I nodded. The whole idea of wearing plainclothes is so that everyone you talk to won't necessarily know you're a cop. For everyone within hearing distance in Azalea's Fountain Court, my cover was totally blown.
Shelley set the cup and saucer in front of me. 'Cream and sugar?' she asked smoothly as though the words murder and detective hadn't penetrated her consciousness.
'No, just black.'
I suppose restaurant people have to be fairly flexible. Somehow, Shelley Kuni managed to act as though she were totally unperturbed by what Grace Highsmith was saying while at the same time seeming to hang on every word. It reminded me of a circus tightrope walker. 'Whose murder?' Shelley asked.
'Don Wolf's,' Grace answered at once.
'Not the one who-'
'Don Wolf!' I exclaimed, slopping half my coffee into the saucer. 'How did you-?'
'Yes, exactly,' Grace replied with a peremptory nod, cutting both Shelley and me off in midsentence. 'The very one I told you about last week.'
As if the lunch bell had sounded somewhere, several new sets of customers arrived in the entrance lobby all at once. Shelley hurried to meet them. There were at least two other separate dining areas in the restaurant. I don't think it was an accident that Shelley led all the new arrivals off to one of those, leaving our part of the dining room still relatively empty except for Grace and me.
I turned an accusatory stare on Grace Highsmith. 'I told you I was investigating a death,' I said. 'I didn't mention the word murder. Not once. And I never mentioned the victim's name.'
Grace smiled sweetly. 'The murder part is strictly a matter of common sense,' she told me. 'After all, you are a homicide detective, aren't you?'
'But how is it you happen to know the victim's name?'
Over the rim of her wine glass, Grace Highsmith fixed her bright-eyed stare on my face. 'What kind of detective are you? Do you even have to ask?'
I held her gaze with one of my own. 'As far as I know, the victim's name is being withheld pending notification of next of kin. It would indicate that you might possibly have inside knowledge-'
'Precisely,' Grace interrupted. 'I knew you'd catch on eventually. Statistically speaking, I understand that the perpetrator almost always knows his or her victim.'
With impeccably bad timing, our waiter appeared just then, smiling cordially. 'What will you have today, Miss Highsmith?' he asked. 'Your usual?' She nodded. 'Extra cilantro on that jalapeno grilled cheese on plain whole wheat?'
'Of course,' Grace replied. 'What's the soup?'
'Shelley's tomato basil. It's very nice.'
'I'm sure it is,' Grace said. 'Soup then.'
'And for you, sir?' the waiter asked, turning to me.
'Nothing,' I said. 'Just coffee.'
'Very well.'
He went away, disappearing silently around the corner into the kitchen as more guests showed up in the lobby and filtered into the room, gradually filling the other banquettes as well as some of the freestanding tables. It was an attractive, intimate dining room-totally lacking in privacy, and absolutely wrong for conducting a homicide interview.
Grace took another delicate sip of her wine then set down the glass. She glanced first at her watch and then at the front door as though awaiting someone's arrival. 'I suppose we could just as well get started then. What is it you want to ask me?'
When we had first sat down, Grace Highsmith had placed her pocketbook on the table beside her napkin. Now, replacing her chain-held glasses on her nose, she opened the purse and peered inside before turning it at a fifteen-degree angle.
To my absolute astonishment, a small, stainless-steel handgun came spilling out onto the table. The gun was a compact. 32 ACP. It's a weapon I know, but up until then, I had seen only one. The new Seecamp autos are so popular that there's a fifteen- to eighteen-month waiting list at the factory for anyone who is interested in buying one. The. 32 ACP is a small, readily concealable gun most often used by police officers as a backup weapon.
Fortunately for everyone in the restaurant that day-yours truly included-it is also considered to be a very safe weapon in that it's unlikely to discharge when dropped accidentally. Or even deliberately. It is designed to use only Winchester Western 60-grain Silvertip hollowpoint rounds. Which means that it's not worth a damn for target practice, but it can be deadly at close range.
The surprisingly loud thunk the gun made when it landed on the white linen tablecloth made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I wasn't the only person in the dining room who noticed. At a table just across from us, a tall, fiftyish blond woman had been seated along with a gray-haired, bearded man. When the gun landed, the man rose to his feet. 'A gun!' he blurted. 'She's got a gun!'
The blonde had just raised her newly filled water glass to her lips. Choking, she dropped the glass, which bounced off the edge of the table and then plunged to the floor, where it splintered into pieces and sent a spray of icy water and glass fragments scattering three feet in all directions.
A concerned service staff converged on the mess from every direction. The unexpected appearance of the weapon had caused a sudden burst of adrenaline to shoot through my system. The gun lay on the cloth and Grace left it there, making no effort to grab it. Realizing from the fact that she wasn't reaching for the weapon that there was no immediate danger, I covered the offending gun with my napkin. Once it was out of sight, I pulled it over to my side of the table.
'This thing isn't loaded, is it?' I demanded.
Grace Highsmith shrugged. 'Probably,' she said. 'It usually is. That's how we keep it.'
'It's yours then?'
She nodded.
'Do you have a license to carry?'
'Not exactly.'
'As far as I'm concerned, not exactly means no license,' I told her. 'No doubt you realize that's a violation.' I lifted the napkin and looked down at the little. 32 automatic. 'Loaded or not, what are you doing with a gun in your purse?'
'I assumed you'd want to have it,' she said. 'According to the shows I see on television, that's one of the first things the detectives go looking for-the murder weapon.'
'You're saying this is a murder weapon? As in Don Wolf's murder?'
'Of course,' Grace Highsmith replied. 'What other murder would I possibly be talking about?'
That's when I signaled for Shelley. She came to the table looking slightly pale. 'Is everything all right?' she asked. I noticed then that the blonde and her companion had been discreetly moved to another table-one nearer the door.
'You wouldn't happen to have a doggy bag, would you?'
'Certainly.' Shelley disappeared into the kitchen and returned moments later with two pieces of foil. I scooted the. 32 onto one piece and covered it with the other. After twisting the ends together, I slipped the foil-wrapped package into my pocket.
Clearly happy to have the gun out of sight, Shelley nodded approvingly. 'Could I interest either one of you in a complimentary glass of champagne?' she asked.
The appearance of the gun and the shattered water glass had caused enough of a stir among her lunchtime diners. People were no longer openly staring, but Shelley seemed determined to regain the lost atmosphere and settle ruffled feathers. To that end, a waiter was passing through the room pouring out free glasses of champagne.
'None for me,' I said.
'I'll have some,' Grace Highsmith said brightly. 'Champagne sounds delightful.'
Shelley left our table while Grace smiled at me beatifically. 'Well then, Detective Beaumont,' she said, 'this is really quite civilized, isn't it. I can sip a glass of champagne while you read me my rights. Then we can get on with it.'
'Get on with what?'
