Not My Spook

Chapter 1-4

I turned my attention to the single nightstand and dresser. There were no photos of family or friends on either of them, although on the dresser there was a clay ashtray, such as a child might make in elementary school. It was lopsided, glazed an eye-gouging orange, and contained a handful of change. But from what child could he have gotten it?

I tipped out the handful of change it contained and turned it over. Oh. Feliz Natal, Tio Ze was scratched into the bottom. Under it were the letters E.T.A., Mark V., and the year, ‘70.

Touched and confused—if Mark had made this as a child, why hadn’t he given it to its intended recipient?—I set it back down on the dresser, replaced the coins, and finally turned to look at the bed, which I’d been trying to disregard.

It was made with military precision, taut enough to bounce a quarter off of. To look at it, no one would have thought that only two nights ago two men had been writhing on it, sweating and swearing, each trying to absorb the other into his pores.

I knew it hadn’t been only me. I hadn’t been merely another conquest to the WBIS agent, a notch on his bedpost.

Of course there weren’t any deep feelings between the two of us. I was Quinton Mann, the Ice Man. And he was…Mark Vincent.

I shook myself out of my thoughts. This wasn’t getting anything done, and I needed to put in an appearance at State.

The odor of smoke lingered. Mark’s closet was against the wall that butted on the living room, and when I opened the door, the odor became almost overpowering. No wonder why he’d been forced to fall back on that nondescript suit.

I looked down at the neat shoe trees that held a single pair of dress patent leathers, numerous shoes for work, and only a couple for casual wear. A pair of worn sneakers was tumbled in a corner.

I’d come prepared. I put them all into a medium-sized suitcase.

Next I reached for the Fumagalli tuxedo, and frowned. It was decent enough, but it was obviously off-the-rack. I really would need to take Mark shopping.

I finished packing his clothes into a trio of oversized suitcases, piled all four of them onto a trolley, and wheeled them out of his apartment, making sure the door closed behind me and the crime scene tape was back in place, then took them down in the elevator and out to where my car was parked at the curb.

It was a good thing the Lexus had a very large trunk. Two of the suitcases just fit in it. The third rested on the back seat, and the smallest one sat beside me in the front.

I got in and drove to Liang’s, the dry cleaners in Alexandria that I used.

“Good morning, Mr. Mann.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Liang. I’ve got a rush job for you.”

She raised an eyebrow and opened the first of the suitcases. Her nose wrinkled. “Ah. Smoke.”

“Yes. Please do what you can.”

“For you, Mr. Mann? You get the best.” Fortunately she didn’t question the fact that the clothes weren’t mine. “When you want?”

“As soon as possible. I’ll be at this number for most of the day.” I handed her a business card with the phone number of my office at State. “Contact me if there’s nothing you can do with them.”

“I can fix.” She glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her and wrote out a ticket, which she handed to me. “Late this afternoon. Six, maybe.” She got busy taking the shirts and underwear from the suitcase. “I give you call, let you know for certain.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Liang. I’ll see you later.”

* * * *

As Bette had said, my desk was stacked high with files. What she hadn’t told me was that they all dealt with cases that involved, in one way or another, the WBIS.

I would have expected this at Langley, but not here.

I removed my jacket, rolled up my shirt sleeves, and got to work.

* * * *

I hadn’t intended to go through all the files, but what I’d read disturbed me. While I was willing to concede I didn’t have much liking for the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security, these files made the agents who worked for the WBIS appear to be incompetent fools, who for the past six months had bungled every job they’d been assigned.

Although interestingly enough, not one case was Mark’s. As a matter of fact, his name wasn’t mentioned in a single file.

My official report could wait until Monday, when I was back at Langley and I’d cc a copy to Undersecretary Sinclair, who was my superior at State.

Now it was almost six, and I needed to get to Liang’s. I regretted I’d be missing dinner with Mark and felt I had to make it up to him. I’d stop at the Chinese takeout place next to the cleaners and order General Tso’s Chicken, one of Mark’s favorite dishes according to the file I had on him, and eggrolls, as well as an order of shrimp toast, which was a favorite of mine.

* * * *

There was no ordinary-looking sedan parked at the curb when I got home, and I was somewhat disappointed, although that would have meant Mark had broken into my house again.

Why hadn’t I thought to give him a key? There was a spare one hanging behind the door in my wine cellar. I’d give it to him when I saw him, either before I left for the ball or in the morning.

I let the Lexus roll into the driveway, turned off the ignition, and began the unloading, starting with the backseat. Fortunately, aside from the McVeys, who lived almost directly across the street and who were out of town just now, I didn’t have any neighbors who would comment on the number of suitcases I brought into my house.

