my exams are all over,” I said, and hastily offered coffee, before he reopened that particular can of worms. He followed me into the kitchen while I put on the kettle;
“Did Gino have any luck finding out if Hot Buns has an alibi for six-thirty the night before last?” I asked.
“The people at the hotel say she arrived early, before seven, to help Bergma. That makes it pretty tight. We didn't like to question her. She's one of the best leads we've got so far. I'll do some discreet quizzing tonight and see how things stand with her and Bergma."
I tried not to resent Denise as I filtered the coffee and took it into the living room. I thought about the case and said, “Has Gino learned anything from the bugs on Bergma's phones?"
“Nothing. The guy hasn't tried to get in touch with whoever called him, or vice versa. It's all business. Bergma hasn't been any place except to his own house and the museum, so they haven't met."
“You know where the partner could meet Bergma without arousing any suspicion is at the art show opening tonight. There'll be tons of people there. If Bergma hasn't been in touch with him, he must be getting very jumpy. We figure he killed Latour for Jan Bergma. They've got things to talk about. Like the paintings, and where they are, and how they're going to unload them."
“If they have them,” John added doubtfully. “Bergma told the caller ‘They're gone.’ That doesn't sound as if the caller knew. One of them damned well knew, and was trying to con the other."
“Bergma's returning to the Netherlands in January. He's got to meet the guy before then and clear things up. I know if it were I, I'd go to the opening tonight."
John nodded, interested. “We'll watch and see if any of the customers make Bergma especially nervous. See if he goes off into any private corners with anyone. I'll take my Bic-Pic along. Maybe Interpol will recognize the guy. I might recognize him myself."
“It'll be tricky using your lighter. There won't be any smoking allowed."
“I don't have to know that. In France they smoke their heads off nearly every place but in church. It's only in the States that you can't smoke."
“And Canada. They're becoming rabid here. My uncle tells me they'll soon be having smoke police in Toronto, and you know how he loves his stogies."
There was nothing much to be done, case-wise, so we played hooky in the afternoon and I showed John Montreal. Mount Royal, Place des Arts, Place Ville Marie, and Brother Andre's Shrine on the mountain left him blasé. What really impressed him was the subway, so clean and quiet and beautiful, with murals and assorted artwork at every stop. He also seemed to take considerable pleasure from the soignée women, whom I must admit do have a certain je ne sais quoi.
To make up for his seeing Denise and my getting stuck with Gino that night, he was taking me out for a gourmet dinner first. Gourmet dinners and opening nights are to me what a canvas and a box of pigments must have been to Van Gogh. They make me a little crazy with joy.
I vacillated between the chic new black pencil dress and a flame red little number with a sparkly top and bubble skirt worn to the McGill Christmas formal. John had already seen the black, so I chose the red. As I didn't have time to get to a hairdresser, I wore my hair up again. I love the big, dangling new earrings. For Christmas, Sherry gave me a pair I had been ogling all fall at Birks. They consisted of a cluster of rhinestones, weighing about four ounces each, that fell in a cascade of glitter two ‘inches below the ear. All this glitz called for extravagant makeup. I felt very French and sophisticated when John picked me up. He, in his Savile Row suit, looked dashing and debonair enough to please Robin Leach.
John smiled appreciatively. “Am I back in Paris?” he asked. “The coeds didn't look like this when I was at college.','
“I caused a few riots,” I said modestly.
We went to the French seafood
“Did Gino have any luck finding out if Hot Buns has an alibi for six-thirty the night before last?” I asked.
“The people at the hotel say she arrived early, before seven, to help Bergma. That makes it pretty tight. We didn't like to question her. She's one of the best leads we've got so far. I'll do some discreet quizzing tonight and see how things stand with her and Bergma."
I tried not to resent Denise as I filtered the coffee and took it into the living room. I thought about the case and said, “Has Gino learned anything from the bugs on Bergma's phones?"
“Nothing. The guy hasn't tried to get in touch with whoever called him, or vice versa. It's all business. Bergma hasn't been any place except to his own house and the museum, so they haven't met."
“You know where the partner could meet Bergma without arousing any suspicion is at the art show opening tonight. There'll be tons of people there. If Bergma hasn't been in touch with him, he must be getting very jumpy. We figure he killed Latour for Jan Bergma. They've got things to talk about. Like the paintings, and where they are, and how they're going to unload them."
“If they have them,” John added doubtfully. “Bergma told the caller ‘They're gone.’ That doesn't sound as if the caller knew. One of them damned well knew, and was trying to con the other."
“Bergma's returning to the Netherlands in January. He's got to meet the guy before then and clear things up. I know if it were I, I'd go to the opening tonight."
John nodded, interested. “We'll watch and see if any of the customers make Bergma especially nervous. See if he goes off into any private corners with anyone. I'll take my Bic-Pic along. Maybe Interpol will recognize the guy. I might recognize him myself."
“It'll be tricky using your lighter. There won't be any smoking allowed."
“I don't have to know that. In France they smoke their heads off nearly every place but in church. It's only in the States that you can't smoke."
“And Canada. They're becoming rabid here. My uncle tells me they'll soon be having smoke police in Toronto, and you know how he loves his stogies."
There was nothing much to be done, case-wise, so we played hooky in the afternoon and I showed John Montreal. Mount Royal, Place des Arts, Place Ville Marie, and Brother Andre's Shrine on the mountain left him blasé. What really impressed him was the subway, so clean and quiet and beautiful, with murals and assorted artwork at every stop. He also seemed to take considerable pleasure from the soignée women, whom I must admit do have a certain je ne sais quoi.
To make up for his seeing Denise and my getting stuck with Gino that night, he was taking me out for a gourmet dinner first. Gourmet dinners and opening nights are to me what a canvas and a box of pigments must have been to Van Gogh. They make me a little crazy with joy.
I vacillated between the chic new black pencil dress and a flame red little number with a sparkly top and bubble skirt worn to the McGill Christmas formal. John had already seen the black, so I chose the red. As I didn't have time to get to a hairdresser, I wore my hair up again. I love the big, dangling new earrings. For Christmas, Sherry gave me a pair I had been ogling all fall at Birks. They consisted of a cluster of rhinestones, weighing about four ounces each, that fell in a cascade of glitter two ‘inches below the ear. All this glitz called for extravagant makeup. I felt very French and sophisticated when John picked me up. He, in his Savile Row suit, looked dashing and debonair enough to please Robin Leach.
John smiled appreciatively. “Am I back in Paris?” he asked. “The coeds didn't look like this when I was at college.','
“I caused a few riots,” I said modestly.
We went to the French seafood
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