X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

Maurie opened the door. Behind her, in the corridor, I could see some effort had been made to organize the assemblage of miscellaneous furniture, though I couldn’t identify the underlying principle.

“Is Mr. Xanakis here?”

“Is he expecting you?”

“What difference does it make? I need to talk to him.”

She glanced to her right, where I could hear voices raised. I had apparently arrived in the middle of a ruckus. I took advantage of the distraction to step into the hall.

Stella said, “I don’t believe it. I do not believe you did that. How COULD you? Without so much as a by-your-leave?”

She came striding out of the dining room, dodging a glass-fronted corner piece that had been set to one side of the double doors. She wore a snug-fitting pair of teal trousers in a fabric that looked like taffeta and made a rustling sound as she walked. Over the trousers, she wore a long coat of the same material in lime green with two teal Chinese frog fasteners on the front. The coat was open from the bodice down, and she was walking so fast, the flaps lifted like two sails. She carried a folder filled with paperwork that she slapped once against her thigh. I’ve never quarreled with anyone while wearing an elegant outfit. You’d think it would lend an air of class to the occasion, but alas, it did not.

I could hear Ari behind her, saying, “Hey, come on now. I told you this might happen.”

“No. You. Did. Not.”

“Well, I told someone.”

The intensity of the fight rendered the rest of us invisible. Ari appeared from the dining room in what I swear was the same workout gear I’d seen him in three days before. Shorts, a tank top, running shoes without socks.

Maurie and I were both rooted in place, neither of us daring to say a word.

There followed choice expletives on her part and his. This was like watching a foreign movie, Italian perhaps, with voices dubbed in and the lines of dialogue not quite matching the movements of their lips. I thought it safe to assume Ari had canceled the honeymoon, forfeiting the thousands of dollars’ worth of deposits he’d paid to secure the reservations.

Stella’s voice dropped. “You are such a SHIT!”

She turned and flung the folder at him. A passport wallet dropped at her feet and travel documents flew everywhere with a flapping sound like a flock of birds. A color brochure sailed along the marble floor and skittered under a Louis Quatorze chair. I caught a glimpse of a tropical island, bright blue waters, a palatial bedroom open to the view, sheer curtains wafting outward.

She disappeared into the kitchen, slamming the door in her wake.

Ari seemed to hesitate, probably wondering at the wisdom of following her. When he spotted me, he said, “Good. I want to talk to you. Don’t go away.” And to Maurie, “Put her in Teddy’s office. I’ll be right there.”

I followed Maurie down the hall in the opposite direction, making lame small talk. She opened the door to the study and ushered me in, with the obligatory admonition to make myself at home. She returned to the hall and closed the door behind her, leaving me on my own.

The room was paneled in a dark wood and the furniture looked comfortable. There was a row of floor-to-ceiling windows on the wall opposite the door. Bookshelves, a massive fireplace, a desk with a leather top, and an oversize leather-upholstered office chair. There were two gray metal file cabinets in one corner, and those looked out of place. Ari was taking over her office, moving in functional items she’d have frowned upon.

I saw here what I’d noticed in the dining room: sections of empty wall space where paintings had once hung, doubtless the art Teddy had fought for and won in the settlement. I could have reconstructed her collection by working backward from the lavishly illustrated art books stacked on all the surfaces. Her taste ran toward the Impressionists and seemed to trace the shift from the late nineteenth century into the twentieth.

The door opened and Ari came in. “The woman is driving me crazy. Have a seat.”

There were cardboard boxes stacked on both of the guest chairs. “Here, let me move those,” he said. He picked up a carton filled with what looked like XLNT bumper stickers and placed them on the floor. “You want a couple?”

“What are they, bumper stickers?”

“Magnetic signage. The company logo. I buy ’em by the case. Slap a couple on your car, I’ll pay you two hundred bucks a month to drive around. It’s mobile advertising.”

“I don’t want anyone looking at my car. I’m paid to be invisible. Slick idea, though. You can turn any vehicle you like into a company car.”