ago. The only reason I remember him at all is because he was very attractive, and because, as I told you, I don’t give out my phone number to that many people. That’s no bullshit, by the way.”
I was flattered that it seemed important to him I believe him.
“But let me think,” he continued then paused to run one hand over his chin. “No, honestly, I don’t remember him saying all that much of interest. Said he was an artist—I remember that because I hoped for a minute he was going to ask me up to see his etchings. But other than that, no personal information. Just the usual bar chatter. And some pretty strong hints at the kinds of beautiful music we could make together. I, I gather, was to be the bassoon and he the oboe.”
We both laughed.
The bartender came over, and we ordered another round.
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t be more help,” Grayley said, and I got the distinctly pleasant feeling he meant it. “Can you tell me anything about what you’re working on, or is that some sort of privileged information?”
“Well,” I said, trying to be both truthful and tactfully evasive at the same time, “it started out pretty simple, and the further I get into it, the more complex it seems to be getting. I’m not quite sure what’s going on myself. Which is pretty frustrating, I can tell you.”
Grayley grinned. “Yeah, I’ve been frustrated once or twice myself.”
Our drinks arrived, and he insisted on paying.
“I always sort of fantasized about being a detective,” he said as the bartender rang up the sale. “When I was a kid, it was a toss-up between being Sam Spade and a fireman. So I ended up with the airlines.”
“What do you do for them?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I’m what’s known as a passenger service representative for Pan World. Sort of a social director for VIPs traveling with us—make sure they’re happy while waiting for their flights, keep the madding crowds at bay, that sort of thing.”
“This is your home base, then?”
“More or less. I work all over, actually. I spent the last year in Nairobi. Before that, it was Singapore, Guam, Anchorage, Lima. Frankly,” he said, giving me another grin, “I think I’d rather be a detective.”
I shook my head. “Any time you want to switch jobs, just give me a call.”
“I think I might like that,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.
“Look,” I said on impulse, “if you’re not heading off for Pago Pago or someplace equally exotic tonight, how’d you like to have dinner with me? The food’s pretty good here, and maybe you could give me a vicarious tour of Nairobi.”
He gave me a smile that was definitely not teasing.
“I think I might like that,” he said.
Something told me I might, too.
I was right.
Chapter 6
Remember the last time you had an evening when just about everything went right? When you really enjoyed just being with someone, relaxed?
Well, that was my evening with Ed Grayley. We hit it off as through we’d been pals since grade school. He was quick, funny, totally unaffected and, best of all, he really seemed to be having as good a time as I was.
If I’d met Ed while out cruising, I’d have jumped on him in a minute, but I had to remind myself that this wasn’t really a cruising situation. And while I was sure I was getting some definite vibes from him, I knew this wasn’t the time to start letting my crotch rule my head. I had a strong suspicion we were going to see each other again, and as I told myself, good things are worth waiting for.
Was he a potential suspect? I hoped not, but at this point who wasn’t? The fact of the matter was that this was the first time I’d had a chance to get my mind off the case, and I took it. Selfish of me, maybe, but…
It was ten-forty-five when we left the Carnival. Ed had an early-morning flight of foreign dignitaries he had to look after, but said he’d give me a call late in the afternoon; there was a
I was flattered that it seemed important to him I believe him.
“But let me think,” he continued then paused to run one hand over his chin. “No, honestly, I don’t remember him saying all that much of interest. Said he was an artist—I remember that because I hoped for a minute he was going to ask me up to see his etchings. But other than that, no personal information. Just the usual bar chatter. And some pretty strong hints at the kinds of beautiful music we could make together. I, I gather, was to be the bassoon and he the oboe.”
We both laughed.
The bartender came over, and we ordered another round.
“I’m really sorry I couldn’t be more help,” Grayley said, and I got the distinctly pleasant feeling he meant it. “Can you tell me anything about what you’re working on, or is that some sort of privileged information?”
“Well,” I said, trying to be both truthful and tactfully evasive at the same time, “it started out pretty simple, and the further I get into it, the more complex it seems to be getting. I’m not quite sure what’s going on myself. Which is pretty frustrating, I can tell you.”
Grayley grinned. “Yeah, I’ve been frustrated once or twice myself.”
Our drinks arrived, and he insisted on paying.
“I always sort of fantasized about being a detective,” he said as the bartender rang up the sale. “When I was a kid, it was a toss-up between being Sam Spade and a fireman. So I ended up with the airlines.”
“What do you do for them?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I’m what’s known as a passenger service representative for Pan World. Sort of a social director for VIPs traveling with us—make sure they’re happy while waiting for their flights, keep the madding crowds at bay, that sort of thing.”
“This is your home base, then?”
“More or less. I work all over, actually. I spent the last year in Nairobi. Before that, it was Singapore, Guam, Anchorage, Lima. Frankly,” he said, giving me another grin, “I think I’d rather be a detective.”
I shook my head. “Any time you want to switch jobs, just give me a call.”
“I think I might like that,” he said, and I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.
“Look,” I said on impulse, “if you’re not heading off for Pago Pago or someplace equally exotic tonight, how’d you like to have dinner with me? The food’s pretty good here, and maybe you could give me a vicarious tour of Nairobi.”
He gave me a smile that was definitely not teasing.
“I think I might like that,” he said.
Something told me I might, too.
I was right.
Chapter 6
Remember the last time you had an evening when just about everything went right? When you really enjoyed just being with someone, relaxed?
Well, that was my evening with Ed Grayley. We hit it off as through we’d been pals since grade school. He was quick, funny, totally unaffected and, best of all, he really seemed to be having as good a time as I was.
If I’d met Ed while out cruising, I’d have jumped on him in a minute, but I had to remind myself that this wasn’t really a cruising situation. And while I was sure I was getting some definite vibes from him, I knew this wasn’t the time to start letting my crotch rule my head. I had a strong suspicion we were going to see each other again, and as I told myself, good things are worth waiting for.
Was he a potential suspect? I hoped not, but at this point who wasn’t? The fact of the matter was that this was the first time I’d had a chance to get my mind off the case, and I took it. Selfish of me, maybe, but…
It was ten-forty-five when we left the Carnival. Ed had an early-morning flight of foreign dignitaries he had to look after, but said he’d give me a call late in the afternoon; there was a
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