Looking for Rachel Wallace

car till I tell you.”

I got out and looked both ways and into the lobby. The doorman hustled forward to open the door for Rachel. She looked at me. I nodded. She stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel.

“We’ll have a drink in the bar,” she said.

I nodded and followed her in. There were a couple of business types having Scotch on the rocks at a table by the window, and a college-age boy and girl sitting at another table, very dressed up and a little ill at ease. He had beer. She had a champagne cocktail. Or at least it looked like a champagne cocktail. I hoped it was.

Rachel slid onto a bar stool, and I sat next to her and turned my back to the bar and surveyed the room. No one but us and the business types and the college kids. Rachel’s coat had a hood. She slid the hood off but kept the coat on to cover up the pie smear down the front of her dress.

“Beer, Spenser?”

“Yes, please.”

She ordered. Beer for me and a martini for her. For the Ritz Bar I was spectacularly underdressed. I thought the bartender paled a little when I came in, but he said nothing and tended the bar just as if I were not offensive to his sight.

A young woman came into the bar alone. She had on a long cream-colored wool skirt and heavy black boots, the kind that seem to have extra leather. Her blouse was white.

There was a black silk scarf at her neck, and she carried a gray leather coat over her arm. Very stylish. The skirt fit well, I noticed, especially around the hips. She looked around the room and spotted us at the bar and came directly to us. The kid can still attract them, I thought. Still got the old whammo.

The young woman reached us and said, “Rachel,” and put her hand out.

Rachel Wallace turned and looked at her and then smiled. She took the outstretched hand in both of hers. “Julie,” she said. “Julie Wells.” She leaned forward and Julie Wells put her face down and Rachel kissed her. “How lovely to see you,” she said. “Sit down.”

Julie slid onto the bar stool on the other side of Rachel.

“I heard you were in town again,” she said, “and I knew you’d be staying here, so I got through work early and came over. I called your room, and when there was no answer, I thought, well, knowing Rachel, chances are she’s in the bar.”

“Well, you do know me,” Rachel said. “Can you stay? Can you have dinner with me?”

“Sure,” Julie said, “I was hoping you’d ask.”

The bartender came over and looked questioningly at Julie. “I’ll have a Scotch sour on the rocks,” she said.

Rachel said, “I’ll have another martini. Spenser, another beer?”

I nodded. The bartender moved away. Julie looked at me. I smiled at her. “We’re on tour,” I said. “Rachel plays the hand organ, and I go around with a little cup and collect money.”

Julie said, “Oh, really,” and looked at Rachel.

“His name is Spenser,” Rachel said. “There have been some threats about my new book. The publisher thought I should have a bodyguard. He thinks he’s funny.”

“Nice to meet you,” Julie said.

“Nice to meet you, too,” I said. “Are you an old friend of Rachel’s?”

She and Rachel smiled at each other. “Sort of, I guess,” Julie said. “Would you say so, Rachel?”

“Yes,” Rachel said, “I would say that. I met Julie when I was up here doing the research for Tyranny, last year.”

“You a writer, Julie?”

She smiled at me, very warm. Zing went the strings of my heart. “No,” she said, “I wish I were. I’m a model.”

“What agency?”

“Carol Cobb. Do you know the modeling business?”

“No, I’m just a curious person.”

Rachel shook her head. “No, he’s not,” she said. “He’s screening you. And I don’t like it.” She looked at me. “I appreciate that you have to do your job, and that today may have made you unduly suspicious. But Julie Wells is a close personal friend of mine. We have nothing to fear from her. I’ll appreciate it if in the future you trust my judgment.”

“Your judgment’s not as good as mine,” I said. “I have no involvement. How close a personal friend can someone be that you met only last year?”

“Spenser, that’s enough,” Rachel said. There was force in her voice and her face.

Julie said, “Rachel, I don’t mind. Of course he has to be careful. I pray that he is. What are these threats? How serious are they?”

Rachel turned toward her. I sipped a little beer. “I’ve had phonecalls threatening me if Tyranny is published.”

“But if you’re on the promotion tour, it means it’s been published already.”

“In fact, yes, though technically publication date isn’t until October fifteenth. The book is already in a lot of bookstores.”