Diana Racine 02 - Goddess of the Moon

him. Not to herself. So when Slater called, Diana couldn’t contain her surprise.
    “I overreacted,” he said. “I was presumptuous and totally out of line suggesting we had a relationship of any kind. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    “No, it was my fault.” She almost said she had hit below the belt and caught herself before she turned a common idiom into an indignity. “I was the one out of line. I guess after thirty years of my father telling me what I think, I rebelled when you told me what I supposedly knew.”
    “You were right. Tell me, do I come across as an arrogant charlatan?”
    “ T he Brother Osiris bit might be a little much, but I can relate. Remember, you’re talking to someone who’s spent the last twenty years of her life entertaining to make a living . We use whatever works.”
    “I hope I don’t rise to the level of entertainer―no offense intended―but I hope I’m a bit more subtle . T hat covers the charlatan part ; wh at about arrogant?”
    “How much truth can you handle, Edward?”
    “Now I’m afraid to say anything you might misconstrue, but your opinion matters.”
    Diana couldn’t help smiling at how cautiously both she and Slater measured their words. She always prescribed to the idea that if someone asked her a question, they deserved an honest answer.
    “Okay, you’re very sure of yourself. I don’t know if that rises to the level of arrogance, but it’s close. Lately, I’ve been right there with you. My behavior to Silas Compton the other night made you look like an amateur. You called it . I was baiting him. I f that’s not arrogance, I don’t know what is.” Diana paused. “Let’s change the subject . You’re sorry ; I’m sorry. We have a lot in common, and if we have any relationship at all, how about call ing it a budding friendship ? I’m not interested in anything more, and neither are you. You’re an interesting man, and you’ve confided in me, as a friend, personal facts about your life. We’ll go from there.”
    “Sounds good. How about I invite you to the mission for lunch to make amends? I ’ve hired a new cook who does a mean down-home meatloaf. Best I ever tasted. It isn’t Emeril’s but it doesn’t cost as much either. Besides, I have something to tell you, something to show you, and something to give you.”
    She could hear the smile in his words and found herself smiling in return . “Sounds like triple intrigue. What time?”
    “Noon? And don’t worry, we’ll have lunch in the office.”
    “Eating family - style wouldn’t bother me. I’ve done it plenty of times. See you at noon.”
    Diana hung up and debated calling Lucier. He didn’t see Edward Slater objectively. She wondered if she did .
    * * * * *
    L ucier made an appointment to meet Compton at his downtown headquarters , situated on the top floor of a fashionable high rise . He was greeted by an attractive secretary who announced hi s presence to Compton, then ushered him i nto the industrialist’s office.
    Lucier expected antique furniture, Oriental rugs, and gilt-edged leather books, but instead found Compton’s office decor elegantly contemporary. Taking up most of the floor’s area was a rug designed to co-ordinate with the vibrant painting on one wall. He checked the signature. Kandinsky. A brushed steel sculpture braced the front of a massive desk with a glass top that seemed to float over side panels of exotic wood. Two modern chrome and leather chairs faced the desk that held a laptop computer. Nothing else. Not even a sheet of paper. Light filtered in from a picture window that showcased the magnificent view of the Mississippi and the twin spans of the Crescent City Connection bridges .
    Nice to be king .
    Compton was on the phone. He waved Lucier inside and extended a waiting finger. When he hung up, he rose and held out his hand, which Lucier took.
    “Lieutenant, what a pleasure. Have a seat.”
    “Your desk puts me to shame,” Lucier said , sitting down . “I can barely see the top of mine for all the papers.”
    “That’s because I have a secretary who ’s an OCD neat freak. I give the orders; s he does the work.” He walked to a banquet where a silver coffee service sat on a matching tray.
    Lucier recognized the distinct set from an art exhibit some years before . He couldn’t remember the designer, but he remembered the price tag , which was more than many yearly wages. He figured a famous artisan created the sculptured desk, but