Ernie hit his forehead. “Mind like cement after pouring it all these years. I’ll take care of the girls, Ronnie—why don’t you guys wait for me here.”
He took my arm and hustled me away to the refreshment tent. “Buy you something, Vic?”
“No, thanks. I’m heading back to the city soon.”
He looked at me seriously, eyes dark in a thin, weather-beaten face. “Don’t take Mickey too seriously. He’s got a lot on his mind.”
I nodded solemnly. “I know that, Ernie. And I think this is a good time to leave him alone, let him get it sorted out.”
“Could you at least wait until after dinner—go talk to the girls for a while?”
He was hoping I’d take their drinks to them. I smiled gently. “Sorry, Ernie. I know LeAnn would love to see you for a few minutes before you plunge back into it with the boys. She’s sitting around back of here with Clara.”
“Okay, Vic, okay.” He shoved his way to the front of the line. Something in the set of his shoulders told me he was wondering what the hell Mickey saw in me.
7
Speaking in Tongues
On my way toward the parking pasture I saw Marissa standing near the back entrance to Boots’s house. She was laughing heartily at some remark of the middle-aged man talking to her. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. Maybe it was just the avid look he was giving Marissa I recognized—with her head thrown back the décolletage of her peach dress sprang into dramatic relief.
Before returning to town I’d let her know I’d done my duty by showing up and that I hadn’t laid tales of housing woes on any sensitive ears. I trotted up the path to the house.
Seen up close, her companion was older than I’d thought, perhaps over sixty, with a lot of distinguished gray in his dark hair. Tanned and still muscular, he bore his years gracefully. Probably was wealthy, too, if his camel-hair jacket and Texas boots were any sign. A good haul for Marissa.
“Great party, Marissa—thanks for inviting me.”
She hadn’t seen me come up. The smile on her dark face dimmed briefly, then glowed again. “Hi, Vic. Glad you could make it.”
She didn’t really look at me—I should have just let well enough alone. In fact, I should have followed my original impulse and stayed in Chicago. I didn’t want to see any of these people and it was abundantly clear that none of them wanted to see me.
“Bye, Marissa. Thanks for letting me participate in this wonderful civic enterprise. Just wanted to let you know I didn’t discuss housing with anyone.”
At that she did look at me. “You leaving, Vic? Why not stay until after the speeches? I know Rosalyn would love to have a chance to see you again.”
My party smile was wearing thin. “She’s got a thousand palms to press this afternoon. I’ll give her a call at campaign headquarters.”
The man in camel hair looked at his watch. “They’re talking right now—down around the other side where the pit is. Won’t take more than fifteen minutes—Boots promised me he wouldn’t go gassing on forever—come along— I should put in an appearance anyway.” He held out a well-groomed hand and flashed a bright white smile. “Ralph MacDonald.”
While I recited my name I shook his hand appreciatively—it’s not often I touch flesh worth several billion dollars. As soon as he’d said his name I knew where I’d seen the face—in the paper a zillion times or so as ground was broken for this or that project he was financing or as he presented a gargantuan check to the symphony. My only question was what he was doing here—I’d kind of assumed he was a Republican.
When I said as much Marissa looked at me with cold disapproval but MacDonald laughed. “Boots and I go back—way back. The boy’d never forgive me if I voted Republican. And he won’t forgive me now unless I listen to him blow smoke rings for a while. Marissa?” He held out his left arm. “And—Vic, is it?” He crooked the right.
Who knows, he might like to hear about some of my cases—maybe he needed a few million dollars’ worth of investigations and didn’t even realize it. Not only that, it would make Marissa steam—in itself a good reason to tag along. I took his arm and let him guide me toward the pit.
The barbecue had been installed on the far side of the house from the refreshment tent. A good-sized crowd was milling around the thick pungent smoke—I couldn’t see the poor dead cow through the throng, but assumed she was roasting away.