An Evil Guest (26 page)

Cassie shook her head, richly auburn curls bouncing. “I know where you came from, Wally. I figured it out the first time you took me to dinner, remember?”

“I do, and it will save a lot of explanation.”

“Well, I don’t.” Ebony still sounded breathless. “I don’t mean to piss you off, sir, but I don’t know where the holy hell you came from or how you got here.”

“From Melbourne,” Reis told her solemnly, “by hopper.”

Cassie touched his hand. “It’s your wolf, isn’t it? You had it come here.”

“Nobody really owns a wolf.” Reis smiled. “And I certainly don’t own that one. He’s his own wolf. Scott’s going to die for the same reason your friend Norma died. His death will worry you, I know.”

“Is he? I don’t think I’ll cry.”

“That’s good. Your life will be better with him out of the way.”

Reis turned to Ebony. “Scott said in your hearing that the agency he was working for had killed Cassie’s friend Norma—”

“She was my friend, too, Mr. Rosenquist. She was in your show and I liked her a lot.”

“They shot her so Cassie would know they were serious. The agency that shot her has to learn that some others are serious, too.”

“Mr. Rosenquist, sir, I don’t understand any of this about agencies. When they let me out of jail, I went to Zelda Youmans’s agency. I knew she had a hopper, and I was pretty sure she’d help me.”

“I don’t think it’s that kind of agency,” Cassie said weakly.

“A government agency.” Reis signaled a waitress by holding up his empty cup.

“Are you saying that guy Scott was working for the government?”

Reis shook his head. “He was working for the agency, and it’s part of the government. But it doesn’t actually cooperate with the other parts. Most agencies don’t. A man I know was with the State Department for a while. It did pretty much as it chose, regardless of the president’s policy. That was true even when it knew what his policy was, which it seldom did because he rarely had one. It had rivals, and cooperated with them only under duress.”

As the new waitress filled Reis’s cup, Cassie asked, “Is this the FBI?”

“No.” Reis paused to ask the waitress for Russian dressing.

When she had gone, he said, “This is one of the FBI’s competitors. You met men claiming to be Bernard Martin, an FBI agent.”

Cassie nodded. “I think the second one was really him.”

“You’re right. The first was working for that man I know who used to be with the State Department. I wanted to clear that up before you jumped to the conclusion that the first was one of Scott’s friends. He wasn’t and he isn’t. Now tell me about the bats.”

Cassie swallowed. “I’d almost forgotten them, and they scared the bejabbers out of me. Are they yours?”

“I’m trying to make them mine, if you want to put it that way. I’d like to, and I will. What did they do?”

“Knocked on my window, that’s all. My room’s on the eleventh floor, and they were standing there, eleven floors up. Can they fly?” Cassie hesitated. “Forget that. Of course they can, and I even saw one flying once. I’d just about forgotten. It was before Margaret . . .”

Reis nodded to the waitress bringing his Russian dressing. “Yes?”

“Did you do that, Wally? Kidnap Margaret like that?”

“No, but I’ve been told about it.” Reis sipped his coffee. “Let me think. You were in a cab with that man you sing with. Margaret was in your agent’s car. Isn’t that right?”

Ebony said, “So was I, Mr. Rosenquist.”

“Of course.” He was spreading Russian dressing. “I had forgotten. That was why you were in jail, Miss White. You were a witness, and you wouldn’t promise to stay in the jurisdiction. Is that right?”

“They let her go,” Cassie told him.

“They just called everything off,” Ebony said. “It was crazy, like there had never been a kidnapping.”

“They warned you to keep quiet about it,” Cassie reminded her.

“I’m not afraid of them!”

“Wally . . . ?”

He chewed and swallowed. “What is it?”

“At dinner that one time I told you I’d try to keep tabs on Gideon Chase for you.”

“You haven’t done it.”

“Because I didn’t know where he was. Or you either. I can’t tell you things when I don’t know where you are, but I’m going to tell you something now. Dr. Chase phoned me at the theater and told me that Margaret hadn’t been hurt and they’d let her go soon. He didn’t say who had her, but he seemed to know.”

