little of herself she’d given Channing in the past few years. The disconnect wasn’t the direct result of his affair, it was habitual to her.

The petrale sole turned out to be a mistake. White and flavorless, lying in a pool of butter. Nora picked her way through the meal, and in the lull between the entrée and dessert, she excused herself and headed for the ladies’ lounge. She went about her business, ran a comb through her hair, reapplied her lipstick. She’d felt so clever disguising her feelings from Channing, making sure he had no inkling of where she was or what she knew. But in pretending not to care, she’d actually ceased to care. Reviving her old feelings for him seemed to be out of her control.

As she emerged from the ladies’ lounge, she saw Dante coming down the corridor. She felt a jolt—tension or apprehension, she wasn’t sure which. He wore a pale gray suit and a dark gray dress shirt with a black tie. The combination gave him the look of a gangster, which he was either unaware of or didn’t care to hide. She knew he’d timed his leaving the table to coincide with her return.

She said, “What are you doing here?” Somehow the question seemed accusatory, which wasn’t her intent.

“I told you I’d be here. I’m having dinner with a friend.”

“I thought you were just making conversation.”

“I was. You left the office, I decided I better have a look at the guy lucky enough to be married to you. I don’t think he appreciates what he has.”

She dropped her gaze. “I have to get back.”

“Why don’t you have a drink with me tomorrow, just the two of us?”

“I don’t drink.”

“You had wine with dinner. We should talk.”

“About what?”

“How you ended up married to a bum.”

“He’s not a bum.”

“Yes, he is. You just haven’t seen it yet. I know his type. He looks good on the surface, but underneath, he’s a royal shit.”

Nora felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “My friend says you’re Mafia.”

He smiled. “Flattering, but false. I’m connected in other ways.”

“You’re a thug.”

He smiled. “Now you’ve got it. A bona fide badass,” he said. “Give me an hour of your time tomorrow. That’s not too much to ask.”

“I can’t.”

“There’s a place out on State Street called Down the Hatch. You can look it up in the phone book. It’s a dive. You won’t see anyone you know.”

“Channing and I have plans.”

“So cancel ’em. One o’clock. The place will be deserted.”

“Why would I agree?”

“I want to sit someplace quiet and dark so I can look at you.”

“That’s not a good idea.”

“I’d say lunch, but then you’d think it was a date and that, I know, you’d refuse.”

“No, thank you.”

“Think about it.”

She started to protest and he put a finger on her lips. His touch was brief but startlingly intimate. “Excuse me,” she said and moved away.

When Nora returned to the table, Channing was talking about leg-hold traps. She was confused that such a subject had come up. As she took her seat, she said, “Leg-hold traps? Where did that come from?”

Gretchen said, “Your gardener’s complaining about the coyotes.”

Nora realized Mr. Ishiguro had told Channing about the coyote scat he’d showed her Wednesday when she was at the house. Since she’d told him she’d sent Mrs. Stumbo, she had to play dumb. Even if Mr. Ishiguro had mentioned her being there, his English was so fractured that Channing wouldn’t get the reference. “What about the coyotes?” she asked.

Channing’s gesture was impatient. “They’ve invaded the property. They’re crapping everywhere. Mr. Ishiguro says he’s seen the male leap that six-foot wall between us and the Fergusons’. Karen’s two cats disappeared this past week. I told you about that.”

“She shouldn’t have left them out. You said yourself how irresponsible it was.”

“You’re missing the point. They’re getting bolder by the minute. Once they lose their fear of humans, they’re really dangerous. Mr. Ishiguro suggested traps and I said fine.”