“I’ll have that done in Florida.” Chez blew his nose quite daintily. “See you later,” he said, and went off toward Emily’s house.
Max allowed himself to tremble, but by the time he came in his own front door he was calm and composed. Which was more than could be said for Davina, in a temper.
“How dare you, Max!” she began.
He cut her short with a chop of his hand through air that whistled, the gesture was so fast. “For once, Davina, you will shut up and listen!” he snapped. “You’re a cock teaser who can’t resist teasing cock, but don’t try it on Chez Malcuzinski. He is a gangster — a real gangster! He’d as soon put a bullet in the back of your head as look at you. If you tease him into making a move, you’d better be ready to deliver, because he won’t like no for an answer after you’ve led him on. And you’ll look in vain for me to rescue you, because I won’t lift a finger for you. I love you, but I love living more.”
Her lusciously lipsticked mouth had dropped open, her fixed blue eyes had forgotten to blink; she had never seen this side of her husband, and it came as a shock. “I …” she said feebly.
“I haven’t gotten where I am by being unintelligent and naive, Vina. I may not have a college degree, but I’ve been associated with C.U.P. for over twenty years, and the culture wears off as well as the learning. So I’ll repeat my warning about Chez Malcuzinski — he’s a bad man, stay clear of him.” He transferred his attention to Uda. “As for you, take care of your mistress. Now I’m going upstairs to play with my son.”
While Max played with his baby, Davina went for a walk: a long one. A mile up Route 133 sat Major Minor’s Museum of Horrors and Motel, which happened to be Davina’s destination.
It had changed out of all recognition since the days (not so very long ago) when it had catered for afternoon trysts between businessmen and their feminine targets. Now it was run in conjunction with a house on the opposite side of the road that contained a chamber of horrors that had rocked Holloman, Connecticut and the entire nation. Major F Sharp Minor had found his metier at last, renovated his motel into premises some felt better than the Cleveland Hotel downtown, and, besides a haute cuisine restaurant, offered an excellent coffee shop. Here Davina shed her outer wear and walked to a table in a secluded corner.
“I guess you had to come, but I wish you hadn’t,” was her opening remark, then, with a smile to a hovering waitress, “Coffee with cream, nothing to eat, thank you.”
“Was Val’s story about not being able to find me true?” Chez asked, eating mixed breakfast grills with pleasure.
“Of course it was!” she said rather crossly, then smiled at the returning waitress, who thought her beautiful in every way — such manners! “I couldn’t very well inform him that I knew where you were. As far as the Tunbulls are concerned, you and I don’t even know each other. Otherwise it might be a bit difficult to explain how I just happened to appear at Max’s printery from my new premises down the road that you just happened to help me buy. As well as pointing my nose at Max.”
“What’s going on?”
“I wish I knew, but I don’t. On one level, this poisoner got us out of a hole, but on another, he’s put us in the soup. The cops are breathing down our necks, and they’re not stupid. When this stranger called last December and announced he was Max’s long lost son, I was stunned. Well, don’t sit there, stupid! You must know all about Martita and John because Emily always got the blame for their running away.”
“That was never fair! Thirty years ago I was just a kid — no way I could help Em.”
“Your beloved sister, Chez, was a bitch,” Davina said, chin out. “She tried her tricks on me too, but I’m no Martita.”
The dark eyes flashed. “You’re asking for trouble, Vina.”
“Crap, I am! I go down, you go down, Chester Derzinsky. Save your malice for people you can terrify.”
“Yeah, you’re safe,” he admitted reluctantly. “So you had to kill the long lost son to protect your son, right?”
“That’s just it, I didn’t!” cried Davina. Her voice fell to a whisper. “The poison is some stuff so rare that only a handful of people can make it. I know the husband of the woman who did make it, but no one seems to suspect her — she’s related to half the police force and her dad’s the Medical Examiner. It’s not foxgloves or nightshade, things I could make. Even if I had some, I wouldn’t know how to use it.”