“You’re worried about her. All right. I wasn’t going to get into this, but I will. If the local police acted the way Miss White here says they did, it was because they had found out that your Margaret had been taken—arrested, they’ll say, not kidnapped—by another police agency.”

Slowly, Cassie nodded.

“We can probably assume that it was a higher-ranking agency, the State Police or one higher than they are. Did Scott say anything about his friends having her?”

Cassie shook her head.

“Then they don’t. He’d have made use of her if they did. There’s another police agency involved in this, the one Bernard Martin belongs to.”

Ebony asked, “What do you mean by ‘this,’ Mr. Rosenquist?”

“The shooting of a featured actress of ours, among other things. I can’t tell you with certainty why Cassie’s dresser was arrested, but my guess is
that the people who arrested her wanted to question someone who knew a good deal about Cassie. When you want to compel somebody’s cooperation, all sorts of facts can be useful.”

Reluctantly, Cassie nodded. She was spooning up yogurt.

“A rival agency—what was it that fellow called it? Arthur Thomas Franks?”

“Franklin,” Ebony said.

“Thank you. Arthur Thomas Franklin decided to copy their approach—that’s typical of them, by the way—and enlisted Cassie’s ex-husband. Many husbands know a lot about their wives. Was Scott one of them? He didn’t seem the type.”

“You’re right,” Cassie said. “He wasn’t.”

“Having talked to him, they decided they might get what they wanted by stupid brutality and shot one of my employees. I think we can be certain they were the ones, not only because Scott admitted it but because it’s also typical of them. It’s the way they do business.”

After a glance at the potato chips that had escorted Scott’s club sandwich, Reis dismissed the plate. “Cassie, I said once that I’d send a friend who’d lead you to me. Remember that?”

She nodded.

Ebony said, “I’ve got one more question, Mr. Rosenquist. It’s part of my job.”

He brushed it aside and stood up. “Not now. I have to go.”

Cassie said, “I’ve got one, too. Why did you come?”

“I’ve got extensive business interests. A financial empire is what some fool on vid called it. Do you know how such things are run?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

“I’ll tell you, and what I’m going to tell you is worth a semester at Harvard Business School. The man at the top—me—has to spend half his time, and half his effort, finding the right people and persuading them to join him. When he finds them, he gives them the authority they need and turns them loose. You know India Dempster, and she’s a fine example of what I mean.”

Ebony said softly, “I see. . . .”

“That’s good. I wanted somebody to organize a show, choose a good cast, and stage it. I found Miss Dempster, offered her an excellent salary, and turned her loose when she accepted it. The result has been outstanding, proving she was the right person for that slot.”

Reis lowered his voice and leaned closer to Cassie. “He spends the other
half running around stamping out fires, handling the things his people can’t deal with. When some bastard shoots somebody who works for me, that’s a fire. I’ve come to stamp on it, and I will.”

She had not expected him to kiss her; but he did, crouching until she rose, bending low even when she stood. Much too soon he released her and was gone, threading his way among the tables—

Until he vanished.

Ebony was openmouthed when Cassie sat down. “Did you see that?”

“I guess I did.” The pineapple was good, and Cassie ate a piece. “I’ve heard of people disappearing into a crowd, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it done before.”

“What in the world . . . ?”

“It might not be good to talk about it. What was it you were going to ask him?”

“About this picture.” Ebony held it up.

“Whether I’m going to call those numbers? No.”

“This man you’re dancing with. I’ve seen him on vid, and there were stories about you two a while back. Isn’t that Dr. Chase?”

Cassie pretended to study the picture more closely. “I think it must be.”

“He’s got Gil’s wooden leg! And you don’t dance with Dr. Chase in the show. You dance with Gil.”

“That’s right, I do.” Cassie decided on the honeydew melon. “What’s Gil’s last name anyway? I’ve forgotten.”

“Corby. He’s Gilbert Corby.”

