An Evil Guest (18 page)

“No, Miss Casey.”

“Body powder, Margaret. More body powder.” The skirt of faux grass hung low on Cassie’s hips, and as she studied it in the long mirror she found herself recalling something Margaret had told her while taking measurements. It left—how much? Ten inches of bare waist, Cassie decided. She turned to get a side view.

Onstage once more, she pulled Donny Duke out of the line of prancing sailors; they danced a wholly unrehearsed hornpipe to the deafening approval of the audience.

T
WO
days later, Margaret asked, “Were you expecting company, Miss Casey?”

“No, but company might be welcome.” Cassie was still radiant from her final bows. “Who is it?”

“He wouldn’t give his name, Miss Casey. He wouldn’t get out of your dressing room, either.”

Smiling, Cassie threw open the door; the man inside was a stranger, much taller than Gideon Chase.

He rose and took what appeared to be a black leather wallet from a pocket of his ash-striped gray suit coat. Flipped open, it revealed a gilt badge and a photo ID.

Striving to hide her disappointment, Cassie sat down. “Good evening, Agent Martin. Did you enjoy the show?”

“What I saw of it, yes.”

“That’s good. Well, you’ve caught me. What is it you want?”

“To speak to you in private.” The tall man glanced at Margaret.

“I have no secrets from my dresser, Agent Martin.”

“Maybe not, but I do. Let me make my position clear, Cassie.” He sat again. “I haven’t caught you in the sense of wanting to arrest you. I don’t. Just the same, I’ll arrest you if you make me. We need to speak privately. I can do that by putting the cuffs on you and taking you down to my car. After that we’ll drive to some nice quiet spot, and after that we’ll see.”

Something savage had crept into the tall man’s face. He reached behind him; and his hand emerged with a pair of handcuffs, still shiny but not quite new. “Here—or the quiet spot. Which is it?”

Cassie motioned for Margaret to leave, and Margaret did.

“Thanks.” The tall man was replacing his handcuffs.

“I could sue you for false arrest,” she told him, “and if you arrest me, I’ll do it.”

“You could sue the federal government, Cassie.” His grin was almost a snarl. “Not me. It’s your right as a citizen—if they let you—and I wouldn’t deprive you of it.”

“But it doesn’t worry you, Marty?”

“Hardly. The Department of Justice has billions of dollars and a thousand lawyers, including me. Let me get to the point.”

“I wish you would.”

“You’re on good terms with a college professor from Rhode Island, a Ph.D. named Gideon Chase. That’s public knowledge. Do you know where he is now?”

Cassie shook her head. “I wish I did.”

“I hope you’re telling the truth, Cassie. There’s a law against obstructing an investigation. Did you know that? Most people don’t, but you can be sent to prison. Want to try again?”

“If I knew where he was, I don’t think I’d tell you,” Cassie said, “but I don’t.” The telephone rang, and she added, “All right if I get that?”

The tall man nodded, and she picked up the handset and said hello.

“This is Gid. Can you talk?”

Cassie looked annoyed. “Not now, Norma. I’m busy. I’ll meet you for a drink later if I can, but I may not make it. Don’t wait for me.”

“Our friend is back in the U.S. I think you’ll be seeing him soon.” There was a click as Gideon hung up.

“Don’t worry about that—it’ll be all right. See you later.” Cassie hung up, too.

“I won’t keep you,” the tall man said. “We can get through this in two or three minutes. What do you know about William Reis?”

“I’ve heard of him.” Cassie looked thoughtful, and felt the same way. “Very, very rich. He used to be our ambassador to that planet. The one that’s got people on it.”

“Woldercan.”

“Right. Wasn’t he the ambassador there for a while? Other than that . . .” She shrugged. “He’s a big financier and knows politicians.”

“He’s a master criminal,” the tall man told her. “His legitimate businesses—and you’re right, he’s got a lot of businesses, construction, shipping, and God only knows what else. He has those businesses to launder his money. We want to get him, and now we think we’ve finally got enough evidence to put him away for life. It’s taken us years to collect it.”

