Free A Brush With Death by Joan Smith Page B

the knife was thrown,” I reminded him, and gave the news about Bergma's phone call.
    John wiped his chin with his fingers. “You didn't get a sound of the caller's voice? Not even to know if the voice was foreign?"
    “Not a syllable. Bergma just laid down the law and hung up."
    “It wasn't Denise. She was with me at the time."
    I grudgingly granted the point. “It's somebody who knows what's going on, a helper. But the helper is supposed to have killed Latour. In that case, Bergma would hardly have to tell him he was dead, would he?"
    “There could be some falling-out among thieves here. Maybe the helper double-crossed Bergma, killed Latour, and snatched the paintings. Or it could be an outsider is pulling the rug out from under both of them. Someone might have got on to them."
    “Somebody like Hot Buns, who knows all the gang members,” I suggested.
    His grin was far from dissatisfied. “I'll have to keep a real sharp eye on Denise. Latour's murder hasn't hit the news yet, so how did Bergma know? He must have been there."
    After five minutes or so, we spotted Gino scuttling forward. “Let's blow,” he said. “I could use a beer right about now. Or something stronger. Got any booze in your room, Weiss?"
    “I have some Johnnie Walker."
    “Red or black?"
    “Black. When I have to bribe a Mountie, I go whole hog.” We drove in John's car back to the Bonaventure Hotel and went to his room. “Do you want Scotch, Cass, or do you want to order something from room service?” John asked.
    What I wanted was for Gino to leave, but I ordered a half-bottle of white wine to reward myself for having to put up with him, and for John's flirting with Hot Buns.
    “There's not much more we can do right now,” Gino said. “Menard will let us know where Bergma goes and who he talks to. I can put a listening device in his office. You might put one in his house tonight when you go, John. You'll still go, even if he says he doesn't have the paintings?"
    “I'll be there. No reason to believe he was telling the truth to whoever called him. I wonder if he'll go to Searle's party, with all this hanging over his head. Maybe he'll stay home and meet his cohort there."
    “Is Hot Buns going to this party?” I asked.
    “She didn't say,” John answered.
    Gino had wandered to the counter, and poured about four inches of Scotch into his glass and added a drop of water. “By the way, I'm officially on the case now,” he said. “I talked to the office. It saves me wasting my holidays by being here. Kills two birds with one stone, you know what I mean. Are you seeing Hot Buns tonight, John?"
    I came to ramrod attention. John blushed. I blanched. “No,” he said, “but I'm meeting her tomorrow night at the Art Nouveau do. Would you mind escorting Cassie, Gino?” He didn't dare to look at me when he said this.
    Gino grinned at me like a hungry cannibal. “It would be my pleasure. You foot the bill for tickets and cab fare, Weiss."
    “I have plenty of friends,” I said, glaring at John. “I'll arrange my own date.” Which meant fifty bucks for tickets. I couldn't possibly afford it. I'd have to go alone.
    “Let's all go together,” John said hastily. “All I'm doing is meeting Denise there. It'll look better if you have another date, Cassie. Just while we're there."
    “Are you taking her home too?"
    “Ahem—well, we didn't get down to details. I just said I'd meet her there. I suppose she'll expect a drive home. She must surely know something."
    “Yes, she knows how to steal my date! And furthermore, don't think she isn't capable of whipping a knife into somebody's back."
    He had the gall to wink at me. “You keep a sharp eye on my back tomorrow night."
    “Sure, you watch my back and I'll watch yours."
    It was a thoroughly unsatisfying meeting. I didn't have Gino's staying power. I was starving by five o'clock after one measly grilled-cheese sandwich at eleven-thirty. The gourmands had had steak for lunch. John said he'd