I gave him a card. He looked at it for a moment, and nodded to himself, and put the card in his shirt pocket. And put his hand back on Tripp’s shoulder.
“You hang tough, Loudon. Call me anytime.”
Tripp smiled wanly.
“Thanks, Senator.”
The Senator squeezed Tripp’s shoulder and moved off toward another table, slurping a drink of dark scotch and soda as he went.
“Fine man,” Tripp said. “Fine Senator, fine man.”
“E pluribus unum,” I said.
chapter ten
I NEVER SAW Susan without feeling a small but discernible thrill. The thrill was mixed with a feeling of gratitude that she was with me, and a feeling of pride that she was with me, and a feeling of arrogance that she was fortunate to be with me. But mostly it was just a quick pulse along the ganglia which, if it were audible, would sound a little like woof.
She was as simply dressed tonight as she ever got. Form-fitting jeans, low black boots with silver trim, a lavender silk blouse partly buttoned over some sort of tight black undershirt. She had on jade earrings nowhere near as big as duck pins, and her thick black hair was short and impeccably in place.
“You look like the cat’s ass tonight,” I said.
“Everything you say is so lyrical,” Susan said.
She had a glass of Iron Horse champagne, and had already drunk nearly a quarter of it, in barely twenty minutes.
“What’s for eats?”
“Buffalo tenderloin,” I said, “marinated in red wine and garlic, fiddle head ferns, corn pudding, and red potatoes cooked with bay leaf.”
“Again?” Susan said.
Pearl the wonder dog was in the kitchen with me, alert to every aspect of the buffalo tenderloin. I sliced off an edge and gave it to her.
Susan came and sat on a stool on the living room side of the counter. She drank another milligram of her champagne. She took the bottle out of the glass ice bucket on the counter and leaned forward and filled my glass.
“Paul telephoned today,” she said. “He said he’d tried to get you but you were out.”
“I know,” I said. “There’s a message on my machine.”
“He says the wedding is off.”
I nodded.
“Did you know?”
“He’d been talking as if it wouldn’t happen,” I said.
“He had a difficult childhood,” Susan said.
“Yeah.”
“You disappointed?”
I nodded.
“You know how great I look in a tux,” I said.
“Besides that.”
“People shouldn’t get married unless they are both sure they want to,” I said.
“Of course not,” Susan said.
“Would have been fun, though,” I said.
“Yes.”
There was a fire in the living room fireplace. The smell of it always enriched the apartment, though less than Susan did. Outside the living room windows opposite the counter, the darkness had settled firmly into place.
I took a small glass tray out of the refrigerator and put it on the counter.
“Woo woo,” Susan said. “Red caviar.”
“Salmon roe,” I said. “With toast and some creme fraiche.”
“Creme fraiche,” Susan said, and smiled, and shook her head. I came around from the kitchen and sat on the other stool, beside her. We each ate some caviar.
“You’re working on that murder on Beacon Hill,” she said.
“Yeah. Quirk sent the husband to me.”
“Because?”
