Before Louis could reply, a delicate ringing drifted from the house. Reggie perked up like an English pointer, then pushed his chair back.
“My phone,” Reggie said. “It hasn’t rung in days. Please excuse me.”
Louis watched Reggie until he disappeared, then leaned over toward Mel. Mel’s face was turned toward the salted breeze, his eyes closed.
“Mel, your friend is in deep shit here.”
“He didn’t do it.”
“The level of rage in this crime points to someone the victim knew,” Louis said. “Give me another theory that jibes with that kind of senseless torture.”
“A hate crime. Maybe Durand was still cruising the bars across the bridge.”
“Good news!”
Louis looked up. Reggie was walking toward them holding a white cordless phone. “That was Margery,” Reggie said, smiling broadly. “She wants me to take her to the ballet tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, dear, I have to get to the cleaner’s. My best tux is in there.”
Louis stood up. “Look, Mr. Kent, I think it might be better if you laid low for a while.”
“You don’t understand,” Reggie said. “This is Margery Leigh Cooper Laroche. You don’t say no to Margery. She’s one of the core people.”
“Core people?” Mel said.
Reggie’s face was lit with excitement. “I knew they’d rally around. I knew they’d help me. Margery must have put in a word. The dear, dear lady…”
“Reg, I think Louis is right,” Mel said. “I don’t think you should be going out right now.”
Reggie ignored him, gathering up the plates and silverware. “I know this is very rude, and I know we have things to talk about, but you’ll have to excuse me. I have a million things to do.”
He stopped suddenly, turning to Mel.
“Wait, wait!” he said. “I just had the best idea. Do you have a tux?”
“What?” Mel croaked.
“A tux, do you-?” Reggie frowned slightly. “No, no, of course you don’t. What am I thinking.” He set the plates down. “We’ll have to find a rental. Horrifying, I know, but I think there’s a place-”
“Reggie, what the hell are you talking about?” Mel asked.
Reggie stared at them. “Well, you’re coming to the ballet with me, of course.”
Louis laughed.
“And you,” Reggie said. “You have to come, too.”
“Get serious.” Louis was still laughing.
Reggie’s expression had gone slack. “I’m quite serious,” he said. “As you keep telling me, my life is at stake here. If anyone knows the women Mark was sleeping with, Margery does. And if you’re ever going to get any doors to open for you in this town, Margery is the key.” He paused. “Now, do you want to meet her or not?”
Louis looked back at Mel, who had taken out the Zippo and was lighting up one of Reggie’s Gauloises.
“Looks like we’re going to the ballet, Rocky,” he said.
Chapter Eight
Louis thought it was damned ironic that they had to go to West Palm Beach to rent tuxedos. But as Reggie pointed out, every man who lived on the island owned his own formal wear.
“Renting a tux is like…” Reggie curled his lip. “It’s like wearing bowling shoes. You don’t know who has done what in them before you.”
They were in Reggie’s living room, sharing a quick glass of wine before they left for the ballet. Mel was sitting down, one patent-leather shoe propped on a knee, long arm draped over the back of the sofa. He looked like the rented tux had been custom-made for him.
Louis turned and caught sight of himself in a mirror. He, on the other hand, looked like he was going to a prom.
He felt Reggie staring at him.
“What?” Louis snapped.
“That tie. You can’t go out wearing that tie.”
“Why not?”
“Didn’t they have one that wasn’t a hook kind?”
“What do you mean?”
“One that ties, like the kind Mel has on.”
Louis looked at Mel, who just shrugged.
“You said it had to be black. This was the only black one they had left,” Louis said through gritted teeth.
Reggie sighed. “I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared into a bedroom. Louis looked at Mel. “You start up again, and I will deck you, I swear.”
“I didn’t say a thing,” Mel said. “I think you look swell.”
Reggie returned with a tie. “Here, but make sure I get it back.”
Louis took it but didn’t move. The tie dangled like a dead snake in his hand.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to tie a bow tie,” Reggie said.
“No, I don’t know how to tie a fucking bow tie.”
Reggie snatched the tie from Louis. Before Louis could react, Reggie reached up, unhooked the rental tie, and flung it to the sofa. He wrapped the black silk around Louis’s neck and started to fumble with the ends.
Louis raised his chin, his eyes going to the ceiling. The starched collar of the shirt was digging into his neck. Reggie’s wine breath was warm on his face.
“Stop fidgeting,” Reggie said.
“Just tie the damn thing,” Louis muttered.
Finally, Reggie threw up his hands. “I’ve never done this from this side before!” He looked at Mel.
“You’re on your own, boys,” Mel said.
Reggie grabbed Louis’s shoulders and spun him around so he was facing the mirror. Then Reggie lined up behind him, and his hands came up around Louis’s neck from the back.
“Hey!” Louis said.
“Hold still! This is the only way I can do this!”
Louis shut his eyes, steeling himself against the soft touch of Reggie’s hands on his neck. Finally, he felt Reggie back away.
Louis opened his eyes. He didn’t think the tie looked any different from the other one, and it was crooked. But he was damned if he was going to give Reggie a second chance.
Mel was laughing.
“Let’s go,” Louis muttered.
He got his revenge when they went outside. Reggie stopped cold in the driveway when he saw the Mustang.
“That’s your car?” he said.
“Yeah,” Louis said. “And it’s not a rental, so I know exactly who has done what in it.”
Louis opened the door, flipped the passenger seat forward, and gestured to the backseat. “Mel rides shotgun. You get the back.”
But Reggie’s eyes were focused on something over Louis’s shoulder. And he was smiling. Louis turned just as a black Rolls pulled into the driveway. The car was so quiet Louis hadn’t heard it coming.
A stout guy in a dark suit and cap got out and opened the back door.
Louis was amazed to see tears brim in Reggie’s eyes. “She sent the car,” he whispered. “The dear thing sent the car.”
He wiped at his eyes and turned to Louis and Mel. “We’d better go before it turns into a pumpkin.”
The Royal Poinciana Playhouse was a small jewel box of a theater with red velvet flocked wallpaper, gold sconces, and a view of the Intracoastal Waterway from its terrace. As soon as they got inside, Reggie told them he had to meet Margery Cooper Laroche at the private party for the ballet patrons. He apologized that he couldn’t take them along but stuffed two tickets in Mel’s hand and pointed them to the lobby bar before he disappeared.
They got some wine and found their way to the terrace. It was crowded with men in tuxedos and women in gowns. The temperature had taken a dip into the sixties, giving the women an excuse to drag their furs out of storage. Diamonds glinted in the mink like animal eyes in headlights. The air smelled of expensive perfume and a coming rain.
Mel took one of the tickets from his pocket and peered at it. “I can’t read this,” he said, handing it to Louis. “What’s on the bill?”
Louis took the ticket. “Swan Lake.”
Mel grimaced. “Going to be a long night.”
“You’ve seen this before?”
“Sure,” Mel said. “Great love story. The dashing young prince Siegfried is seduced away from his true love, the white swan Odette, by the evil black swan Odile.”
Louis took a drink. “How’s it end?”
“He’s eaten up with guilt, so he throws himself in the lake and drowns.”