About Face (29 page)

“Ever had carpaccio?” Brendon asked. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching. “Buddy of mine butchers these babies. The cows live it up before they—” He made a throat-slitting motion. “Totally organic.”

He popped a slice into his mouth, then followed it with a toast round from a nearby platter. The next slice he dipped into a mustard sauce. As he tossed a few capers after it, a hand grabbed his elbow.

“Hey, asshole!”

Brendon turned and briefly arm-wrestled with a guy in a bloodstained apron. Then each of them broke into a grin. Brendon introduced me as Dirk or Bill, or whatever.

The prep cook gave me a nod and returned to his carving. “One more apiece,” he said, dangling a maroon slice in front of me. “Then get the hell out of the kitchen.”

I took it. It was good beef, all right. But what stayed in my mind was the pool in the bottom of the stainless steel bowl. The whole thing was less appetizing when, instead of being presented on an hors d'oeuvres platter, it was piled in a red heap swimming in its own blood. Even less appetizing was what it told me about who killed Rod.

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I'm a cinematographer, so colors stick in my mind. When they enter or re-enter the frame I remember them, like a dog remembers a scent or a musician remembers a chord. The runoff from the carpaccio was a color I knew well. But I needed to know more before I decided what to do about it.

Cathy's voice rang into the kitchen, calling the troops to order. I went with Brendon to pick up our first tray of Purple Eagles from the bar station. He licked the carpaccio juice from his fingers, self-satisfied and oblivious.

The bartender popped a bottle of champagne and added a dollop of Chambord to each glass, followed by two raspberries. The string ensemble hired for the cocktail hour began to play. The doors opened and the first arrivals trickled in. By some miracle my first tray of long-stemmed glasses did not crash to the floor when I lifted it into position with one hand.

“Let's float,” Brendon said. It was the term Cathy had used to
mean we'd wander on the floor offering drinks to whoever wanted them. It was a good way to circulate and to see who was there. I was more invisible than a cameraman.

At first, without many people, it was easy. I got the feel of balancing the tray. Then suddenly the doors gushed with guests. The music was drowned out in a rumble of voices rebounding through the ballroom.

I worked my way to the middle of the floor, turned to offer a round of drinks, and came face-to-face with Mike Riley. His broad grin shrank like plastic on hot iron.

“Purple Eagle, sir?” I said. But my own smile disappeared when I saw his date. It was Kim, in a long, slim evening gown. Her hair was done up with flowers and she looked great. She gave me a demure greeting. I motioned her aside.

“Oh no you don't,” Mike said, interposing himself. “Not again.”

I handed him the tray. He took it by reflex. I slipped past him and took Kim's arm.

“What are you doing here?” I demanded.

“He invited me.” Her voice was sweet and smoky. “I want to help you, Bill.”

“Rupert's here. Your mother's here. You're going to blow it.”

The smile stayed on her face, but the sweetness left. “Don't tell me what to do.”

I didn't have time to argue. “It's your choice.”

“I'm listening to what Mike and Sylvain talk about. I'm going to tell you everything. It's funny, it's like being back in my job with SG.”

Mike was barking my name and prodding me in the small of the back with the tray. I turned to take it from him. He was about to bust a button. Before he got any more words out,
Connie and Ronald Plush moved in. Mike took Kim's arm and squired her away.

“Thank you, waiter,” Connie said to me in a dry, mock-haughty tone.

Ronald was confused. “Wait a minute. Aren't you—?”

I shrugged. “Got to pay the bills.”

Connie cut in front of Ronald, who didn't seem to mind, and leaned close to my ear to speak. “I did everything I could to keep her away. She insisted. She says she's going to find out what happened to Rod. Help me keep an eye on her.”

“I'll do my best. I've got to continue the waiter act a little while longer.”

She took the last glass of violet champagne and lifted it in a silent toast. I filled the tray with empty glasses and headed back to the station. The crowd was so thick I had to hoist the tray over my head to get through. Previous jobs had required heavy lifting, but not like this. Somebody squeezed my ass as I went by. I twisted my head over my shoulder. It could have been any one of ten men or women.

When I brought out a new tray, I found Wendy, surrounded by three men, in her corset number and strappy Manolo Blahnik heels. She snatched a glass without so much as a wink at me. I supposed it wouldn't do to pal around with the help. She wore pearl wristlets and her new favorite lipstick, the bruised-claret color. The men appeared fixated on her mouth.

