“He won’t answer the phone,” Anne warned.
“He’s not home,” Renie said, delving into her brown
suede purse for her cell phone.
Judith whispered into Renie’s ear. “I’m out of here.”
“Coz!” Renie cried as she hit the wrong button,
causing the phone to emit a sharp squawk.
“Sorry,” Judith apologized. “I have a job to do.”
She scooted out of the room.
The only similar door was on her left. The other
doors along the corridor were for rest rooms, storage,
and other restaurant facilities. Grasping the mahogany
door’s brass lever, Judith took a deep breath. Now that
her prey were at hand, she didn’t know what to do. Barging in, as Joe had cautioned, wasn’t a good idea. The
door was too thick to allow her to overhear what was
going on in the private dining room. Worse yet, the
servers were all young men wearing tuxedos. A wild idea
involving the impersonation of a waitress had struck her
earlier. Not only was it far-fetched, it was impossible.
At that moment, one of the waiters appeared at the
top of the stairs carrying a jeroboam of champagne.
Swiftly, Judith fished into her purse, searching for a
piece of paper.
“Young man,” she said, blocking the door, “could
you deliver a message to the Smith party? I’m with the
Joneses, in the other private dining room.”
The waiter, who was young, Asian, and very goodlooking, was too well trained to show surprise.
“To whom shall I give the message?” he asked.
Having found a small notebook, Judith scribbled out
a half-dozen words. “Morris Mayne,” she said. “Tell
him it’s urgent. Thank you.”
The waiter disappeared inside. Judith wondered if
she should have slipped him five dollars. Or ten. Or
twenty-five, considering that she was at Capri’s.
Moments later Morris Mayne dashed out into the
hall. “What is it? What’s happened at the studio?” Not
nearly as tall as Judith, he peered up at her through
rimless spectacles. “Wait! You’re the bed-andbreakfast lady, aren’t you?”
“That’s right,” Judith said, hoping to look appropriately solemn. “I think we’d best go downstairs to the
bar. Perhaps they’ll serve us a drink.”
“A drink?” Morris’s sparse tufts of hair stood out on
his round head. “Yes, I could use a drink. Though of
course I’ve already had . . . Never mind, let’s talk.” He
hurried down the winding staircase.
Charles the maitre d’ expressed great pleasure at
serving the duo. Judith ordered Scotch rocks; Morris
