Could I put her in touch with somebody who could supply the art? Some figurines, two or three vases, a couple of paintings? She was relaxed in an armchair.
Whenever Diane’s image showed up, I felt a surge of envy. I am by no means hard to look at, but she played in a higher league than the rest of us. She was the sort of woman who made you realize how dumb men could be, how easily they could be managed. Blond, blue eyes, classic lines. She managed to look simultaneously attainable and beyond reach. Don’t ask me how, but you know what I mean.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll put together a catalog and send it over this afternoon.” In fact, I could have produced the catalog on the spot, but that would leave her with the impression there was no personal input on my part.
“I appreciate it, Chase,” she said. Her hair was cut in the San Paulo style, just touching her shoulders. She was wearing a clingy white blouse over dark green slacks.
“I’m happy to help.”
She lifted a cup, drank from it, and smiled at me. “Chase, you really must come out to the house sometime. We’ll be having a party for Bingo at the end of the month.
If you could make it then, we’d be delighted to see you.”
I had no idea who Bingo was, other than that he was not the third husband. He sounded like a pet. “Thanks, Diane,” I said. “I’ll try to be there.”
“Good. Plan on staying the weekend.” When Diane Gold threw a party, it tended to be a marathon event. I was busy and wanted to break away, but you can’t just do that with clients. “What did you decide to do with Maddy’s etui?” I asked.
“I haven’t decided where to put it yet. I was going to set it in the dining room, in the china closet, but I’m afraid the kori will knock it over.” For anyone unfamiliar with Rimway, a kori is a feline, greatly favored by pet owners. Think of it as a cat with the attributes of a collie.
“We don’t want that.”
“No. By the way, I have an odd story to tell you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“I won a cash prize last week. Two-fifty.”
“For what?”
“That’s what makes it odd. They said it was from the Zhadai Cultural Cooperative. For my work on the Bruckmann Tower.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you. They called, a woman who described herself as the executive assistant, to tell me about it. Her name was Gina Flambeau. She made an appointment, came out to the house, and presented me with the award and the cash.”
“It’s nice to be appreciated, Diane.”
“Yes, it is. She told me how much they admired my work, not only on the Bruckmann, but some of the other stuff as well.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Doesn’t that strike you as an odd way to present a trophy? I mean, usually, you get invited to a banquet, or at least a lunch, and they give it to you there. In front of an audience. Everybody gets some publicity out of it.”
I didn’t know. I’d never received an award. At least not since the sixth grade, when I got a certificate for perfect attendance. “Yes,” I said, “now that you mention it, it does seem a bit out of the ordinary.”
“I got curious, so I looked into their award history.”
“They usually throw banquets?”
“Invariably, dear.”
“Well, it looks as if they’ve changed their policy.” I tried laughing it off and made an inane remark about how banquet food generally tastes insipid anyhow.
“There’s more to it. I called them, Chase, on the pretext of saying thanks to the president of the Cooperative. I met her once, years ago. She, uh, didn’t have the faintest idea what I was talking about.”
“Are you serious?”
“Do I look as if I’m making this up? Moreover, she said there’s no Gina Flambeau in the organization.”
“Uh-oh. You check your account?”
“The money’s there.”
“Well, I’d say you’re ahead on this one.”
“I have a plaque.” She asked her AI to post it for me and it showed up on the wall screen. It was an azure block of plastene. A plate read: In Recognition of Outstanding Achievement in the Design and Construction of the Bruckmann Tower.
Et cetera. Done in traditional Umbrian characters.
“Looks official.”
“Yes. I showed it to the Cooperative president. That’s her signature at the bottom.”
“What was her reaction?”
“She told me she’d get back to me. When she did, she apologized profusely and said somebody was apparently playing a practical joke. They had made no such award. She also told me that in her opinion I deserved to be noticed by the Cooperative, and I should be assured I was under consideration for next year.”
The sunlight angled through the big front windows and made rectangles on the carpet. I didn’t know what to make of the story.
“I thought of it,” Diane said, “because of your question about the etui. Gina Flambeau asked me about it. Said she’d seen I had acquired it, and wondered if I’d show it to her.”
“And did you?”
“Of course. That’s the whole point of having it.”
“But she knew you had it? In advance of coming?”
“Yes.”
“How did she know?”
“Everybody knew, love. I gave a couple of interviews. Didn’t you see them?”
“No,” I said. “I must have missed them. What was her reaction?”
Diane shrugged. “She was suitably impressed, I thought.” She looked at me carefully.
“Did she actually handle it? Physically?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t do a switch, did she?”
“No. It’s the same box.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“It was never out of my sight.”
“You’re positive?”
“Absolutely. You think I’m an idiot?”
“You least of all, Diane. But put it somewhere safe.”
“Security’s pretty serious here, Chase.”
“Okay. Let me know if anything happens.”
“If anything happens,” she said, “they’ll find bodies in the river.”
When I mentioned the incident to Alex, he grew thoughtful. “What was the name of the man who bought the vest from Paul?” he asked.
“That was the Chacun Historical Association.”
“What was the name of the representative?”
After a moment’s thought I came up with it. “Davis.”
“Call them. Find out whether there’s a Davis on the membership list.”
“Why?” I said. “What do we care?”
“Just do it, please, Chase.”
He wandered out of the room to tend the flowers in back. Alex was a botanist by inclination, and he had a wide array of hydrangeas and damned if I knew what else.
I’ve never been big on greenhouses.
I called Chacun and got the AI. “Why, yes, Ms. Kolpath,” he said. “You’re probably referring to Arky Davis.” The voice was male, a measured baritone, the sort of voice you hear in drawing rooms out on the Point.
“Can you give me a code for him?”
“I’m sorry. But Association policy prohibits our giving out that kind of information. If you like, I can forward a message.”
“Please. Give him my name and code. Tell him I’d like very much to see the vest he just bought from Paul Calder. I’m hoping he intends to make it available for inspection by the general public. If so, I’d appreciate being informed.”
Davis didn’t reply until late in the afternoon. “I have to confess, Ms. Kolpath,” he said, “that I’m not sure what we’re talking about.” His voice had a gritty quality.
He was seated in an armchair in a dark-paneled study. I could see drapes behind him and a couple of talba heads on the wall. A hunter. He was wide, with a large nose and a thick gray mustache. He wore a dressing gown (even though it was midmorning), and was sipping a purple-colored drink. “I think there may be some confusion here somewhere,” he continued. He was about eighty, and he looked big.
It’s always hard to tell a person’s size when all you have to work with are virtuals. If you’re comparing him to, say, custom-made furniture, you don’t know where to start.
But the way Davis straightened up in the chair, the way he shifted his weight, his whole demeanor told me he was not someone you’d think of as small. How had Paul described Davis? A little guy.
“I may have the wrong person,” I said. “I was looking for the Mr. Davis who bought a rare vest a couple of days ago from Paul Calder.”