“I wish I could help you.”

“I wish you could, too, Cassie. Did you know he’s trying to kill your friend Professor Chase?”

Cassie’s mouth opened, and closed again without a sound. At last she said, “I knew somebody tried. They shot him and he called the police and reported it. He wasn’t there when they came, though. Sharon Bench told me, and I saw it on the news later. Most people seem to think he’s dead.”

“But you don’t.”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t.”

“Why not?”

Suddenly she smiled. “Because they tried to kill him and screwed it up, Marty. He got away, and he was still alive and safe enough to make that phone call. Have you ever met him? Met Gideon Chase?”

“Not yet. I’d like to.”

“He pulls rabbits out of hats. Sometimes I like him and sometimes I want to strangle him, but he wouldn’t be easy to kill.”

“He’s not easy to find, either, Cassie. I know it because I’ve been trying to find him. Either the man who tried to kill him was working for William Reis, or it was William Reis himself. If it wasn’t Reis, we think it was one of his top aides. Dr. Chase’s testimony could be helpful in both cases.”

“You said you had enough on this William Reis to get a conviction, Marty. Why don’t you arrest him?”

“Two reasons.” The tall man cleared his throat. “I’m going to open up for you and give them both. The first is that there’s no such thing as too much evidence in a case like this. Reis is as slick as they come and rich enough to hire the top legal talent in the country.” The tall man hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t have started talking about this, Cassie. I don’t want to scare you.”

“I’m not scared.” She grinned to prove it. “What’s the second reason?”

“We can’t find him. He’s seen here and he’s spotted there, but when we get there he’s gone. We’d love to pick him up and sweat him, but thus far we haven’t been able to do it.”

“You can’t find Gid either.” Cassie switched on a small black fan, wishing she could take off her costume instead. “Maybe they’re together.”

“Chase and Reis? I doubt it. Reis is seen all over, as I said. Chase isn’t seen at all.”

“You want me to tell you if I see him.”

“Exactly. Where you saw him and where you think he might be going. I’ll be out of the office pretty steadily this week and next, so I’ll give you my cell phone number.” The tall man scribbled on the back of a business card and handed it to her.

By the time she had found her purse, Margaret had returned. “Miss Dempster’s auditioning understudies for Mr. Heeny.”

“At this hour?” Cassie cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes, Miss Casey. She and Mr. Pfeiffer. I thought you might want to watch.”

“I do. I’ll be there as soon as I get into my street clothes. What about you?”

Margaret nodded.

The last set was still in place on the darkened stage. Before it a young man bobbed and spun to the music of Jules Pfeiffer’s Hyper-Deeper iPod.

Cassie took the seat next to India’s. “Understudies?”

India nodded and said firmly, “Understudies.”

“In case something happens to Dean?”

India nodded again. “Right.”

“Like he might get fired? Something like that?”

“Holy snot, Wanton Woman!” Cramped in the narrow theater seat, India turned enough to face Cassie. “I hadn’t thought of that. But yeah, he might. Like, the first time Wally sees him onstage. Even sooner than that. Could be. You never know.”

“Would it help to see them dancing with me?”

“It might.” India turned to Ebony. “Go ask Pfeiffer. Tell him Cassie’ll dance with them so he can see it.”

When it was over, India said, “You must be ready for a teddy, but if you’d like a drink, I’m buying.”

“No drink, I’m swearing off. What I’d really like is some hot tea.”

“Yeah.” India licked her lips. “You know, I could go for coffee and a cheeseburger.”

Ebony said, “There’s a little place down the street that’s open all night.”

It was all white save for polychrome plastic stools, and self-consciously old-fashioned. “Pfeiffer didn’t like any of them,” Ebony said as they found places around a small white table.

“We know.” India sounded gloomy.

“Well, what about you? What about Cassie?”

The counterman said, “What about four Doubleburgers?”

Cassie and Margaret asked for hot tea, India a Giant Doubleburger and coffee, and Ebony a grilled cheese on whole wheat with bacon and a glass of milk.

