CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

THIRTY TWO
I dressed in black and went up to the roof
and sat staring at the haze of light over the city,
contemplating the news that so took me by surprise
earlier tonight at Elaine’s. I decided to forego feeding
in order to scribble these thoughts.
Patti met me at Elaine’s, and she looked
haggard and drawn. I made her order some soup and
demanded she sip some champagne to stimulate the
appetite before her bowl arrived. The bubbly seemed
to revive her but not for very long.

Her shoulders were hunched and she kept
looking down rather than at me. I sense that lost
or broken love affair is somewhere in the mix of
emotions that are wearing on her. I find it very
unlikely that Danny’s death is still causing her to lose
sleep. Spring fever is in the air and it looks as though
my assistant has fallen prey to it, in the worst sort
of way. I do hope she finds someone, or has already
found someone, and that it works out for her. It would
do her good. I know that this would best, even if it
does cause me a pang of regret.
We began going over some of the things that
fell by the wayside since the murder. We realized
that since that time neither of us looked at the wraps
for Pretty Lady or for Ukulele, Baby, the Off Broadway
show which I have had running for so long I forgot that it existed.
“Why would I care about ticket sales anyway?”
That made Patti laugh and she brightened for a moment but it faded before either of us could enjoy it. My obsession with the wrap is over-the-top. With computer access, it is not unusual for me to check sales numbers on a daily and sometimes hourly basis. This was an unusual juncture for me in so many ways, not the least of which was Danny’s sudden demise. Patti’s soup arrived and I told her to eat every spoonful or she was fired.
I turned around and surveyed the crowd in the restaurant. There were more people at the bar than at tables. It is Monday night, after all. Elaine was sitting alone at the fourth table in from the front door, which opened to admit Joe Eason, who went straight to the saloon keeper’s table and huddled with her.
I recalled that Matt Dunleavy said the private detective could not investigate Danny’s murder for me due to a conflict of interest. It seemed that could only mean one thing – Eason was investigating me. That thought made me uncomfortable. I considered and discarded the idea of confronting the detective. As the evening would develop, I did not have to say anything to Eason. He and Elaine would say it to me.
Turning back to face Patti, I found her staring at me with a vacant expression.
“Are you all right?”
She smiled again, shook herself.
“Yes. I’m fine.”
“Then eat your soup. Have some bread with it. Do you want a salad?”
She shook her head no.
While she ate I delivered a monologue about how pleased I am with the run through and how it went. I described the singing in glowing terms, and the excellent mechanics of the set. I got her to smile a little about the various flubs in the dance routines. Then something over my shoulder caught her attention. I could see it in her eyes.
“Here comes your friend the detective,” she said.
I stood up to intercept him on my feet.
“Hello, Joe,” I said, without offering my hand.
“Hello, Gus. I saw you back here and wanted to explain about my phone call with Matt Dunleavy the other day.”
He looked past me and smiled at Patti.
“Let’s sit down over here for a minute.”
He gestured at an empty table next to the doorway that is entrance and egress for the wait staff.
“As you wish, but don’t feel obligated to explain or that you should betray any professional confidence on my behalf.”
“Don’t worry, I don’t and I won’t. Come on. Let’s sit.”
He turned and we both sat down where he indicated. Even though no one was in immediate earshot, Joe spoke in low tones.