"I have a girlfriend," Teddy said with a shy grin.

"No kidding, that's wonderful. Who's the lucky girl?"

"She's a nurse," Teddy said proudly.

"A nurse, she's a nurse?" Mona cried. "What kind of a nurse?"

"Operating room. Isn't that cool?"

Mona's attention wandered over to the accountant.

"Ira, sweetheart. Hello." She clicked her tongue. "Terrible thing, isn't this?" Instead of embracing him, she made a little face. "Oh, don't be mad. I have no intention of butting in, I promise. I was just going to the ladies'. How do you like the little spread I put out? That's whitefish salad, right there. Your favorite, Teddy. Ira, could I have just a word with you?"

"Of course, Mona."

Then she registered Charles Schwab sitting at the table very busily tapping on his laptop, totally ignoring her. "Oh my goodness, Mr. Schwab. I didn't know you were here."

He glanced up at the sound of his name. She gave him a big smile as if they were old friends. No one could say he didn't have manners. Charlie jumped to his feet, wondering what it would take to turn her. "Miss Whitman, how's that ankle of yours?" he said cheerfully.

"Still aching something terrible. What happened to you?" She raised her hand and came closer to touch the bruise on his forehead.

"A little tennis mishap. It's nothing."

"You play tennis, too? You're amazing. Did Ira tell you about our problem?"

Ira frowned furiously at her. "Thank you for the food, Mona. No, we haven't gotten that far yet."

Charlie divided his attention between them. And what was the story there?

"Oh, well, sorry to interrupt. Is there anything else I can do for you?" She smiled brightly.

Charlie held up his hand. "Light," he said.

"What?"

"We need some light."

"Oh." She put a hand to her mouth like a little girl who'd made a big mistake. "Oops. Of course you do. I'll take care of it right away."

But she didn't. Charlie returned to his laptop, and Teddy squirmed in his chair during the short hiatus while Mona had a private conversation with Ira. Finally Ira returned to the banquet table, and Mona went into the ladies'.

"Are you sure you won't have some coffee?" he offered a second time.

In such situations, Charlie was always reminded of a colleague of his who'd gotten very sick from rat poison served in a cappuccino during an audit. "Yes, but thanks anyway," he said.

"Well, then, we can get right to it. Here's our situation. I want to alert you to a personal tragedy. Mitchell Sales had a stroke over the weekend. He's in extremely serious condition in intensive care, and we're concerned that he won't make it."

Charlie was digesting this information when the distracting sound of a flushing toilet came from behind the door markedLADIES. "That's a real shame," he replied. They were back on the stroke. He lifted one shoulder in what he thought was a sympathetic shrug.

Ira took it the wrong way. "Now don't get me wrong," he said belligerently. "We're perfectly prepared to go through with the audit right now. This is for your convenience only."

"I don't see how it changes the situation," Charlie replied blandly.

"Of course, you know perfectly well in a private company it would make all the difference," Ira argued.

Charlie shrugged with both shoulders. "I don't see how. Any adjustment that we might ask for would have to be complied with in any case."

"Oh for God's sake, Charlie, my man, the company CEO is dangerously ill."

"You weren't expecting him to participate at this point, were you?" Charlie stuck to his guns. He wasn't anybody's man.

"Well, no, but his illness-"

"You told me Mr. Sales had no intention of being present."

"True, but-"

Mona emerged from the bathroom and made a cute little face of contrition for interrupting again. "I'll just see about those lights for you." Now her jacket was unbuttoned. The little white thing underneath revealed her tiny waist. Charlie's eyes followed her as she walked away. He knew designer dresses when he saw them and wondered what the story was here.

"Look," Ira said. "I'd like a postponement for a few weeks. Is that an unreasonable request?"

Charlie sat back in his metal folding chair and pulled on his ear. From the moment the stroke had returned to the table, he had decided that an official delay was an excellent idea. It would give him time to do some background checking on the wine distribution business in general, and Sales's operations in particular. He wanted to check out the Sales house, talk some more with the wife, find out what the story was there. But he let Ira pompously argue his position. He always enjoyed hearing the arguments of the clearly guilty before giving them something that might lead them to think they had him in their pocket; they'd won the first battle.

CHAPTER 29

CHARLIE SCHWAB CAME OUT INTO THE SUNSHINE and plopped his hat on his head. The w arehouse was climate controlled to the temperature of an estate cave, Teddy had told him when he was leaving. That was the reason it was so cold. Outside, he paused while his skin warmed up and his eyes adjusted to the light.

"I don't know what's wrong with this thing," Mona complained. She was click, click, clicking that fancy key door opener and not getting the response she wanted from the Jaguar.

Schwab saw her in the parking lot and waved. She stepped away from the car feigning surprise to see him. "Mr. Schwab, are you finished already?"

"Not even begun," he said.

"Oh?"

"There's been a postponement." He smiled.

"Wow, you're amazing!" She took the two steps to where he'd paused by the row of short fir trees with dwarf conifers between them that separated the building space from the parking lot, grabbed his hand, and shook it warmly. "That's very handsome of you."

Then she blushed for using the word "handsome." She'd meant that he himself, not just the gesture, was handsome, and wanted to make sure that that was how he'd understood it.

"No, not at all," he said smoothly.

"I know this will mean a lot to Mitch. The stroke has really knocked him for a loop."

"I can imagine." Schwab was neutral.

"You know, I'm glad you're here, because I wanted to clarify things with you. When we talked yesterday, I had no idea Mitch was really-that he really-" Mona stopped and lifted a crumpled handkerchief to her eyes. "I just wanted to set the record straight," she said, dabbing her eyes.

"What do you mean?" Schwab tilted his head to one side.

"I'm sorry." She flapped her hands delicately as if to rid herself of these embarrassing rushes of feeling. "I'm just all alone with all this. Isn't it funny I had no idea about the stroke when we met yesterday? I didn't find out about it until last night. I was-flabbergasted-to say the least." She shook her head. When he made no remark, she explained further.

"What I mean is, Cassie is like that boy who cries wolf, you know? She lies so much that no one believes her. Yesterday morning she told you Mitch had had a stroke, but she didn't tell the rest of us. Here at the warehouse we didn't know a thing about it. Isn't that awful?"

Schwab did not comment.

"She just has no idea how to manage anything."

"I understand."

"And she doesn't want you to know about her, of course." Mona tossed her head. "And then I kept thinking and thinking about you. It was so strange. It was like destiny when we met like that… What were you doing at Cassie's house, anyway?"

"Just looking around." Schwab shrugged.

"That's so thorough. Do all IRS agents do that?" Mona gave him an interested look, but he didn't help her out.

"Do what?" He tilted his head to one side again, his attitude watchful.

"You said you were looking around. What are you looking for?" Her wide, lovely eyes were frankly curious. She was giving him her full range of expression, but he wasn't responding. She found him heavy going.