why should I pay a hundred bucks for an enzyme peel and then have air-conditioning freeze my face like I’ve been entombed in dry ice like a six-pack of Bud—”
She stopped suddenly. “Listen to me. I’m beating my gums again. I know I do it. Reggie tells me all the time that I do.” Her wide red mouth curled up into a smile. “Next time I do it, you just tell me to shut up.”
Louis smiled as he kept one eye on the dog sniffing at his ankle.
“Can I get you a drink?” Margery asked.
Again, before Louis could answer, Margery yelled, “Franklin!”
The old fellow in black materialized.
“Shampoo, please,” Margery ordered.
The fellow nodded and left. Margery spun back to Louis. “Sit, please,” she said, waving at the rattan.
Louis settled into the cushions of the sofa. Margery arranged herself on a lounge across from him. Three of the pugs bounded into her lap, and she drew them to her like babies. The fourth dog jumped up and positioned itself at Louis’s thigh, staring up at him with baleful brown eyes.
“So, Reggie tells me you want to know what our little island is really like,” Margery said.
What he wanted were the names of any women Mark Durand had slept with. But Louis had a feeling that the only way into Margery’s confidence was via the long and winding scenic route.
“This is a strange place to an outsider like me,” Louis said.
Margery’s hard gray eyes seemed to be taking stock of him.
The butler or valet or whatever he was returned with a tray holding an ornate ice bucket and two stemmed glasses. He set the tray on the table in front of Margery and left.
“Shampoo?” Margery asked, raising the dripping bottle of champagne.
“Please.” Louis accepted the glass and took a drink. He had little to compare it with—just the pink André in a plastic glass Frances let him sip on New Year’s when he was sixteen and some other stuff over the years that tasted like carbonated kerosene.
But this—he snuck a glance at the label that read Heidsieck—this was great, like someone had crossbred pears with Pop Rocks.
He drank down half the glass. Margery was smiling at him as he lowered it. “Swell stuff, huh?” she said.
“Not bad.”
A phone was ringing somewhere in another part of the house. It had been ringing for at least a full minute now, Louis realized. He noticed an old rotary-dial yellow phone on a table in the corner, though it apparently had its ringer off.
Margery seemed not to hear the phone. “Now,” she said, “let’s talk about Reggie. I adore him. He’s like family to me. But he’s a helpless old thing in many ways, and some people here take advantage of his good nature. So, before we go any further, I want to make sure you are a right gee.”
“Ma’am?”
“A good guy. Excuse me, I slip back into the slang of my youth sometimes. I get away with it because I’m so old, and when you get old enough, you’re allowed to mutate into an eccentric.”
The phone finally stopped ringing.
She eyed him. “You’re very young. How old are you?”
“Just turned thirty.”
“How old do you think I am?”
Louis smiled. “I know better than to answer that question when a lady asks it.”
She let out a low-throated guffaw. “Tell me about your background. I want to know what kind of man is going to be helping my Reggie.”
Louis wasn’t sure where to go with this. “I’m an ex-cop. I’ve been working as a private investigator for three years.”
Again, the eyes bored into him. “But who are your people, dear?”
He had been in Bizarro World long enough to know what she meant. Family and name were everything here. He’d be damned if he’d let her intimidate him into spilling his guts about his messed-up childhood. But before he could answer, Margery waved a dismissive hand.
“Never mind,” she said. “That was rude. Lou would have skinned me for asking that.”
“Who’s Lou?”
The wide smile came again but this time tinged with
She stopped suddenly. “Listen to me. I’m beating my gums again. I know I do it. Reggie tells me all the time that I do.” Her wide red mouth curled up into a smile. “Next time I do it, you just tell me to shut up.”
Louis smiled as he kept one eye on the dog sniffing at his ankle.
“Can I get you a drink?” Margery asked.
Again, before Louis could answer, Margery yelled, “Franklin!”
The old fellow in black materialized.
“Shampoo, please,” Margery ordered.
The fellow nodded and left. Margery spun back to Louis. “Sit, please,” she said, waving at the rattan.
Louis settled into the cushions of the sofa. Margery arranged herself on a lounge across from him. Three of the pugs bounded into her lap, and she drew them to her like babies. The fourth dog jumped up and positioned itself at Louis’s thigh, staring up at him with baleful brown eyes.
“So, Reggie tells me you want to know what our little island is really like,” Margery said.
What he wanted were the names of any women Mark Durand had slept with. But Louis had a feeling that the only way into Margery’s confidence was via the long and winding scenic route.
“This is a strange place to an outsider like me,” Louis said.
Margery’s hard gray eyes seemed to be taking stock of him.
The butler or valet or whatever he was returned with a tray holding an ornate ice bucket and two stemmed glasses. He set the tray on the table in front of Margery and left.
“Shampoo?” Margery asked, raising the dripping bottle of champagne.
“Please.” Louis accepted the glass and took a drink. He had little to compare it with—just the pink André in a plastic glass Frances let him sip on New Year’s when he was sixteen and some other stuff over the years that tasted like carbonated kerosene.
But this—he snuck a glance at the label that read Heidsieck—this was great, like someone had crossbred pears with Pop Rocks.
He drank down half the glass. Margery was smiling at him as he lowered it. “Swell stuff, huh?” she said.
“Not bad.”
A phone was ringing somewhere in another part of the house. It had been ringing for at least a full minute now, Louis realized. He noticed an old rotary-dial yellow phone on a table in the corner, though it apparently had its ringer off.
Margery seemed not to hear the phone. “Now,” she said, “let’s talk about Reggie. I adore him. He’s like family to me. But he’s a helpless old thing in many ways, and some people here take advantage of his good nature. So, before we go any further, I want to make sure you are a right gee.”
“Ma’am?”
“A good guy. Excuse me, I slip back into the slang of my youth sometimes. I get away with it because I’m so old, and when you get old enough, you’re allowed to mutate into an eccentric.”
The phone finally stopped ringing.
She eyed him. “You’re very young. How old are you?”
“Just turned thirty.”
“How old do you think I am?”
Louis smiled. “I know better than to answer that question when a lady asks it.”
She let out a low-throated guffaw. “Tell me about your background. I want to know what kind of man is going to be helping my Reggie.”
Louis wasn’t sure where to go with this. “I’m an ex-cop. I’ve been working as a private investigator for three years.”
Again, the eyes bored into him. “But who are your people, dear?”
He had been in Bizarro World long enough to know what she meant. Family and name were everything here. He’d be damned if he’d let her intimidate him into spilling his guts about his messed-up childhood. But before he could answer, Margery waved a dismissive hand.
“Never mind,” she said. “That was rude. Lou would have skinned me for asking that.”
“Who’s Lou?”
The wide smile came again but this time tinged with
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