Free The Hanged Man by Walter Satterthwait Page A

trick with his temple. “Veronica,” he said. “Interesting woman.”
    â€œHow so?”
    â€œVery bright, very attractive. I never understood how she got involved with Bouvier.”
    â€œShe was involved with Quentin Bouvier?”
    He frowned, puzzled. “Quentin?” Then he grinned. “No, not with Quentin. With Justine.”

“I need a new car,” I said.
    Rita said, “I told you, Joshua. I think you should lease one.”
    â€œObviously, Rita, you don’t understand the intimate relationship that exists between a man and his motor vehicle.”
    â€œObviously not. But I do understand the intimate relationship that exists between a man and the Internal Revenue Service. If you lease the car and put it in the agency’s name, you can deduct your payments.”
    â€œThere are some things whose importance transcends financial considerations. A car, Rita, is more than just a means of transportation. It’s an expression of a man’s inner being, his true essence.”
    â€œJoshua?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œI don’t want you to be offended.”
    â€œYou don’t buy that, huh?”
    â€œWell, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It’s pathetic, of course, but I buy it. But I’m not talking about that.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œYour feet. They’re cold.”
    â€œOh,” I said, and I laughed. “Sorry.”
    We were in Rita’s bedroom, lying in Rita’s big canopied bed, the down comforter pulled up to our waists. Propped up against a pair of pillows, her hair jet black against the white Egyptian cotton, Rita was wearing a black silk nightgown that I found, as always, profoundly interesting. Lying on my side, my elbow against the mattress, my cheek notched against my fist, I was wearing what I usually wore in these circumstances. A silly grin. In the soft light from the nightstand lamp, she looked about twenty years old, and more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen.
    â€œSpeaking of inner beings,” she said.
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWere you able to locate Carl Buffalo?”
    â€œLocate, yes. Talk to, no. He’s up in the mountains with a flock of happy campers. He’ll be back in a couple of days. I spoke with some woman at his house—wife, girlfriend, I don’t know.”
    â€œNot a wife. The land tax records have him as single.”
    â€œYou got that from the computer?”
    â€œYes. What about Carol Masters?”
    â€œShe’s out of town, too. Probably visiting Alpha Centauri. That’s where this guy she channels, Araxys, is supposed to live. What do you figure Alpha Centauri is like, this time of year?”
    â€œWarm. Who will you be seeing tomorrow?”
    â€œBrad Freefall and Sylvia Morningstar. I’ve got an appointment out in La Cienega at ten.”
    â€œWhen you’re in the house, make certain you take a careful look at the fireplaces.”
    I took a careful look at Rita. “And why would I do that?”
    â€œThat Tarot card would be easier to conceal if it weren’t inside its leather binder.”
    â€œAh. Right. And leather can burn.”
    â€œAnd leather can burn.”
    â€œHey,” I said. “I knew that.”
    She smiled. “But possibly, if the binder has been burned, some of it remained.”
    â€œI’ll take a careful look at the fireplaces,” I said.
    â€œWhat about Leonard Quarry?” she asked me.
    â€œHe hasn’t returned my call. But Peter Jones did, the guy who’s been playing around with Justine Bouvier, and I’m seeing him at four tomorrow. He lives in Mesa Roja. What I thought I’d do, after I talk to Brad and Sylvia, was shoot up to Agua Caliente and see if I can find Quarry. Afterward I can drive over to Mesa Roja. It’s not far.”
    â€œAnd Veronica Chang?”
    â€œTomorrow night.”
    â€œEliza Remington?”
    â€œI see