“What are you doing?” she asked a few moments later as she stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was smoothed, face washed and teeth brushed. I wondered if she used my toothbrush. It wouldn’t have bothered me if she did. A germaphobe I ain’t.
I looked down at the yarn and needles in my lap. “Knitting.”
“You knit?” She seemed shocked.
“Yes.” I held up the scarf I was working on. It was a lovely café-au-lait baby alpaca. I have to admit, I’m a bit of a yarn snob. Only the best will do.
Veronica reached out and touched the scarf, fondling the fibers. It was a definite turn-on.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, and pointed to the curving rows that ran through it. “What are these things called?”
“Cables,” I answered. “They thicken the fabric, and I like the way they look.”
“You told me you’re working in Florida. Why are you knitting a wool scarf?”
“I’ve got a trip coming up.”
I wondered why she didn’t press me for more information. Maybe she wasn’t that curious when it came to me.
“I think it’s cool that you knit,” she said with a lopsided smile. Damn, it looked good on her.
“Thanks. It’s kind of my form of meditation.”
“Like yoga?”
“No, more like Buddhism.” That was true. I found working with yarn and needles very soothing. It gave me something to do while I thought about whatever I wanted to think about. Knitting was something of a Bombay family tradition, although to the best of my knowledge I was the only man who did it. That didn’t bother me.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back to my room,” Veronica said abruptly.
I nodded. “I’ll walk you there.”
“You don’t have to. I may have forgotten last night, but I know where it is now.”
“I insist. Besides, I want my bathrobe back.”
She cocked her head to one side. “I was just going to put on my dress from last night.”
“Then everyone from your conference who sees you will know what you were up to last night. At least in a robe, they might figure you’ve just been for a morning swim.”
A look of fear spread across her face. She nodded and I picked up my keys and led her to the door.
I started laughing exactly one minute and thirty-four seconds later.
“What?” she asked as she reddened.
“Come on! You are two doors down from me. And you couldn’t remember that?” I chuckled and followed her into her room.
“I had a lot to drink,” she said, not a little defensively.
As I wandered around her room, Veronica grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and disappeared into the bathroom.
She was a slob. Not in a bad way, just kind of messy. There were no half-empty pizza boxes, but papers and files were strewn haphazardly about the room. The phone rang and I jumped, knocking over a stack of papers.
Damn. I knelt down and began picking them up. I couldn’t help but notice that this wasn’t research for her anthropological thesis.
“What happened?” Veronica knelt beside me and I could smell soap and shampoo. Lavender. Very nice. She must have taken the world’s fastest shower.
“Sorry.” I indicated the papers. “Your phone rang and I inadvertently knocked this stuff over.”
She grinned. “You? Clumsy? That’s outstanding.”
“Enjoy it. You won’t likely see it again.”
Veronica laughed, and even though it was at my expense, I liked it.
“So what is all this?” I held up a piece of paper with forensic information on it.
“Oh, um, just a pet project. It’s nothing.” She grabbed for the paper and started shoving as much as she could into the folder.
I pointed to a photo I recognized. “Hey, isn’t this Senator Anderson?”
She frowned. “You recognize him?”
“I do keep in touch with the world. Of course I know who he is. I think most Americans do.”
Senator Will Anderson had been a maverick up-and-coming Democrat. A fire-and-brimstone type, he dominated the political scene, going after corrupt politicians. Everyone seemed to like him. His name was brought up often as a potential presidential hopeful.
“He was found dead of a heart attack, right?” I asked as I handed her the picture.
Ronnie frowned at it. There was something more to her expression than just regret that his life ended too soon.
“I worked on his campaign all through college. He was amazing.” She looked at me with a nervous grin, then shoved the photo into the file. My stomach clenched just a bit. I ignored it.
“So why do you have a four-inch-thick file on him in your hotel room? He died four years ago.”
“It’s just a hobby of mine.”
“Politicians who die before their time are a hobby for you?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
Veronica sighed heavily, as if exhaling years of pent-up frustration. “I’ve always believed that foul play was involved.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard that theory too. In fact, isn’t there some sort of cult following of people who think there was a government conspiracy involved?”
She looked angry. “There’s a lot that doesn’t add up. It would be disrespectful to ignore the evidence.”
“So, this is like the Kennedy assassination conspiracy?”
“Someday we might actually know who was on the grassy knoll that day!”
I knew who was on the grassy knoll. It was something the Bombays learned early in their training. Well, that and how to hog-tie a vic using four twist ties.
I held up my hands to stave off an attack. “Okay, I’m sorry. I tend to play devil’s advocate sometimes. Mea culpa.”
Veronica studied me for a moment before responding. “No, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit sensitive about this.” She tossed the file on the bed. “I thought he was going to change the world.”
“A lot of people did. So you carry this huge file with you everywhere you go?”
“I feel like I’m getting close to finding something. Every time I reread this stuff, I find something I didn’t notice before.” She shook her head. “You probably think it’s stupid.”
“No. I think it’s admirable. And I’d like to be so lucky as to have a beautiful woman like you trying to avenge me. Even if I did die of a heart attack.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.” She didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’ve got to get back to the conference. I’ve missed one seminar already, and the university is paying my way.”
I took the hint. “No problem. I have to check out today anyway.” I walked to the door and stopped as I opened it. “It was great to see you again, Ronnie.” I noted the stoic look on her face as I left her standing there and returned to my room and the guinea pig who loved me.
Chapter Six
“Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.”
– MARK TWAIN
A month had gone by, and the feds decided that my Miami vic had been drunk and fallen accidentally to his death. The State Department complained, but there wasn’t enough to go on. Vic’s father, the diplomatic envoy to the United States, resigned. All was well.
Things were going okay. Spring was ending and so was my contract at Disney World, and my scarf was finished. I had places to go and things to do.
One of my hobbies, in addition to knitting, is the study of hand-to-hand combat from other countries. I already had black belts in kung fu and aikido, and I tried to travel and train whenever possible.
I would pick a remote spot, live there for a few months, observe their techniques and try them out. I’ve studied pencak cilat in Indonesia; karate in Okinawa, Zulu stick fighting and kickboxing in India.
My latest plan was to hit the Naadam Festival in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I was hoping to compete in wrestling and archery. And maybe learn some new technique in the process. In my line of work, I appreciate any tricks I can get. And the philosopher in me loved exploring the innate desire men have to fight one another.