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Quantrell coughed, trying to clear his suddenly dry throat. He croaked, “Yes, I do.”
“Good. Sit tight and I’ll get back to you.”
Quantrell screamed into the phone, but Bunting had already clicked off.
CHAPTER
75
IT WAS A FUND-RAISING GALA at Lincoln Center. The stars were out from both coasts. Peter Bunting’s wife was on the Lincoln board and had helped spearhead the event. She was not here tonight because of her recent illness, but she had found someone who could use her comp ticket.
Kelly Paul, tall and regal, and wearing a long gown with her hair tucked up except for a few dangling strands, walked along one of the corridors of the Center, a glass of Bordeaux in hand. People stared and commented on her, though they didn’t know who she was.
Paul was here for only one reason. And she had finally spotted it.
Or, more accurately, spotted her.
Ellen Foster did not look very comfortable. It was not just the problem of Edgar Roy weighing on her mind. It was a matter of being at an event where she was far from the center of attention. Her public fame was limited, though she had more public power than anyone in the building. But that didn’t seem to matter when a gaggle of guests nearly ran over you in their quest to corner the latest Hollywood or singing sensation.
Foster walked along with a glass of champagne in hand, stealthily looking for anyone who might recognize her so she could do a bit of preening. Failing to find anyone interested in her, Foster decided to visit the ladies’ room.
Inside the ladies’ room, while she was reapplying her lipstick, Foster heard a voice.
“Hello, Ellen.”
She froze but only for an instant. She glanced in the mirror, saw no one.
“I locked the door. We won’t be disturbed.”
Foster slowly turned. “I’m armed.”
“No, you’re not.”
Kelly Paul emerged from the shadows and faced her. Even in her three-inch heels Foster was dwarfed by the other woman.
“Kelly Paul?” Foster shook her head. “You have unbelievable balls to be doing this.”
“Doing what? Taking a pee? Don’t they allow that at Lincoln Center anymore?”
Foster rested her rump on the granite sink and folded her arms across her chest.
“I could have you arrested right now.”
“For what?”
“Any number of things.”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Where’s your brother?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I really don’t have time for this.”
“Peter Bunting?” said Paul.
“What about him?”
