Fatal Reaction

my mother’s judgment for choosing the Everest for dinner. Perched atop the city’s financial center, it not only commanded one of the most spectacular city views to be found outside a tourist observation deck, but the entire restaurant had been conceived of to please the palates—and egos—of powerful men.
    The manager met me as I stepped off the elevator. One tuxedoed waiter took my coat while another offered me a glass of champagne from a silver tray with the chef’s compliments. The restaurant was elegant and masculine without being clubby. Crystal chandeliers, white damask tablecloths, and the stiff formality of the waiters were offset by the whimsical faux leopard-skin carpeting. The food, I knew from experience, was uniformly excellent— adventurous but seldom daring—like the financial high rollers who were the mainstay of their clientele.
    Mother’s instructions had been carried out to the letter. A long table had been set up along the west side of the lower dining room commanding a prime view of the city lights spread out like a jeweled blanket beneath us. The table had been decorated with the orchids that had caused Cheryl so much grief, arranged in very tall bud vases so that they would seem to bloom above the heads of seated diners.
    From my folder I pulled the stack of place cards the calligrapher had prepared and consulted the seating chart Mother had prepared for me. At first I thought she was playing some kind of elaborate joke—either that or she’d been drinking. According to her diagram, she had old man Takisawa sitting between Lou Remminger and Dave Borland. Hiroshi was at the far end of the table between Stephen and Childress. I quickly pulled the crystallographer’s place card and tore it up. Hiroshi would have to make do with Michelle instead.
    I looked at my watch. The busboys were busy filling the Water glasses from silver pitchers. If everything was going according to schedule, Stephen and the contingent from Azor were already waiting in the lobby for the arrival of the limousines bringing the Takisawa people from the Nikko. There was no time to fiddle with the seating, so I I decided to trust my mother’s judgment. I had just laid down the last place card when the maitre d’ appeared at my elbow and discreetly whispered my mother’s favorite words: “Your guests have arrived, Madame.”
    If Stephen thought the seating arrangements were peculiar, he said nothing to me; indeed, he said nothing at all to me that night. But by the time the salad course was served, all my reservations about Mother’s plan had been completely erased. Every time I glanced in his direction, the chairman of the Takisawa corporation was smiling. From time to time he even laughed out loud.
    Things were rockier at my end of the table where Mother had relegated the bulk of the non-English speakers. All they could manage was a few polite inquiries about Dr. Childress’s health. After some discreet probing, it became obvious that Stephen had told them the crystallographer had suffered from acute appendicitis while attending a conference in Boston. In reply to their inquiries I said that the last I heard, the world-famous crystallographer was resting comfortably.
    The waiter had just served the cheese course— accompanied by a truly wonderful twenty-year-old port— when the maitre d’ discreetly slipped me a note. It was a message from Elliott saying he would be waiting to pick me up downstairs at ten-fifteen.
    I checked my watch, made my excuses to my dinner companions, and left my port with great regret. I thought about letting Stephen know I was leaving but thought better of it. After all, he wasn’t the only one who’d gone to junior high.
     
    * * *
     
    Elliott was already waiting for me when I got downstairs, sitting in his Jeep with the motor running. The exhaust from his engine made great billowing clouds of white smoke in the cold night air. The streets of the Loop were deserted. Stepping into the private detective’s car in my low-cut dress and high heels, I felt, for just a moment, like a character in a movie.
    “Where are we going?” I asked.
    “The morgue,” he replied with a sly smile.
    “Why the morgue?”
    “Joe called me about an hour ago. Julia Gordon is giving your friend Dr. Childress his last physical. Blades thought you might like to see what develops firsthand.”
    “Are you sure this is okay with Dr. Gordon?” I demanded, praying fervently that it was not. I’d