patched tweed jackets, this is the age of the female PI. Smart, sassy, full of spunk, as likely to lay you out as get laid. On her terms. And enjoy it' ' So she's out of date? BirdweU? '
'She was always out of date; that was the attraction. The thing is, now she's out of fashion. Which doesn't mean she doesn't still have her readers, just less of them and they're getting older all the time.' Cathy leaned closer.
'Rumour has it, her agent's on the hunt for a new publisher; after twenty years with one house. Something's hurting.'
Resnick set down his coffee and glanced round again at Dorothy Birdwell.
'You don't think, if she's got reasons to be jealous…?'
Dorothy? Behind those letters? I'd like to think she had it in her.
But, no, not a chance. Malicious looks at thirty paces, that's her mark. ' Cathy reached out and lifted up Resnick's tie, the end of which had been mopping up what remained of the mustard.
Resnick nodded and sat back, drawing the copy of Cathy's schedule from his pocket.
'This afternoon, you're 72 signing books at Waterstone's; early this evening, introducing a film at Broadway…'
'Black Widow, d'you know it? No? Great little movie. Sexy. Debra Winger doing mouth to mouth with Theresa Russell, then busting her for murder.'
'After that?'
'There was something about a bunch of us going out to dinner. This director they've dug up. They're screening one of his films after mine. You should come. Some place called Sundays? David promised the food was pretty good.'
'Sonny's,' Resnick said.
'And, yes, it is.'
'Then you'll be along?'
'Maybe. I can't promise.'
'The policeman's lot…'
'Something like that.'
'Suit yourself.'
'How about earlier?' Resnick asked.
'The signing. Would you feel happier if I had someone there? Just keeping an eye?'
Cathy smiled.
'The author who got stabbed with a poisoned dagger behind the mystery shelves? Sounds too much like something out of a Dorothy Birdwell to me.'
'Okay. As long as you're sure.' Resnick checked his watch, then pushed back his chair and reached for his wallet.
'Don't bother,' Cathy said.
'It's covered.'
'No, I don't think I can…'
She covered his hand with hers.
'You're my guest It's charged to the room. Which gets charged to the festival. Relax. It's not a crime.
Not a bribe. Honest. Besides, young Mollie would be thrilled at the idea of buying you breakfast. '
'I doubt it.'
Cathy's half-snort, half-laugh was loud enough to turn heads.
'What?' Resnick said.
'You may be good at your job1 hope to hell you are but you sure know shit about women!'
Flushing, Resnick tried for a smile.
'I'm sorry,' Cathy said, taking his hand again and giving it a squeeze.
'I didn't mean to be insulting.'
'That's okay.'
'Or just another brash American.'
'You're not' She held his gaze before replying. She liked the way the skin crinkled around his eyes when he smiled.
'Good. I'll look forward to seeing you tonight.'
'If I can,' Resnick said.
'I'll try.'
He was conscious of Marius Gooding watching him all the way to the dining room door only one reason he didn't stop and look back at Cathy before passing through. He would check the roster, have a word with Skelton, see if they couldn't send somebody down to the bookshop in their lunch hour just the same. As for later, the invitation to the restaurant, he didn't know, though the last time he'd been to Sonny's, he remembered, on the occasion of his friend Marian Witczak's fortieth birthday, he'd had the rack of lamb and it had been very tasty, very sweet 'Listen,' Divine was saying into the telephone. Not saying, shouting.
'No, listen. Listen. Listen up a minute. Bloody listen!'
Most of the CDD room did exactly that; stopped whatever they were doing to stare at Mark Divine, standing beside his desk, brown hair pushed back from his forehead, blue shirt, dark trousers, tie twisted round, anger reddening his cheeks in ragged circles, telephone tight in his hand.
'For once in your life, just listen.'
Whoever was at the other end of the line chose to ignore the advice.
Connection broken, Divine stared at the receiver in frustration before slamming it back down. 'Stupid tossing woman!'
'Nice,' Lynn Kellogg remarked.
'No wonder you're so successful at pulling. All that suave sophistication.'
Divine mouthed an everyday obscenity and kicked his chair back against the wall, stuffed both hands deep into his pockets and slouched out.
'Must be,' Lynn said, enjoying a little tit-for-tat retribution, 'his time of the month. '
'Time you weren't here, isn't it?' Millington said from the far end of the room.
'One of your snouts, give you a lead on those break-ins, didn't he?'
Lynn lifted notebook and ball-point from her desk and found space for them inside her shoulder bag. She was almost at the door when Resnick walked in, breathing a little heavily after hurrying up the hill from Cathy Jordan's hotel, patches of mustard yellowing nicely on his tie.
Off far? '
Lynn shook her head.
'Dkeston Road.'
'How long d'you reckon?'
'An hour. Hour and a half.'
'Think you could get yourself into the city centre, middle of the day? Waterstone's, corner of Bottle Lane…'
'And Bridlesmith Gate. Yes, I know it. Why?'
'This American author who's over. Jordan, Cathy Jordan.'
'Sleeping Fools Ue. 1 ' Sorry? '
'One of her books. I read it last year.'
Resnick was quietly impressed. Aside from anything else, where did she get the time?
'There've been a few threatening letters. Offering her harm. Doesn't seem to take them too seriously herself and I'm not sure how far we should, but it might be no bad idea, to have someone around. She's doing some kind of book signing, one o'clock. Don't want to stick a uniform in there, scare people off.'
'Okay, fine. Be interesting to meet her, I should think.'
'Pop back in on your way down, I'll fill you in.'
Lynn nodded and was on her way.
Resnick beckoned Millington closer.
'Young Divine stormed past me and up the stairs as if you'd given him a good earful. Blotted his copybook
