Chasing a Blond Moon(153)
“She’s Lori’s supporter.”
“How do you separate support from ownership?” he asked sarcastically.
“Pish,” she said.
He ignored Nantz and watched Soong. She was attractive and he could still feel her hand—not just cold, but frigid, like she had no blood flow at all.
The menus were delivered to the table. They were printed in gold on linen paper that felt like pressed cloth. It said, “A Tribute to Michigan’s Bounty.” Five courses were listed. “Walleye Pie with Sautéed Dickinson County Morels; Asian-style Medallions of Free-Range, Farm-Raised Venison with Chartreuse Medley of Vegetables from ‘The Mitt’ (baked in a fresh pastry shell); Puree of Kalamazoo Small Roots; Central Michigan Sour Cream Drop Biscuits; Toffee Pudding (a thick nutmeat roll with caramel sauce); Demitasse Café and Tea (Chocolate-Dipped Ginger, South Haven Blueberries Florentine, Truffles).”
“They got baloney?” Service asked, loud enough for others at the table to hear. Several of them snickered.
Dinner was brought one course at a time with long pauses between.
After the fourth course Soong left the head table. Service excused himself, and followed her onto the back patio.
He stood outside the fringe of light from the dining room.
“I am pleased to find you alone,” Siquin Soong said from the darkness. She stepped forward, her face obscured in shadows. Light bathed her shoulders and lit the angles of her breasts, which were barely contained in the strapless black gown. He saw a red ember.
“A dreadful weakness,” she said. “I tried any number of times to quit, but frustration alone guarantees failure.” She made a tsking sound. “There are things we cannot change about ourselves, do you agree?”
“I’m sorry,” he said to bait her. “You are—?” She had no accent, spoke English like she had been raised in the States.
Soong laughed without mirth. “Don’t play games, Detective, especially when you don’t know the rules. You came here specifically to meet me and I have made it possible. A little gratitude might be in order. I have nothing to hide.”
“At the moment?” he said.
“I was warned you could be abrasive.”
Warned by whom? he wondered. “I wanted to ask you about your son. Your lawyers aren’t playing nice.”
“My dear Detective, you’re misinformed. Fate and biology have decreed I have no children, a burden no woman should have to bear.”
“Your ex-husband’s son,” he said.
“My former husband had no son. In fact, he lacked the wherewithal, if you understand.”
“There is a man posing as his son,” he said.
“Ah,” she said. “You have evidence of this?”
“Not yet.”
She sighed dismissively. “An alleged imposter, then. I admire our country, but the culture encourages outrageous behaviors.”
“Eventually we will find the man and then we’ll find out.”
She straightened up, pushed her head back and her breasts forward. “Are you a Mountie, Detective, one of those policemen who always get their man?”
“Not a Mountie, ma’am, but I tend to get who I am after.”
“Well,” she said, “I have no doubt that you have no trouble getting any woman you choose,” she said, pressing her breast against his arm and maintaining the pressure. “You must be proud of our mutual friend. She is certain to be elected and that will be a great day for our state.”
Our country, our state—she played the immigrant citizen role well. “I think the people will have to vote before that happens.”
She pulled away from him. “I expected more sophistication,” she whispered.
“What are we talking about?” he asked.
“We always hope to meet interesting people,” she said. “Thank you for allowing me to monopolize a few moments of your time.” She stepped into the light, looked back at him, and lowered her eyes. “I should attend to my guests now.”
“You’ll be at Harry’s funeral, right?”
Siquin Soong’s eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed. “Pardon?”
“You heard me,” he said as he slid past her and through the door.
He found Nantz with Lorelei Timms. “Where were you?” Nantz asked. Dessert had been served.
“Grabbing a smoke,” he said.
Lorelei Timms was holding her shoes, standing on the carpeted floor in her stocking feet.
“I wish I could wear my boots,” she said. “And have a smoke.”
Service checked the room. Most people were standing around tables, talking and laughing.
Buzz Gishron was still seated at the head table and Whit Timms was talking to him.