P Is for Peril

her freedom? Dow was in a bind any which way it went."
    "Why not close the account?"
    "I'm sure he did."
    "Did he ever figure out who it was?"
    "If so, he never told me."
    "Too bad. With his passport missing, the cops figured he might have left of his own accord. I wonder why Crystal didn't fill them in."
    "Maybe she didn't know. He might have decided pursuing it wasn't worth the risk."
    "He'd let someone walk off with thirty thousand bucks?"
    "Dad?"
    Both of us turned. A woman with a thick blond braid halfway down her back stood behind us. She was in her forties, no makeup, in a long cotton sweater, a peasant skirt, and sandals. She looked like the sort who never shaved her legs, but I didn't want to check. She was too smart to wear pantyhose, so I gave her points for that. Mine were sinking again. Any moment, they'd slip down as far as my knees and I'd have to start hobbling, taking little mincing steps wherever I went.
    "This is my daughter, Susan."
    "Nice meeting you," I said. We shook hands and the three of us stood chatting for a while before she took his arm.
    "I hope you don't mind if we go. This is all a bit rich for my blood," she said.
    "She thinks I'm tired, which I am," Trigg confessed. "We'll talk again soon."
    "I hope so."

Chapter 21
    As soon as they left, I set my glass down and found the nearest bathroom. The door was shut. I tried the handle and found it locked. I waited, leaning against the wall, making sure I was first in the one-person line. I heard the toilet flush, water running in the sink. Moments later, the door opened and the man with the mustache and silver hair emerged. He smiled at me politely and went into the den. I shut myself in the bathroom and availed myself of the facilities. Having hoisted my pantyhose up the pole like a flag, I went out and found a perch on the stairs, three steps down from the top, the perfect vantage point from which to view the gathering. Rand was making the rounds with Griffith affixed to his hip. Griff was outfitted in a sky blue sailor suit, and Rand mouthed Griff's imaginary monologue as though the child were a ventriloquist's sidekick. I hadn't seen Leila but figured she was in the house somewhere. Crystal would never tolerate her boycotting the event.
    The caterers had finished setting out a cold buffet of boneless chicken breasts, three kinds of salad, marinated asparagus, deviled eggs, and baskets of fresh rolls. People loitered near the table in clusters, everyone trying to avoid going first. Ordinarily, I'd have left Crystal's long before now, but I was curious about the man with the silver hair. I saw him return to the great room, this time in the company of a gaunt brunette, who had a wineglass in one hand, the other hand hooked through his arm. She wore a black long-sleeved leotard under skin-tight black leather pants, cinched by a wide silver belt. The stiletto heels on her boots looked like five-inch toothpicks. This was an outfit more appropriate to soliciting on street corners than attending a wake. Her body wasn't quite slick enough to bear up under such pitiless revelations. Her liposuctionist should have slurped another pint of fat from the top of each thigh.
    She seemed watchful, her gaze flitting uneasily around the room. Her smile, when it appeared, was self-conscious and never quite reached her eyes. I'm not sure I buy into talk like this, but her "aura" was dark; I could almost see the magnetic force field surrounding her. She was bristling, battle-ready. What was the deal here? The guy seemed to know quite a few people. Relaxed and at ease, he chatted first with one group and then another while she clung to his arm. In contrast to her tartlike ensemble, his suit was well cut, a conservative dark blue that he wore with a pale blue shirt and a tone-on-tone pale blue tie. I pegged him in his late fifties, one of those men who'd aged well: trim and fit-looking. He had to be a doctor. I couldn't think what else he'd have been doing at Pacific Meadows at midnight, aside from the impromptu game with Pepper Gray.
    He murmured to the woman and then took his place in the supper line, picking up his plate and a napkin-wrapped bundle of silverware. Though she moved into line behind him, they didn't speak to each other. I watched him fill his plate to capacity while she helped herself to a demitasse of salad and four asparagus spears. He settled on the couch in the only remaining space. He rested his wineglass and his plate on the pale wood