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He called ahead and reserved a rental car at Austin. By noon, he was walking up the steps at Espada. The housekeeper opened the door and smiled broadly.
“Mr. Graham, how nice to see you.”
He’d given up trying to convince her to drop the “mister” years back, and he was in no mood to take up the battle today.
“Hello, Carmen. Is the old man in?”
“Yes, certainly. He’s on the deck. Come in, please. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
“I’ll tell him myself.”
Gray brushed past her, went through the house and out to the waterfall deck. His uncle was lying on a chaise longue, eyes closed, a light blanket drawn over him despite the warmth of the sun. He looked old and tired. The anger that had been building inside Gray toward the old man for getting him into this mess began to fade.
He sighed, sat down to wait, but Jonas must have sensed his presence because he opened his eyes.
“Graham?”
“Yes. Hello, Jonas. I guess I should have phoned to tell you I was coming.”
“Why? You afraid I might be too busy for a chat?” His uncle laughed and sat up. “Good to see you. What brings you to Espada?”
“You sent me to find Dawn Lincoln Kitteridge, remember?”
“Carmen?” Jonas’s voice cracked, but it had the same timbre as ever. “Carmen! Where in blazes are you?” He glared at Gray. “‘Course I remember. It’s my blood’s gone bad, not my brain. I take it you found her.”
“Yes.”
“Good, good. You want somethin’ to cool your throat? Beer? Bourbon?” Jonas made a face as the housekeeper poked her head out the door. “Not that she’ll let me have bourbon, not even with Marta gone for the day. Ain’t that right, Carmen?”
“I’ll be happy to bring you water or juice, Mr. Baron, and to bring Mr. Graham whatever he wishes.”
“Iced water would be fine,” Gray said.
Jonas sighed heavily. “Yeah, yeah, make it two.”
He sat back and turned his face to the sun. Gray thought he might have dozed off again but once Carmen brought the water, poured it and went back into the house, his uncle looked at him, the command of old glittering in his eyes.
“Tell me about her.”
“Well, she lives in Las Vegas.”
Jonas raised his bushy brows. “Vegas? What does the girl do? Is she a gambler?”
Gray thought of what Dawn had said, about the guilt she’d felt as a dealer. “No. She doesn’t think much of gambling. She works at a hotel.”
“Doin’ what? Am I going to have to drag every detail out of you?”
“She’s a Special Services representative.”
“Meanin’?”
“Meaning, she makes arrangements for VIPs. She sees to it that they have whatever they want.”
The old man’s brows rose again. “You tellin’ me the girl’s some sort of expensive hooker?”
“No,” Gray said sharply, “she’s not.” He paused, gathered the composure he seemed to be having a tough time hanging on to today, rose from his chair and walked to the deck railing. What right did he have to jump on his uncle for leaping to that conclusion, when he’d done the same thing? “I thought something like that, too, before…” He wrapped his hands around the rail, fingers biting into it as he recalled the swift flush of anger in Dawn’s face when he’d said as much. “The best way to explain it,” he said, facing his uncle, “is that she does what a concierge would do, only more of it, and only for celebrities and high rollers. That’s the closest I can come to a job description.”
“High rollers, huh?”
