“Told by who?”

“Various staffers. The apartment had been on the market for, maybe, forty-eight hours. It was sold furnished by the late owner’s estate. Did you want to speak with Mr. Keeler?”

“Not at this time,” Cupie said.

“That’s good, because he left late this afternoon in a rented car that was delivered here.”

“Bound for where?”

The super shrugged. “Who knows? He didn’t share his travel plans with me, but he and Mrs. Keeler took luggage.”

“Okay, thanks,” Cupie said.

The super handed Cupie a card. “This is the management company’s number. Any further information you’ll have to get from them, and you and I never talked, okay?”

“Not only that, we never met,” Cupie replied. The super returned to his dinner.

“Can I get you a cab?” the doorman asked.

“One more question: Do you know which rental car company delivered the car?”

“Hertz,” the doorman replied. “I saw the contract folder when the guy handed it to Mr. Keeler.” He blew his whistle and waved down a cab. “It was a Mercedes,” he said, opening the cab’s door.

Cupie gave him a twenty, and he and Vittorio got in. Cupie gave the driver the address of their hotel. “So,” Cupie said to Vittorio, “these two people met after a few days, they flew from Palm Springs to Hayward and bought an expensive apartment, and got married the next day. That about it so far?”

“No,” Vittorio said, speaking for the first time in an hour. “They went on a honeymoon, too, and not so far away that they’d need to fly. Where around San Francisco would they go on a honeymoon?”

Cupie thought. “Yosemite?”

“Not romantic enough. How about… what’s the name of that town down the coast, with the crashing waves?”

“Carmel? Nah, that’s a three- or four-hour drive; they’d have flown into Monterey.”

“Where could they have gone that they could drive to by dinnertime?”

“The wine country,” Cupie said. “Napa, maybe.”

“Isn’t there an airport at Napa?”

“Yeah, but why didn’t Keeler land there?”

“Because he had to buy an apartment and marry Barbara. What are the most expensive hotels in Napa?”

“We’ll have to get a guidebook,” Cupie said. “There’s a bookstore next to the hotel.”

“I want a steak,” Vittorio said.

“Me, too, but let’s get a guide to Napa first.”

EAGLE AND SUSANNAH had just finished dinner when his cell phone vibrated. “Eagle.”

“It’s Cupie. You sitting down?”

“Yes.”

“Your ex-wife has remarried.”

“What?”

“I kid you not; the girl is a fast worker. They arrived at the Four Seasons last night, and this morning Keeler bought a penthouse apartment in a top building. They were married by noon and drove away in a rented car late in the afternoon. My best guess is that they’re honeymooning in the wine country to the north. You want me to track them down there or wait for them to return here? I don’t think she’s going to bother you for a few days, at least.”

“No, Cupie, go home and find a way to keep tabs on Keeler from there-the FBO where he parks his airplane, somebody in the apartment building, whatever works. If they fly away from Hayward, I want to know.”

“Right. We’ll stay the night here, since we’ve already checked into a hotel, and fly home tomorrow.”

“Tell him I’m coming home,” Vittorio said.

“And Vittorio’s coming back to Santa Fe.”

“Send me a bill, Cupie. Good night.” He hung up and turned to Susannah. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said.

17

BARBARA/ELLIE and Walter Keeler sat in the sunshine in the walled courtyard of Tre Vigne, a lovely Italian restaurant in the Napa Valley, and lunched on fruit, bread and cheese. Barbara felt two things: one, that her recovery from prison had been complete and spectacular, and two, that she had gotten more than lucky in meeting Walter Keeler. The man was an amazing list of all the things every woman wanted in a man: handsome, rich, sensitive, funny, warm and sexy. She wondered why she didn’t love him.

She had felt the same way about Ed Eagle at first: that she ought to love him. She wondered, not for the first time, if there was something missing in her psychological makeup. She dismissed the idea, because she really had loved one man, her second husband. Of course, he had killed her first husband during the robbery of his diamond business and had sent her to prison with his testimony in the case. And him, she had loved!

Barbara knew she didn’t have a conscience; they had told her that during psychological counseling in prison. But that didn’t trouble her in the least. It allowed her to think only of herself and not feel bad about it. She knew that when Walter had outlived his usefulness she would dump him without a second thought, and that if he gave her a hard time about it, she would find a way to make him permanently sorry.

But for right now, Walter would do very nicely. He would feed, clothe and shelter her handsomely, introduce her to people and buy her anything she wanted. He was like a walking credit card with social entree and no charge limit. She smiled warmly at him.

“What are you thinking about?” Walter asked.

“Just about how improbably happy you’ve made me,” she replied.

“That’s my new job,” he said, grinning. “What would you like to do this afternoon?”

“I’d like to visit some wineries,” she said. “I’ve always thought that the making of wine was fascinating.”

“Of course. Tell me, do you play golf?”

“I tried it once; I was hopeless at it.”

“Everybody’s hopeless at it in the beginning. I’d like you to try again, with a really good instructor. I’m a lover of the game, and it would please me greatly if we could play together.”

“All right, I will.” Anything to keep him happy for a while-at least until he signed his new will.

“I love you, my darling,” he said.

“Not as much as I love you,” she replied, squeezing his crotch under the table.

ED EAGLE STOOD on the first tee of one of the two golf courses at Las Campanas, a large real estate development outside Santa Fe, and read the list of his partners. The tournament was for the entertainment of the Santa Clara County, California, Bar Association, and a lawyer friend with whom he had done some business there had asked him to play. Eagle’s playing partners had been chosen by lot, and now he was looking for them on the first tee. A man approached him.

“Ed Eagle?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Joe Wilen, one of your partners for the tournament.” He extended a hand.

Eagle shook it. “Good to meet you, Joe. I was looking for you.”

“The others are over here. We’re fourth to tee off, I believe.” Wilen lead him to where two other men were seated on a bench, waiting, and made the introductions.

The foursome waited their turn, then teed off. They passed the next four and a half hours playing the game they all loved and then settled into the bar at the clubhouse and ordered drinks.

“I’ve heard about you over the years,” Joe Wilen said to Eagle.

“You’ve had some impressive wins in California; I’m glad my company wasn’t among your opponents.”

“Company? Are you not in a firm, Joe?”

“Until recently I was general counsel for an electronics company. You’re a pilot, I expect you’ve heard of it: Keeler Avionics?”

Eagle’s heart skipped a beat. “Indeed, I have a panel full of your equipment in my airplane.”

“What do you fly?” "A JetProp-that’s a Malibu that’s had the piston engine ripped off and replaced with a turbine.”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen a couple of them at my airport. I fly a King Air.”

“Fine airplane. Tell me, how did you get involved with the Keeler outfit?”

“Oh, I met Walter Keeler right out of college-on a golf course, as it happened. When he formed the company he asked me to do the legal work, and after the business grew a bit, he invited me to become general counsel. I got in almost on the ground floor, and by the time Walter sold out, I was the second largest stockholder.”