I moved on. Rupert, wearing a three-piece suit, hailed me. “Bill! I see you've found a new profession.”

“Yes,” I said, offering the tray. “I've got a potion that makes people tell me their secrets. You'd be amazed at how much I've learned since I last saw you.”

He took a glass. “Share a little of that with me.”

My shoulder was tapped and I had to turn to let some guests grab drinks. I didn't smile and I didn't call them Purple Eagles. One glass was left when I turned back to Rupert. I took it, lowered the tray to my side, and said, “I know who killed Rod.”

“Bravo!” He clinked my glass. “Who was it?”

“An employee of yours.”

Rupert pretended to be taken aback. He gestured toward an hors d'oeuvres table from which Gary was feeding. “I know where Gary and Trisha and I were that night.”

Gary glanced over as if he heard us talking about him. He looked uncomfortable in his tux. He wasn't any more at home in this crowd than I was. Rupert motioned for him to stay put, then said, “In fact, I know where almost all our employees were that night. Which one gave us the slip?”

“I might tell you, but I need some reciprocation. You're going to have to explain why you and Trisha are using Sylvain Partners to carve up Algoplex.”

He laughed and threw up a dismissive hand, smooth as ever. “Ah well! I guess I'll have to wait and read about the case in the papers.”

A sharp voice made me glance to my right. “Security! Manager!” Trisha shouted.

Brendon stood slouched in front of her, a champagne flute in his hand and a smirk on his face. A new boy, even younger than Brendon, was on Trisha's arm. The new one's ears were shaved close and a shrub of dyed blond hair sat on top of his head. He wore a look of disgust, as if Brendon had just revealed something of a personal nature about Trisha. Brendon's posture almost invited him to attack. But the boy appeared as likely to bolt from Trisha as to defend her honor.

“No one can hear you, Trisha,” I said.

She lowered her eyes on me. “Are you in this with him? I'll have you both thrown out.”

“Let me tell you something first, then. I've been talking to Rod's lawyer. The key-man clause is invalid.”

This was complete fiction, but I wanted to see her response. She jabbed the toe of a lethal suede pump in my direction. “That's
preposterous
, Bill—”

Her mouth snapped shut with a look from Rupert. Brendon— feeling naughty, I guess—said, “No, it's true, Trisha. I heard that, too. The whole thing's off.”

“You little punk, you don't even know what we're talking about.”

Brendon, for all his insolence, shrank back from her. But he'd hit the right note. I said, “Your company's in trouble, Trisha. Both of them.”

Rupert had given a wave to Gary. He shouldered Brendon and me aside, flexing his fingers as if he'd like an excuse to put them around our throats. Brendon smirked at Trisha one last time and said, “Later, babe.”

He headed back toward the bar. Trisha gave me a wary scowl and turned the other way. Rupert touched me on the elbow. We weren't done yet.

While Gary kept an eye on Brendon, Rupert murmured casually to me, “It's a shame what Alissa's done to herself.”

“I think you mean what you did to her. You used SG associates to spy on your takeover targets. Add that to the murder investigation and things are going to be rough for you.”

He rubbed his lips together. “We're not involved in any murder. You know that. It's Alissa's safety you should be worrying about. I know I am.”

“That's easy to say when you've got no idea where she is.”

He leaned in confidentially. “Oh, I know where she is.”

I followed his eyes. They fell on a pink rose in a nest of blond hair about eight yards away. Mike's laugh could be heard even at this distance. Kim happened to look around and met my eyes. She gave a quick wink of a smile. She was perfect: She seemed not to notice Rupert at all. Nonetheless, he made a little bow. He knew.

I stood stunned for a moment. I saw what I had to do now, but there was one more thing I wanted from Rupert. A waiter passing by slapped at my sleeve and pointed at my empty tray. “We could use some help, pal.”

“Just a minute,” I said, handing him the tray. He glared, grabbed it, and left.

Rupert's voice remained casual. “As I said, it's a shame what's happened to her face. But you know, it's only skin deep. The smile, the dance in her eyes: They're still there. I'd recognize Cindy anywhere.”

“Cindy?”

