“What are you drinking?” Cupie asked as a waiter appeared.

“Absolut martini, two olives, very cold,” Bender replied.

“A Diet Coke for me,” Cupie said. The waiter departed.

“You on the wagon, Cupie?” Bender asked.

“Nope, it’s just that if I drink at lunch, I fall asleep in the afternoon. The golden years will come to you, too, Jeff.”

“What are you up to these days?”

“I’m a busy bee, I am,” Cupie replied. “I guess word must be getting around about what an ace P.I. I am.”

“What sort of stuff you working on?”

“Oh, a widow who’s been a bad girl; a husband who may have been a bad boy. That sort of thing.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d be interested in the domestic stuff,” Bender said.

“Listen, I’m not kicking down doors and snapping Polaroids, kid; this is very important, big-money stuff.”

Bender seemed to prick up his ears. “How much money we talking about?”

“Oh, a billion here, a billion there.”

Their drinks arrived, and they raised their glasses and sipped.

“Tell me,” Bender said, “would one or more of these billions relate to somebody at Centurion?”

Cupie grinned. “You’re way ahead of me, Jeff.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were springing for Spago because you like a pretty face at your table.”

“I suppose you already know the name of the gentleman.”

“It wouldn’t be one Donald Wells, movie producer and recent widower, would it?”

“The name has a familiar ring,” Cupie said. “Seems there was something about the gent in the papers the last few days.”

“Oh, it’s big news and drawing attention from various places.”

“What sort of places?”

“Santa Fe, of course, since that’s where it all went down.”

“Who in Santa Fe?”

“A detective specializing in homicides.”

Cupie flagged down a waiter and ordered another round.

“Why, Cupie, I think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Come on, Jeff, a second martini never made you blink.”

“I’m not resisting,” Bender said, as the second drink arrived.

“What would the name of this detective be?” Cupie asked.

“Alex Reese.”

“And what was he looking for?”

“Detective Reese is a very smart fellow,” Bender said. He told Cupie about how Reese had combed the credits of Wells’s movies for suspects.

“And who at Centurion did he find?”

“Two very likely candidates, I should think.”

“Tell me about them.”

“Two staff stuntmen, who double, in one case, as a wrangler and stable hand, and in the other, as a mechanic in our motor pool.”

“Names?”

“Jack Cato and Grif Edwards, respectively.”

“You know them?”

“I know Cato, and I’ve met Edwards.”

“You think they’re the kind of guys who would kill for money?”

“I think Edwards would kill for money,” Bender said. “I think Cato would kill for money, then blackmail the guy who paid him to do it. He’s the smarter of the two and the leader.”

“And Reese is now a dog with a bone.”

“You bet your ass he is. I’d give you odds that right now he’s checking the guest list at the Parador Hotel in Tijuana, which is where these two boys claimed to have been on the relevant dates. It seems they’re aficionados of the bullfight, though they couldn’t come up with any of the names of the toreros in question on the dates in question. Also, Edwards lied about how well he knew Wells, and Cato lied about when they left for Tijuana. I’ll bet Reeves is checking airline reservations between L.A. and Santa Fe, too.”

“Are these guys smart enough to get away with it?”

“Cato may be; Edwards certainly isn’t. In fact, I think that if this cop gets much closer to them, Edwards could meet with a fatal accident.”

“Courtesy of Cato.”

“If the boy has the balls to kill one of America’s richest women, do you think he’d hesitate to cap Edwards, if he began to think he was a liability?”

“What about Don Wells?” Cupie asked.

“What about him?”

“Does he have the balls to cap Cato, in similar circumstances?”

“Well, now, that’s a very interesting question,” Bender said. “You know, all sorts of people are smart enough or crazy enough to hire somebody to remove a wealthy spouse from the scene, but could Wells point a gun at Cato and pull the trigger? I don’t know. I really don’t.”

AFTER HE HAD poured Jeff Bender into his car, Cupie sat in his own vehicle and got out his cell phone.

“Ed Eagle.”

“It’s Cupie. The superintendent in Barbara’s building says she left for Los Angeles this morning. She told the doorman she’d be away for a few days.”

“Good to know. Let me know when she goes home. How did your meeting with the security guy go?”

“It went very well indeed; you’ll get the bill from Spago. Sorry about that, but Bender has expensive tastes when somebody else is buying.”

“Tell me it was worth the money.”

“I believe it was. It seems that a cop from Santa Fe named Reese has questioned two studio stuntmen at Centurion; names Jack Cato and Grif-with-a-G Edwards.”

“And?”

“Bender thinks they look good for it. They claim to have been in Tijuana when the killings took place, but he thinks Reese might punch holes in that.”

“That’s very interesting to know, Cupie.”

“A strong hint that Bender is right could come if Grif Edwards meets with an unfortunate accident. He sort of predicted that. Cato is the smart one, and Edwards is not.” He explained about the lies Reese had caught them in.

“Cupie, you can take anybody to Spago on my dime, anytime you think it’s useful,” Eagle said.

“You want me to pursue any of this further?”

“Not at the moment, but let me know if anything happens to Edwards.”

“You betcha.”

31

ED EAGLE AND Susannah Wilde sat at their table at Santa Café and waited for Joe Wilen and his wife to arrive. “I told you about helping him find a house, didn’t I?” Eagle asked.

“Yes, you did and about closing the sale, too.”

“They’re back to move in, I think,” Eagle said. He looked up and saw them walk into the dining room. “Here they are.”

“Hello, Ed. I’d like you to meet my wife, Sandi. Sandi, this is Ed Eagle and…”

“Susannah Wilde,” she said.

The couple sat down.

“Good flight in?” Eagle asked.

“Yes, and the return trip will be my last in the King Air. I’ve sold it to an old friend.”

“You must’ve bought something else,” Eagle said.

"I bought Walter Keeler’s CitationJet Three; I start training in it for my type rating next week.”

“That will make the trips from the coast to Santa Fe quicker.”

“I’m pleased about it, too,” Sandi said. “I never liked the idea of propellers; I was always afraid that one would fall off. Or both.”

They ordered drinks and dinner.

“By the way, Ed,” Wilen said, “I can answer that question you asked me last time we spoke.”

“What question was that?”

“The answer is yes, Walter did read your letter before signing his will, and as a result, his wife’s inheritance was sharply limited. She gets a monthly stipend and the use of an apartment, and that’s it.”

“And how did she take the news?” Eagle asked.

“Not well. I had the pleasure of delivering it personally.”

“Joe, I hope you got the message in my letter to Walter, that she is dangerous when crossed.”

“Oh, at my suggestion, Walter included a clause cutting off her payments and evicting her if she is convicted of criminal activity, so I don’t think she’ll be out to get me.”

“That was a smart move. Did you explain that to her, as well?”

“You bet I did and in no uncertain terms. I’m glad to see the back of that woman.”

“I hope you have.”

“Does she know about my letter?”

“Oh, yes. I showed her a copy when I delivered the news, so she knows that you were the cause of her downfall from billionairess to pensioner.”