W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone 23)

“Stay and say hello. If he hasn’t eaten, the three of us can have dinner downstairs.”

“I’d love to meet him. I didn’t mean I was galloping off right this minute.”

When the knock came, Dietz opened the door. He and Nick grabbed each other in a big enthusiastic hug. Then Dietz put an arm across Nick’s shoulders and ushered him into the room. “Someone I want you to meet,” he said to Nick. “This is Kinsey.” And to me, “My son, Nick.”

Nick turned a dark-eyed look on me, his smile diminishing almost imperceptibly. It was clear he had no idea his father would be entertaining anyone. He was tall and lean with the same striking features I’d seen in his mother’s photograph. In his faded jeans and a leather bomber jacket, he still somehow managed to look elegant. He was actually my concept of a snooty prep school kid who’d had his choice of Ivy League colleges. He was Dietz’s counterpoint and (perhaps) just as appealing in his own way.

As he’d never laid eyes on me, he was already wary and unreceptive. I’d have been willing to swear there was nothing in my demeanor to suggest the nature of my relationship to his dad. It’s not like I was half dressed or my hair was messed up. Neither of us had gone near the bed, so the covers were smooth. Granted we’d been intimate in the past, but we were still in neutral gear this round, so there was no charge whatsoever in the air. Something had cued him and I’d been marked as the enemy.

I smiled and held out my hand, saying, “Hi, Nick.”

He said, “Hello.”

We shook hands briefly and I covered nimbly for the chill wafting in my direction.

I reached for my jacket and picked up my shoulder bag. “I was just on my way out. Your dad and I are working a case together and we were comparing notes.”

I have no idea why I offered this lame story, which cast the occasion in a false light. The toss-away comment, while true, sounded implausible on the face of it. I found this unnerving since I usually lie with greater finesse. Nick flicked a look at his father and his eyes then strayed to the room service menu I’d left open on the chair behind me. From there his gaze flicked to the Champagne bucket and half-filled flutes. I felt a flash of guilt, as though sharing a meal might have illicit undertones.

Meanwhile, Dietz was looking at me perplexed. “Why take off now?”

“I’ve got things to take care of at home,” I said. “We can chat tomorrow if you have a minute.”

“Sure thing,” he said.

He saw me to the door. Nick’s gaze remained fixed on me while I eased into the hall.

Dietz said, “You drive carefully.”

“I will and thanks for the drink.”

“You bet.”

Over his shoulder, I gave Nick a quick, friendly wave. “Nice meeting you.”

“Same here,” he said.

Uhn-hun, I thought. I turned and walked down the hall, doing a little quick step to speed myself along.

Once outside, I waited for the valet to bring around the Mustang, which he handed over in exchange for a folded bill. I’d given him a five, which I thought was absurd, but I couldn’t bear to be cheap with Dietz’s comment still ringing in my ears. I hadn’t been feeling cheap. Twenty-one dollars for a damn cheeseburger was robbery. I got in the car and released the handbrake, putting a gentle pressure on the accelerator. As I turned right out of the hotel driveway, I cranked the heater up full blast and still I shivered most of the way home.

•   •   •

In the morning, I jogged three miles and then continued with my usual routine. I had no idea what I was going to do that day, but I figured I’d better not count on Dietz. By 9:00, I was showered and dressed and drinking a second cup of coffee when the phone rang. I set the paper aside and picked up.

Dietz said, “Hey, it’s me. I just talked to Pete’s landlady. She’ll be in the office shortly if you want to pop over there with me.”

“Great. What about Nick?”

“Still asleep. I told him I had work to do this morning and we’d have lunch when I got back. You want me to pick you up?”

“Sure.”

“Good. I’ll see you in a few.”

•   •   •

I was waiting out in front when Dietz pulled up. I got in the car and we exchanged courtesies, both of us behaving as though everything was fine, which I suppose it was from his perspective.

He sent me a quick, proud smile. “What’d you think of Nick?”

“Nice kid. Handsome,” I said. “I see what you mean about his favoring his mom.”