it’ll tell you the whole conversation. Might even tell you why he’s offering to go with me to Norfolk.”
Violet stepped back, genuinely puzzled. She knew that Ryan had been skeptical from the first moment they had met but now he was downright antagonistic. Something had happened between the time she had left him in the summer house, and the moment he had returned from his shopping trip on Duvall Street. What could he possibly have seen or heard in the shops and bars of the tourist district that would make him so angry, and so determined to prove her wrong?
“He also knows about the sword,” said Ryan. “Someone’s been talking.”
“Not I,” said Todd. “I am the soul of discretion.”
“I’m sure you do whatever you’re paid to do,” said Ryan, “including making a couple of phone calls.”
“Okay, enough,” said Mandretti. “You two gonna work together and that’s all there is to it, so you’d better start talking civil. You and Violet are on the next flight to London, so get your stuff together, Doc. Do whatever you need to do. You got your passport?”
Ryan looks as though he would like to deny having his passport. It was quite clear to Violet that he had no wish to go with her to England, just as she had no wish to go with him.
“I have it,” said Ryan.
“Right,” said Mandretti, “so first thing we have to find out is how this Crispie fellow found out you was going to London.”
“Crispin,” said Ryan.
“Whatever,” said Mandretti.
“He must have access to passenger reservation information,” said Todd, and then he stopped. “No,”he said, “Violet doesn’t even have a reservation yet.”
“He must be yet another psychic,” said Ryan. “The world is full of them.”
“I told you to can it,” said Mandretti. “Obviously I’m not the only person who wants the sword, and we got two dead bodies to prove it, so you’d better watch your backs, both of you, or you’re gonna end up with some fancy antique blade in your gut. Capisce?”
“Capisce,” said Ryan.
At 5.00 p.m. with the bright Florida sun still baking the tarmac, Violet and Ryan wheeled their carryon bags into the first class cabin of the Miami to Heathrow flight. The flight attendant relieved Violet of the lightweight Burberry raincoat that she rarely had occasion to use in Key West, and also took the somewhat rumpled London Fog trench coat that Todd had provided for Ryan. Violet allowed herself a small, spiteful moment of satisfaction knowing that the clothes Todd had provided for the professor were well used and not quite clean. Todd had taken the opportunity to dress Ryan as a tall thin Inspector Clouseau, or perhaps Colombo, not that Ryan seemed to care, or perhaps he had not yet noticed.
They were seated together. Ryan was next to the window with Violet on the aisle beside him. The seats, as befitted first class, were wide and well padded, but Violet already felt uncomfortable and, as the aircraft reached altitude and the seats could be reclined, she became even more uncomfortable. Because her legs were too short for the seat, she had to sprawl in order to reach the footrest and sprawling was not the most flattering of positions for her. She looked across the generous mound of her stomach and wished that she had followed her own instincts and worn pants instead of allowing Maria to squeeze her into yet another restricting skirt that rode up every time she moved.
The flight attendant brought champagne and Violet took the glass with relief. Perhaps a couple of glasses of bubbly would relax her and allow her to set aside her feeling of impending doom, or at least help her to overcome her rapidly growing dislike of the partner that Mandretti had forced upon her.
Ryan asked for a beer. There we go,
Violet stepped back, genuinely puzzled. She knew that Ryan had been skeptical from the first moment they had met but now he was downright antagonistic. Something had happened between the time she had left him in the summer house, and the moment he had returned from his shopping trip on Duvall Street. What could he possibly have seen or heard in the shops and bars of the tourist district that would make him so angry, and so determined to prove her wrong?
“He also knows about the sword,” said Ryan. “Someone’s been talking.”
“Not I,” said Todd. “I am the soul of discretion.”
“I’m sure you do whatever you’re paid to do,” said Ryan, “including making a couple of phone calls.”
“Okay, enough,” said Mandretti. “You two gonna work together and that’s all there is to it, so you’d better start talking civil. You and Violet are on the next flight to London, so get your stuff together, Doc. Do whatever you need to do. You got your passport?”
Ryan looks as though he would like to deny having his passport. It was quite clear to Violet that he had no wish to go with her to England, just as she had no wish to go with him.
“I have it,” said Ryan.
“Right,” said Mandretti, “so first thing we have to find out is how this Crispie fellow found out you was going to London.”
“Crispin,” said Ryan.
“Whatever,” said Mandretti.
“He must have access to passenger reservation information,” said Todd, and then he stopped. “No,”he said, “Violet doesn’t even have a reservation yet.”
“He must be yet another psychic,” said Ryan. “The world is full of them.”
“I told you to can it,” said Mandretti. “Obviously I’m not the only person who wants the sword, and we got two dead bodies to prove it, so you’d better watch your backs, both of you, or you’re gonna end up with some fancy antique blade in your gut. Capisce?”
“Capisce,” said Ryan.
At 5.00 p.m. with the bright Florida sun still baking the tarmac, Violet and Ryan wheeled their carryon bags into the first class cabin of the Miami to Heathrow flight. The flight attendant relieved Violet of the lightweight Burberry raincoat that she rarely had occasion to use in Key West, and also took the somewhat rumpled London Fog trench coat that Todd had provided for Ryan. Violet allowed herself a small, spiteful moment of satisfaction knowing that the clothes Todd had provided for the professor were well used and not quite clean. Todd had taken the opportunity to dress Ryan as a tall thin Inspector Clouseau, or perhaps Colombo, not that Ryan seemed to care, or perhaps he had not yet noticed.
They were seated together. Ryan was next to the window with Violet on the aisle beside him. The seats, as befitted first class, were wide and well padded, but Violet already felt uncomfortable and, as the aircraft reached altitude and the seats could be reclined, she became even more uncomfortable. Because her legs were too short for the seat, she had to sprawl in order to reach the footrest and sprawling was not the most flattering of positions for her. She looked across the generous mound of her stomach and wished that she had followed her own instincts and worn pants instead of allowing Maria to squeeze her into yet another restricting skirt that rode up every time she moved.
The flight attendant brought champagne and Violet took the glass with relief. Perhaps a couple of glasses of bubbly would relax her and allow her to set aside her feeling of impending doom, or at least help her to overcome her rapidly growing dislike of the partner that Mandretti had forced upon her.
Ryan asked for a beer. There we go,
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