As soon as I had everything inside, I set Mark’s dinner on the counter, took a labeled container from the freezer—Mother had taught me never to rely on the quality of food served at these functions—and put it in the microwave. Whenever I dined in Great Falls, she’d send me home with leftovers, courtesy of Gregor. This was lamb guláš, from his sister’s recipe. Knedliky, dumplings made with fine grade semolina in place of potato flour, would have gone well with this, but there hadn’t been any left to bring home.

It took two trips to get the suitcases to the second floor, but once I had them there, it didn’t take long to get Mark’s clothing put away.

I liked his suits and shirts hanging in the closet of my guestroom, and I mused about that as I took a shower before dressing for the reception and ball. Although I’d had any number of relationships, none had progressed to the point where I’d asked the woman I was seeing to move in with me, a major factor in my breakup with Susan. She’d felt our relationship should have progressed to the point where we were living together, and I hadn’t felt comfortable enough with her to do that.

Not that I was in any sort of relationship with Mark Vincent. He was simply staying with me for a few days until the damage done to his apartment could be repaired.

A quick glance at my clock radio told me if I didn’t get moving I was going to be pressed for time. I hurried down to the kitchen and ate.

I would have preferred to remain at home, spending the evening with Mark, dining on General Tso’s Chicken.

And perhaps on each other? The thought amused me.

Once I was finished, I called Mother to let her know I’d be there to pick her up in about half an hour.

“There’s no rush, sweetheart. I’m doing this solely as a favor for Allison.”

Allison Woodward Palmer Reynard Nelson Scott Dashwood had been a longtime friend of Mother’s, dating back to their days as Tau Zeta Epsilon sisters at Wellesley. She’d been Mother’s matron of honor and was also my godmother.

“Isn’t she usually in Palm Springs at this time of year?”

Mother sighed. “She is, but Chance, that new husband of hers, needed to be in town. He’s so much younger…. Well, that’s neither here nor there.”

“No.” I wondered if Mother ever regretted not marrying again but didn’t ask. Who knew better than I that Sebrings loved deeply but only once?

“At any rate, she said something about Chance being involved with the catering service and pleaded with me to go.”

“Oh. Well, this is going to be an interesting evening.” I was glad I had something decent in my stomach. It wouldn’t matter how awful the food was.

“I’m afraid so.” She sighed again.

“Mother, are you feeling all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine, sweetheart. I’m just…I’m fine.”

“I’ll see you shortly.”

“Drive carefully.”

“Yes, Mother.” I hung up, but I was concerned. Something was troubling her. I’d see if I could get her to talk about it on the drive to the Anthony Wayne Convention Center, where the reception and ball were being held.

Mark still hadn’t arrived home.

The Chinese food was cool enough by this time to refrigerate. I put it on the middle shelf, and since I had no idea when he would get home, I left him a note.

Dinner’s in the fridge. Save the shrimp toast for me. I wasn’t going to invite him to go poking through my wine cellar. Beer and water also in the fridge. Help yourself.—Q.

Chuckling softly—I hadn’t been able to resist leaving my initial—I gathered up my overcoat, invitation, and car keys, then reset the alarm and left.

* * * *

Mother looked beautiful. She was wearing a gown of silk the color of smoke that somehow made her eyes even bluer, and her hair was up in an elegant twist.

“Gregor is out for the evening,” she told me.

I helped her on with the lynx coat Father had given her when they’d gone to Paris for their honeymoon, and then made sure her alarm was set.

She took my arm, and we walked down the steps and along the walk to my car. After I’d opened the door for her and made sure she was settled, I jogged around to the driver’s side and got in.

“All right, Mother.” I turned on the ignition but just let the car idle as I studied her profile. “What’s wrong?”

“A bouquet of flowers was sent to me today.”

I bit back a curse. “Wexler?” In spite of the fact he was married, Senator Richard Wexler had been making a concerted play for my mother.

“Yes. I had Gregor take them to the women’s shelter. The arrangement was ostentatious and thoroughly inappropriate, but the flowers were pretty, and I felt someone should get some pleasure out of them.” She smoothed a hand over the fur. “I’d like nothing better than to shoot him.”

“Well, I sincerely hope you won’t.” I’d never heard that tone in my mother’s voice, and it reminded me she’d had a life before I’d been born. “Not unless you give me some notice so I can have a secluded grave ready.”

She laughed. “Thank you, Quinton.” She leaned toward me and kissed my cheek. “Your father would be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

“Thank you.” I could feel myself blushing. My father was the best man I’d ever known. I cleared my throat. “What’s the possibility the senator will be here tonight?”

“I’m afraid the odds aren’t in my favor. I hate to put this on you, sweetheart, but if you see me tug my left earlobe, would you mind coming to my rescue?”