“Cindy Bresloff. Her given name. I felt badly for her—that mother, you know. I wanted to help, to give her a chance to get free of Wendy. Alissa didn't have much in the way of a skill set. When the bottom dropped out of the tech economy, she was desperate. She wasn't cut out for our kind of work, but she insisted we give her a chance.”

“You tricked her into it.”

“Take a minute to listen to me, Bill. We're on the same side.” Rupert spoke indulgently, like an uncle on a stroll in the park. “She had that something special. I'd have done anything for her, but Trisha allows only one kind of contract at entry level. I laid it out for Alissa. She still wanted to do it. So I took it upon myself to make it as easy as possible. Well, Alissa just drips with
charm: She could have been a knockout on dates, melting men left and right. But it was hard on her. Her mother is a consummate phony, and Alissa was afraid she'd go down that road herself. I tried to bump her over to the business side. Trisha wouldn't have it. But I also saw that Alissa's business ethics weren't up to the job. They weren't quite—how should I put it?—
micro
enough.”

The party roared around us, but I barely heard it. I was ensconced in a small cocoon of knowledge shared only by myself, Rupert, and Connie. My fear was what would happen when we left that cocoon. He could use threats to Kim to shut me up about the takeover of Algoplex. To keep him talking, I said, “She could have gone a long way.”

“She could have had the
world
in her hands. Alas it was not to be. Bill, I tell you this from the bottom of my heart. I wanted the best for her. Trisha did require certain contractual obligations to be fulfilled, but I refused to push Alissa. She didn't have to damage her face like that. I would have let her go if she'd spoken openly to me.”

“But what about Rod? What if she wanted to leave you for him?”

Rupert sighed. He stared at the bubbles in his glass, considering the idea. “Maybe she did belong with Rod. Stranger couples have happened. I couldn't get a read on his feelings. I knew the lust was strong, but was there more? And then it seemed all too likely he was responsible for her disappearance. Engineers, you see—the socially withdrawn types like him—don't know women. Obsession can make a decent man do bad things.”

“You must see a lot of that at Silicon Glamour. Brendon's obsession with Alissa—why didn't you grill him about what happened to her?”

Rupert chuckled. “Trisha had her methods. The boy's a dreamboat, but I knew to keep him at arm's length. I do wish my sister applied her famous discipline to her own indulgences. Nevertheless, Brendon's frantic demeanor betrayed him. He didn't know where Alissa was.”

“What about the attack on Erika?”

The avuncular tone disappeared. “I can't talk about that,” he snapped. “She'll be all right. Now look, I've spoken frankly with you. I want you to do the same with me.”

“I have been.”

“No. I want to know who killed Rod. And why Alissa—Kim— is with Mike.”

“She's afraid. Especially of you. She has reason to be.”

“She has reason to fear whoever killed Rod.
Who was it?
”

“I'll tell you,” I said. “First tell me how you're going to stop Sylvain from eating up Rod's company.”

“Bill,” Rupert began. He folded his arms in displeasure, then looked at the food table. Brendon was there, chatting with a guest. “Never mind. I'll ask your new best friend about it.”

I watched Brendon pop a little fish-shaped pastry into his mouth as if he didn't have a care in the world. “Wait,” I said to Rupert. “I'll talk to him first.”

Rupert gave me one of his unctuous smiles. “You do that.”

“Brendon,” I said, “come with me.”

“What's up? You find out something from Rupert?”

I just nodded and took him into the kitchen. The walk-in refrigerator was the only place I could think of where we could talk alone. A sous chef gave me a dirty look as I opened the door. I walked around the boxes of produce, flats of eggs, and bins of iced fish to the other side of the refrigerator's middle rack.

Brendon had some idea of what I was going to say. My theory was that he wanted to be caught: Otherwise why had he made the throat-slitting motion when he talked about the beef? Standing before him in the frigid, misting air, the sweat contracting into tiny beads on his skin, I saw how unformed his face was, how little he knew himself. The smirk, the cool, the James Dean insolence, were masks he'd learned. He had little idea what lay beneath that pretty surface. He hadn't lived enough for character to take root beyond the dreamboat gaze and the childish demand to have every desire fulfilled. He knew he could make people fall in lust with him, and this allowed him to get what he wanted. But he had no idea what it was he did want. Until Alissa, that is. And she, along with her mother, were the two women in the world who could resist him.