“Thanks. How does anybody take a picture, Ebony? You have them talk, snap your camera, and stick the wire into your computer. It prints your picture out for you if you want a print like this, or stores it if you don’t. I couldn’t play around with a picture in a computer if my life depended on it, but there are people who can make a computer do anything they want it to. Dr. Chase has been photographed a lot, so putting his face on Gil ought to be pretty easy.”

Ebony nodded. “I guess so.”

“Now put that away and tell me all the stuff I ought to know if I’m ever sent to jail.”

The curtain rose for the final time with Tabbi Merce as Jane Brownlea. Gil Corby stumped over to stand in the wings next to Cassie. “She’s great, isn’t she? Pure gold!”

Cassie could only murmur, “I wish we had Norma back.”

Later, he said, “Hear that applause? That’s box-office gold.”

And still later, while they danced, he whispered, “I think the spot’s the wrong color. They say that in the South Pacific, the moon is gold.”

“Come by my dressing room,” Cassie replied. “I need to talk to you.”

H
E
knocked, and she rose and let him in. “I bought a new camera,” she said. “My old one’s back home, and it’s not as fancy as the new ones anyway.
This could even be too fancy, come to think of it. Will you help me figure it out?”

The camera was on her dressing table. She sat, and bent over it. “The little book says to press this in and twist this, then select the mode. How do you select?”

“Ebony showed me the picture,” he said.

She glanced up at the mirror, and saw Gideon Chase standing behind her. When she turned in her chair, Gil Corby stood there.

“I had to hide.” He sounded hopeless. “Surely you understand, Cassie. They were trying to kill me.”

“You could have told me.”

“You’re right.” He sat down. “I could have, and increased my risk enormously. It would have been of the greatest benefit to you.”

“It would have shown you trusted me.”

“It would. But if we were overheard, or a telephone you thought was safe wasn’t, I would have died. Besides, I thought it might be Reis, and I’ve learned that he can walk unseen. You know about that. Ebony told me when she showed me the picture.”

“Oh, my gosh! Is she blabbing it around?”

“I hope not. I warned her it might be fatal, but she said she’d already told India.”

“India won’t talk.” Cassie relaxed. “Do you know how he does it?”

“In general, yes. He does it in much the same way I changed my appearance. What I did is called a glamour in English. Sir Walter Scott defined it as well as anyone ever has, calling it ‘the power of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators so that the appearance of an object shall be totally different from the reality.’ If you’re asking whether I can do it myself, I can’t. Not presently.”

“But you could learn?”

“Perhaps. If I tried for a year or two, I could probably master it. As it is—well, I haven’t had to evade arrest as much as Reis has.”

Gideon waited for Cassie to speak. When she did not, he said, “Have I answered your questions? About this matter, I mean.”

She shook her head. “It’s just that I don’t know what questions to ask.”

“Then let me say this, although what Reis does is akin to a glamour, it isn’t actually the same thing. It’s much like a glamour in that the change is wholly in perception. There is no change in reality. If Reis were somehow to become perfectly translucent, he would cast no shadow. He would also be blind, although that’s another matter. If I were to cast a glamour on that window
so that it appeared to be a featureless section of wall, it would still admit light. Reis still casts a shadow. Is that clear?”

“It’s an illusion,” Cassie said. “I used to know an illusionist. He was a fun guy, and I let him saw me in half one night when his assistant didn’t show up.”

“Exactly. Real magic isn’t stage magic, and stage magic isn’t real magic. Or at least, not often. But they have a lot in common.”

“Is he good? I mean Wally? Is he a good magician? What do you think?”

“I don’t know. All right if I wash my face at your bowl?”

“Makeup? I thought you’d taken that off already.”

Gil shook his head. “The glamour. You suspected me as soon as you saw rain on my face. Remember? Washing’s one of the best ways of breaking the spell. That may be the origin of baptism—another thing I don’t know, though I’d like to. Washing, striking the face with a hazel wand, striking with cold iron, and so on. Just crossing running water will do it sometimes. Wouldn’t you rather I were Gideon Chase?”