The Case of the Russian Diplomat: A Masao Masuto Mystery (Book Three) by Howard Fast

such a hotshot superior Oriental and say what you’re thinking?”
    â€œAnd what am I thinking?”
    â€œThat I must be a completely heartless bitch to be sitting here and talking like this and not shedding one damn tear a few hours after my husband was killed.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œNo what?”
    â€œThat’s not what I was thinking. I was thinking what an extraordinarily beautiful set of movements you went through up there on the stage. You’re a remarkable dancer.”
    She paused, swallowed the retort that was on her lips, and stared at him. “Thanks.”
    â€œI meant it.”
    â€œOkay, but let’s get one thing straight. I wasn’t in love with Jack Stillman. All right, I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t love him. Now he’s dead and I’m alive. What should I do? Wrap myself in mourning? I don’t have to lie to anyone.”
    â€œNot even to me,” Masuto agreed. “Why did you marry him?”
    â€œCan I have another brandy?”
    Masuto motioned to the waiter. She sat in silence, playing with her half-empty glass until the waiter put down the second brandy. Then she finished the first, dipped her finger in the second one and licked it off.
    â€œYou wouldn’t understand,” she said.
    â€œTry me.”
    â€œYou know what I got for dancing last week at the Sands?”
    â€œI can’t imagine.”
    â€œFifteen grand. For five performances. Fifteen thousand dollars. Before I met Jack Stillman in Vegas, I did club dates and lousy stag affairs for peanuts.”
    â€œAnd he was responsible—for your success?”
    â€œHe booked me, and he gave me an image. I can’t deny that.”
    â€œThen you owed him a good deal?”
    â€œSo he owed me. It works both ways. He took fifteen percent off the top and expenses.”
    â€œAnd that’s why you married him, because he was responsible for your success?”
    â€œI was responsible for my success, Buster, make damn sure of that. Anyway, I don’t have to explain to you why I married Jack Stillman. I had my reasons. I married him.”
    â€œNo, you don’t have to explain. By the way, Miss Vance, when did you leave Las Vegas?”
    â€œThis morning. On the eight o’clock plane.”
    â€œOne day of rehearsal here? Is that enough? I don’t know much about such things.”
    â€œWith that combo in there, it’s enough. They’re good.”
    â€œDo you have your ticket?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, my ticket?”
    â€œYour airplane ticket.”
    â€œNo, I threw it away.”
    â€œYou know, Miss Vance, we can check the passenger list.”
    â€œI’m afraid not. I came in on Vegas West. It’s a shuttle service. Anyway, what the hell is this? You said when you drink that you’re off duty. When you come right down to it, I don’t have to answer any questions.”
    â€œI only thought it might be easier if you did, here. It’s a convenient place for you. It would be tiring to go up to Beverly Hills. By the way, did you know that your husband was staying at the Beverly Glen Hotel?”
    â€œOf course I did. He always stays there.”
    â€œBut I should think that with you opening here, he would stay at the Ventura. As you are.”
    â€œHe hated downtown L.A. Anyway, I like to be alone when I’m dancing.”
    â€œDo you have any notion who might have shot him?”
    â€œNo. None.”
    â€œDid he have enemies?”
    â€œA man like Jack, well, what do you think? But not to kill him.” She stood up suddenly. “Excuse me for a moment.” And she walked off, pausing only to exchange a few words with the waiter.
    The moment her back was turned, Masuto took out his handkerchief, folded it carefully around the brandy glass, and slipped the glass into his jacket pocket. The waiter came to the table and said, “The lady won’t be back. She’s tired. And by