“Mind if I turn on some lights?”
“Not at all. I’ll only be a minute.”
The dogs had switched to an alternative schedule of barking-sporadic outbursts of barking between lengthening interludes of mere growling.
Although she had said she’d only be a minute, I knew Margot wouldn’t come back down until she had put herself together, a project that might take some time. I felt a moment’s hesitation over what I was contemplating, then thought about Travis and found my resolve. I strolled across her white carpet and out of the front room, trying to remember where I had once seen an office on the first floor.
Trying not to be distracted by the view of moonlight on the canal, or the design of her big open kitchen, I turned to the right, walked down a hallway and opened a door next to a laundry room. A bathroom. I started to close the door, had an inspiration and went to the medicine cabinet first. I found a small box of bandages there and dropped it into my purse.
The dogs started barking again; I began to appreciate the cover their noise provided.
I closed the door, retraced my steps down the hall, turned left this time, and found the office. It was clean and orderly, and during the day it probably had a beautiful view of the canal. The view at night would have been better with a brighter moon; there was just enough light to see Margot’s sailboat tied up at the dock. I made myself concentrate on the task at hand. I searched the drawers of the small desk. I looked through a stack of loose papers and invitations, but found nothing of interest.
I had been in this office once before, at one of the Christmas parties, when Margot was giving the grand tour of the house. But this time, all the equipment was new; as I looked around the office, I saw that Margot went in for the latest available models. For the first time, I envied her wealth. The room wasn’t outfitted on a part-time reporter’s salary-this equipment was better than what we worked with in the newsroom. There was a three-line speakerphone on the desk. Next to the desk, on a carved mahogany cart, was a plain-paper fax machine; a matching cart held a copying machine. There was a beautiful computer work station with a fancy printer on it. I checked the phone lines running between the phone, computer and fax. The second and third lines were hooked up to the fax and computer.
I looked for an answering machine but didn’t see one; maybe it was in another room. I thought of turning the computer on, but decided that even with this high-tech office, Margot wasn’t the type to make computer notes about her boyfriends. I was about to leave when I noticed that one of the line-in-use lights on the phone was lit. Line one. I hurried over to the phone, pressed the mute button so that nothing would be heard from my extension, and picked up the receiver. Whatever number she had called at three in the morning had already answered, and I was only in time to hear a male voice saying,“… or enter your phone number and then press the pound key, and we’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” As I listened, I fumbled in my purse, trying to find a little tape recorder I sometimes use for notes and interviews. There was a long tone, a set of quick beeps, and then the sound of Margot dialing again. I tried to memorize the tune the tones played as she dialed. It was eight tones long. A mechanical voice said, “Thank you,” and disconnected. Margot hung up. I quickly followed suit.
It was only then that I found the recorder. I softly repeated the little dialing song into the microphone, hoping I had it right. I was pretty sure it was Margot’s number, followed by the pound sign.
I was going to try it out, but since the upstairs phone might also be equipped with line-in-use lights, I hesitated using the office phone while she might be standing near an upstairs phone. I would have to wait to verify that the tones matched her number.
I moved back out into the kitchen. There was a set of hanging baskets near the sink, and one of them held three lemons and a couple of limes.
I took one of the lemons, and then, turning to the island in the center of the kitchen, pulled a small paring knife from a wooden block.
I heard water running upstairs just as I passed the kitchen phone. Seizing the opportunity, I set my little treasures down, pulled the recorder back out of my purse, then lifted the handset and replayed the tape. I pressed the numbers that matched the tones.
There were two rings, ones I hoped were not awakening some perfectly nice stranger, then Margot’s voice on a recording. Her voice mail. I hung up. The number I had dialed was her own. She had called someone’s pager number, entered her own number, and was now waiting for a call back. Because she had a voice mail service, when I called her number from her own phone I got the service instead of a busy signal. It also explained the lack of an answering machine.
Whom did she page? Someone who would respond at three in the morning. A lawyer? Perhaps. Or maybe it was the new boyfriend. And if the man who had been looking for me in the lobby of the Express was the bomber, I didn’t want to be around if he showed up. I began to wish I had brought Rachel along. I would have done it, but I knew Travis was safe at my home not because there was a patrol car outside, but because Rachel was inside-she would watch over him.
Here at Margot’s, my plans had to remain flexible. A lot depended on what Margot did once she came back downstairs.
I quickly searched the rest of the first floor and found one other bathroom. I checked the medicine cabinet-no bandages. I heard a door close upstairs and hurried over to the bar in the front room.
By the time Margot came back downstairs in a blue Chinese silk jacket and loose-fitting slacks, feathery slippers and full makeup, I was mixing an Absolut and tonic. I offered her one, and she accepted.
“I hope you don’t mind that I stole one of the lemons from the kitchen,” I said, holding it up.
“No, of course not,” she said.
I made her drink twice as strong as mine, sliced a couple of pieces of lemon and added them as twists. She sat on the leopard skin. I went for the white leather sofa.
“Now, what’s all this about a bomb?” she said.
I told her about the explosion, leaving out lots of details about Travis, merely saying that he was a visiting cousin who was severely burned while trying to rescue my cat. She looked genuinely horrified, which gave me hope for her.
“That’s terrible,” she said. “But I don’t know why you think I had anything to do with it.”
“Someone was asking for me in the lobby of the Express a few days ago-but you intercepted him.”
She blushed, but didn’t say anything.
“A man with a similar description-probably the same guy-tried to follow me when I was on my way to see Travis today. He was unsuccessful then, but it seems he finally managed to reach us at the one place where I’d hoped we would be safe-my home. My own home, Margot.”“
“But you’re assuming it’s the same person!”
“Margot, did you look up my address for someone recently?”
She set down her drink, placed her hands in her lap. Her nails were perfect.
The dogs took up barking again.
“Yes,” she said, wringing the perfect hands, “but he wasn’t the one who-he wouldn’t have done something like that.”
“If you didn’t have some doubts about that, you wouldn’t have let me in here tonight.”
“Of course I would have let you in. We work together.”
“Right, we’re such close pals. So for the sake of your old pal’s health- who is he?”
She looked away from me.
“Who is he?” I asked again.
The phone rang.
She shot up from the leopard skin as if it still had its claws. “Excuse me,” she said, hurrying over to the nearest phone-the one in the kitchen. “Probably my neighbor.”
Right.
“Oh, hello!” she said in a voice obviously meant to carry to my ears, “I’m so sorry if my dogs awakened you! I know it’s very late, but a dear friend from the paper needed to see me. Yes, of course everything is just fine. Sorry to disturb you. I’ll try to keep them quiet.”