Bitner clutched the binder to his chest. “I make all of her appointments.”
“How long have you worked for her?”
“Almost six years. Now, if you would-”
Louis held up the photograph of Emilio. “Did you ever schedule an appointment for this man?”
Bitner glanced at the photo. “No, he has never had an appointment with Senator Osborn.”
“What about Mark Durand?”
Bitner’s eyes narrowed. “Mark Durand?”
“Yeah, did she maybe let Durand escort her to a ballet or-”
Bitner tried to nudge him out the door. Louis shrugged off his hand.
“Greg, Greg… let’s not get ugly here.” He nodded at the leather binder. “How about we make an appointment for me to talk to your boss?”
“I’m sorry, but she’s leaving soon for a family trip to Aspen,” Bitner said. “After the holidays, she goes back to Washington. All questions from the media must be directed to her press secretary.”
He whipped out a business card, and Louis took it. It listed a name and an office in Washington. Louis pocketed the card.
“I’d rather talk to you, Greg.”
Bitner’s face reddened. “I must insist that you leave.”
Louis shrugged and stepped out onto the porch.
“And please don’t bother the senator again.”
The door closed. Louis figured Greg Bitner would have slammed it had it not been so heavy. He walked slowly down the brick driveway. At the Mustang, he paused to put on his sunglasses. He looked back at the house.
Just sitting there in the den, he had counted eight swords-seven in the holder and one on the wall. And in a house this size, there were probably more.
He wondered if Tucker Osborn was missing one.
Chapter Twenty
Louis found Mel at Ta-boo, sitting alone in the back, bent over a plate of food that looked like something from Vinny’s autopsy table-paper-thin slices of red meat drizzled with a nasty-looking yellowish sauce.
Louis stopped at the table and looked down. “What is that?”
“Tuna carpaccio salad,” Mel said.
“How much was it?”
“For crissakes, chill out about the money, would you?” Mel said. “We just put fifty grand in the bank.”
Yuba, the bartender, suddenly appeared. She looked a little like an abstract work of art, with her raven-black hair tied with a white ribbon, smooth brown skin against a snow-white blouse, lips and nails the same flame red as the orchid in Osborn’s house.
Louis stepped aside to let her fill Mel’s water glass, discreetly appreciating the curve of her hips and the faint, sweet swirl of what had to be some exotic Indian perfume. When she asked him if he wanted a drink, he felt like he had been caught leering and could barely manage a “No, thanks.” When she was gone, he turned back to Mel.
Mel had been given the assignment of chasing down background on the Archer ranch hands. Louis wondered if he had reached his confidential source at the Miami PD or even tried. From the looks of his deepening tan, maybe he had just wandered around the island all day. Lately, he hadn’t been quite the same dogged investigator Louis was used to working with. Maybe they needed a long night at a quiet bar somewhere to talk about that.
Mel popped the last sliver of tuna into his mouth and talked while he chewed. “Did you know there is an antique weapons store right here on the island?” he asked.
“Antique weapons?” Louis asked. “Like swords and shit?”
“Swords, helmets, firearms, everything. The kind of stuff rich guys collect.”
“Did you go in?”
Mel wiped his lips and discarded the napkin. “No, they were closed for lunch. But I got to thinking about what Reggie said about Durand getting that watch from one of his lady friends, and I started to wonder if maybe that sword Barberry took away was a gift. It would be nice for Reggie if we could connect that sword to some wealthy woman.”
“Or her husband,” Louis said.
“You know something I don’t?”
“Tucker Osborn has a whole room full of that military stuff. It’s like he thinks he’s Sir Lancelot.”
“Now, that’s interesting,” Mel said.
Louis looked at his watch. It was almost three-thirty. The store probably closed soon, and he wanted to get there before they locked up. It seemed especially cruel to waste an entire night waiting for the place to reopen with Reggie Kent in jail. Louis hadn’t mentioned it to Mel, but he was worried about Kent’s safety. Really worried.
“Come on,” Louis said. “Let’s go now.”
“Cool your jets, Rocky,” Mel said. “I saved us some trouble. Antique appraisers can’t evaluate anything unless they see it.” He held up a manila envelope. “I walked over to Swann’s office, and he got us a good photo of the sword.”
Louis pulled out the photograph. It was in color, vividly detailing every line of the intricate scrollwork on the hilt.
“Good job,” Louis said. “Let’s go.”
“I got to hit the john,” Mel said. “You go ahead, and I’ll meet you outside.”
Louis grabbed the lunch receipt so he could record it later and left Ta-boo. The wind was picking up, bringing a damp chill off the ocean and stirring up a cluster of storm clouds.
He waited, looking again at the picture, then peering into Ta-boo’s large open window, wondering what was taking Mel so long. He spotted him standing at the end of the bar, talking to Yuba, heads tipped close, Mel’s hand covering hers.
What the…?
Then Mel gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, patted her hand, and started to the door.
Damn.
Was this what was keeping Mel busy on those days when he’d stayed in the hotel room feigning a headache? Was she the reason for the Ta-boo takeout and afternoon naps? Yuba had to be at least twenty years younger than Mel. What the hell did she see in him?
Mel emerged from the restaurant. “You ready?”
Louis just stared at him.
“Something wrong?” Mel asked.
“Uh, no.”
“Well, let’s go.”
Louis looked to the window and then back to Mel. “You and Yuba… you got something going?”
Mel seemed to freeze. Louis stayed quiet, waiting for an answer. This was none of his business, but he wanted to know.
Mel finally sighed. “Yeah, we do. So what? You think someone like her can’t see something in a guy like me?”
“Of course she can,” Louis said. “But I thought-”
“You think she’s some gold digger, looking to land some half-dead old fart for a husband.”
Louis started to reply but closed his mouth. He had no defense.
Mel shook his head in disgust. “Yuba works on the island because she makes good money,” he said. “She’s saving her money so she can go to school. She’s not looking to be someone’s rich widow. Because you and I both know that no matter how pretty she is, there isn’t one man on this island who’s ever going to put a wedding ring on her lovely brown finger.”
Louis felt like shit.
Mel shrugged. “And like I told you before, when your eyes go, other senses are sharpened. So, believe it or not, I still have something to offer to the ladies. Now, the subject of my sex life is closed. That okay with you, or do you need additional information?”
Louis shook his head. “Spare me, please. Let’s go see the swordsman. If you’ll excuse the pun.”
Grande Armée Militaria was a small store tucked in a courtyard off Worth Avenue. Inside, it had the feel of a high-end jewelry store: creamy white walls, plush royal blue carpeting, and the usual mollifying Muzak that mysteriously made people speak in whispers.
An elderly, long-faced man behind a glass counter gave them a smile as they came in. Tall, with silver hair, he wore the uniform of the island: light-colored dress shirt, dress slacks, and navy blazer.
He was helping a woman who was examining a carved ivory chess set. Louis gave him a nod, then followed Mel toward the rear of the store. They paused in front of a wall of plumed military helmets and a row of what looked like Greek or Roman battle shields.