“I’m swearing off grilled cheese sandwiches, too,” Cassie announced. “I just decided. No more grilled cheese. Nothing but cooked veggies, raw veggies, bottled water, and maybe a little fruit.”

“You look great,” India told her. “Tired, sure. But great otherwise.”

“No more ice cream.” Cassie sounded pensive. “Hit me over the head, Margaret, anytime I look like I might order ice cream.”

“You’re not fat, Miss Casey.”

“If I get any fatter that grass skirt’s going to slide down to my knees. Live and onstage.”

India muttered, “We should all be that fat. You can’t go much over a hundred pounds.”

“I don’t know. I’m afraid to get on a scale. I kind of liked the blond one.”

India shook her head.

Ebony said, “The thing is, Cassie—India explained it to me. We need somebody who will make you look as good as possible. That doesn’t mean somebody who’s as good as you are, which we couldn’t get anyway. It means somebody who’s pretty good, but in a mix-and-match way. You’re female. Very, very female, but in an energetic sort of hoydenish tomboy style. He ought to be a supercharged bad boy, and very male. Isn’t that right, India?”

“Exactly. That kind of a tenor, who can act a little and dance a little, too. The blond guy you liked was a scarecrow. A good scarecrow but a scarecrow, and that’s not what we need. Dean’s just bad. Male, but a second-rate tenor and a third-rate dancer. Donny Duke can dance the paper off the wall, but he’s not male and he can’t sing for shit.”

“So what are you going to do?” Cassie asked.

“Keep looking. That’s all I can do. I’ve buzzed all the agencies.” India heaved a sigh that bid fair to blow the chrome napkin-holder off the table. “If it gets any worse, I’ll put an ad in the paper.”

As he set her coffee in front of her, the counterman said, “There was a guy in here earlier. I bet he could do it.”

“Send him over,” India told him. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Ebony tittered, and pretended she had not when India glared at her.

A stocky man in a Delft sack suit was chatting with the desk clerk when Cassie got to her hotel. He followed her to the elevator and flipped open a badge case as soon as the doors had closed. “I talked to you on the phone, ma’am. Remember? I’m Agent Martin of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“The show won’t start for another hour, Miss Casey.”

“You’re here.” Cassie was staring out the dressing room’s small and dirty window.

“I always come to the theater early, Miss Casey, to make sure everything’s all right before you put it on.”

“That’s good.”

“What’s troubling you, Miss Casey?”

Cassie pointed. “See that phone? I’m waiting for it to ring.”

“Really, Miss Casey?”

“Yes, Margaret. Really.” Cassie took a deep breath. “Margaret, I’m going to tell you something that I’m not going to tell India. I left a note for her, and I left a note for what’s his name? The stage manager?”

“Mickey, Miss Casey. Mickey Urbani.”

“I left a note for him to send India in here as soon as she came in.
Remember the man in the gray suit? He was waiting in my dressing room last night.”

“Yes, I do, Miss Casey.”

“This phone rang while he was in here. I didn’t want to spill the beans, so I pretended it was Norma Peiper. It was really Gideon Chase. This is confidential, Margaret. Don’t repeat it to anybody.”

Margaret was opening her sewing kit. “I understand, Miss Casey. I won’t.”

“So he’s still alive, and I want—I want to see him again.”

“Yes, Miss Casey.”

“I want to help him if I can, even though I don’t know what I can do. I’ve been waiting for him to call.” Cassie paused. “I just thought of something, Margaret.”

Margaret nodded while biting a thread.

“How did he get the number? They have directories for these old-fashioned land lines, but I doubt that this one’s in there. The only number for this theater is probably the box office.”

“I can look, Miss Casey.”

“Do that, whenever you have time. Well, anyway, I’m going to tell India about the tall man in the gray suit and another man. You’ll probably hear all that, but I’m not going to tell her about Dr. Chase.”

Later, onstage, Aunt Jane sang.

“And how I love his boiling lava
Steaming like a cup of java.
His passionate voice, his skin like guava . . .”

Cassie, standing in the wings beside Vincent Palma, whispered, “Where the heck is India?”