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.”
I glanced out the window. The neighbor’s lights were still out.
I figured she was talking to her new boyfriend, and decided to resort to Plan B. I walked over to the bar, as if to make another drink. Margot was speaking more softly now, a quick murmur or two before hanging up.
She came back into the room just as I took hold of the lemon, told myself it wouldn’t hurt as much as Travis’s burn, and nicked my finger with the knife.
“Ow!” I shouted-beyond what the little sting called for. I immediately grabbed my hand and squeezed my finger so that the bleeding looked worse.
“Oh, dear!” she said, quickly looking away.
“Oh! What a klutz! Oh no, I’m going to bleed all over your white car-pet…
That snapped her into action. “Come this way, there’s a bathroom right down this hallway.”
I followed her, and managed to get to the bathroom sink without leaving any DNA on her floor. She was frantically searching for a bandage; of course I didn’t tell her there was a whole box of the things in my purse. I was also pleased to note that she scrupulously avoided looking at my hand.
“My God, it’s deeper than I thought!” I said. Utter nonsense, but it worked on her.
“Upstairs,” she said weakly.
I followed her again.
The master bedroom was huge and featured a king-sized round bed. I didn’t get to see much of it before she hustled me into the bathroom, where there were lots of jars and an array of cosmetics out on the counter.
I held my hand over this sink, but still she avoided looking at my savage wound. I was kind of pissed about that, because I figured that if I had known what a daisy she was ahead of time, I wouldn’t have cut myself. I could have faked it.
This time, while I surveyed the contents of this larger medicine chest over her shoulder, she found an adhesive bandage. She handed it to me at arm’s length, clearly squeamish about the entire business.