“Of course you did.” Now I knew why she was so happy to hear from me.

“And I have to tell you, Victor,” she said, flashing again that bright smile, putting her warm hand atop mine. “I’m very glad you called. I have a feeling this is going to be wonderful.”

It wasn’t long after we left the restaurant that I felt her warm touch on my neck, my collar, before I felt her loosening my tie.

“First we have to get rid of this monstrosity,” she said as she undid the knot. When the tie was off my neck, she held it at arm’s length with two fingers, as if holding the tail end of a dead possum, before dropping it into a trash can behind the department store’s tie counter. “Then we’ll find something that better suits your colors.”

We had walked a few blocks north to Strawbridge’s department store, where Carol had led me straight to men’s accessories. With a calculating eye, she examined the silk ties arrayed beneath the glass. “May we see that one?” she said to the clerk, pointing at a wide, pale blue paisley. “And that one, too?” she said, indicating something yellow.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I sort of like my ties thinner.”

“With those lapels?”

“And it’s not really my-”

“Just try it, Victor. You won’t believe what a difference the right tie can make, even to a boring plain blue suit like yours.”

I ended up with the yellow one around my neck.

“Nice,” she said as she backed away. “Very becoming.”

Becoming what? I wondered. Really, now, a yellow tie. I was neither an investment banker nor an interior designer, and yellow does nothing to hide the inevitable gravy stains. Yet I had let her knot a yellow silk tie around my neck. Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I liked the feel of her warm hands around my throat, I liked the way she bit her lower lip as she groomed me, I liked the mint smell of her sweet breath as she leaned in close to be sure the tie lay cleanly beneath my collar. And the damn thing actually didn’t look half bad with my suit. It did make me look different, sharper. When I examined my new look in the mirror, I had the sudden urge to say “debenture” and “taupe.”

“Now,” she said, “about that watch. Timex, Victor? Really, now.”

We were leaning over the watches, ogling the Movados, when I said, “Wait here one moment. I’ve been looking for a new wallet, and there was one that caught my eye.”

I delayed my move until the salesclerk was showing Carol something ridiculously slim and ridiculously expensive. Then I slid over to the tie counter to rescue my thin red strip of polyester from the discarded wrappings and receipts in the trash can.

“Sorry, old friend,” I said as I rolled it up and gently placed it in my inside jacket pocket.

31

“You look different today somehow, Victor,” said Velma Takahashi when she entered my office after I purposely made her wait in front of my secretary’s desk for a number of minutes. “Much more forceful. Did you get a haircut?”

“No,” I said.

“A facial?”

“No.”

“But you’re positively glowing.” Her puffy lips twisted into a smile as she sat before my desk. “Maybe it’s like that commercial. Have you had your Viagra prescription filled, is that it?”

“No prescription, I’m still au naturel, but thank you for the compliment.” I brushed flat my new yellow tie. “Can we maybe get down to business?”

“I brought your retainer. Your second retainer.” She leaned forward to hand me something. It was all I could do to tear my gaze from her suddenly exposed, perfectly synthetic breasts to the envelope she was holding out for me.

“Excellent,” I said. And I was pretty pleased with the check, too.

Velma was dressed for tennis, a low-cut white blouse, a short pleated skirt, peds barely exposed above her sneakers, with delicious little navy-blue balls at the heels waiting to be plucked like ripe blueberries on the bush. I’m no fan of tennis, I would rather watch a rotisserie infomercial than tennis on TV, and yet, with Velma in my office, in that outfit, I suddenly began to appreciate the sport’s finer points.

“You play much?” I said idly as I opened the envelope and examined the check.

“Oh, yes,” she said.

“Tennis, I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I notice, Mrs. Takahashi, that there is no address on this check. Is this a new account?”

“It will clear, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. I’m just wondering when you’re going to tell your husband that you are financing François Dubé’s defense with his money.”

“The terms of our marriage are not your concern. But have no doubt that my husband is getting good value for his money.”

“My rates are rather reasonable, aren’t they?”

She almost smiled and then thought better of it. “If that’s everything?” she said. “I have an appointment.”

“No, not quite everything. I’m a little curious about a few matters. Where did François meet his wife?”

“Somewhere, I suppose.”

“He said a bar.”

“Then a bar it was.”

“Were you there?”

“Maybe.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“It was at a bar. I was with Leesa. François showed up. The owner introduced the two of us to him. What else do you want?”

“What bar?”

“The upstairs bar at Marrakech.”

“And it was Geoffrey Sunshine who introduced you?”

“That’s right.”

“Who did François go home with that night?”

“Is this important?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because the fun is over, Mrs. Takahashi. I’m now responsible for a man’s life. The prime reason François went down the first time was that there were no other suspects to Leesa’s murder. I need to find one.”

“And since I’m sitting here in front of you, I’m convenient, is that it?”

“Yes, that’s pretty much it. Why are you paying for François’s defense?”

“I told you that already. It has to do with my friendship with Leesa.”

“And I didn’t believe you the first time you told me. Who did François go home with that first night? You?”

“Yes.”

“Was Leesa upset?”

“No.”

“She didn’t feel left out?”

“She wasn’t.”

I cocked my head, Velma Takahashi laughed. It took me perhaps a moment too long to figure it out. François Dubé, that little devil.

“Is that all?” she said, arching one plucked brow.

“So how did lucky Leesa end up with him?”

“She fell in love, that was how. Victor, you have to understand, we weren’t your usual sit-at-the-bar-and-hope-someone-notices-us type of girls. We were buccaneers when we were out together, in search of fun and profit. When we liked something, we went after it. When we both liked it, we shared. None of our victims complained, as far as I remember. And in the end, like good buccaneers, we divvied up what goods we plundered. Most of the men we tossed overboard, but François had certain talents, which Leesa found attractive. He never had enough money to suit my tastes, so I let her have him. At the time I was already being wooed by my husband.”

“Did he know you were three-waying with François while he was courting you?”

“He knew what he was getting, and he couldn’t wait.”

“And François didn’t mind you two women deciding his future?”

“He didn’t have much choice, did he? But he was the fool who decided to get married. He told Leesa he wanted to save her from my bad influence. We laughed over that one, Leesa and I, but he did everything he could to separate us. And finally, after they married, he succeeded.”

“So that’s why you don’t like him much.”

“That’s right.”

“But it still doesn’t explain why you put flowers on her grave every week.”

“I need to go,” she said, standing, pulling down the hem of her tennis blouse.

“Why do you feel guilty about Leesa Dubé’s death, Mrs. Takahashi?”

“You’ll let me know when you need more money.”