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“He put some calcium chews in my work bag because he heard me complain about my last bone-density scan,” Helen added with a smile. “Chocolate macadamia.”
“And he got me the sweetest little yawara the last time he was in Nagasaki,” Natalie put in.
They looked at me and I shrugged. “He got me a slapjack from a leathermaker in Texas.” It was a nice little weapon. Itlooked like a Bible bookmark but it had enough lead in either end to crush a man’s temple. “He’s good at details and he’s thoughtful.”
“See? A nice kid,” Helen said. “Look, the board obviously believes we did something wrong, wrong enough to kill over. And by now they know the first attempt to take us out didn’t work. They’ll realize the natural thing for us to do is ask questions, and whoever we ask is at risk.”
“And Martin is the first person we’d ask since Vance’s curator is dead,” I finished. I rubbed a hand over my face. “Helen’s right. Contacting Martin could put him in danger.”
“We don’t know that,” Mary Alice argued.
I held up a hand. “Let’s call Martin Plan B. There has to be someone else who might have a line on what’s going on. Someone less vulnerable than Martin but with an ear for gossip.”
We were silent a moment, thinking. I tipped back in my chair, balancing on two legs as I considered. Natalie picked up the marker and started to doodle on a corner of the tablecloth while Mary Alice plucked at her paper napkin, tearing little pieces off and putting them into a pile. Helen simply sat, staring into the middle distance, and Minka finished off the last of the beignets.
Suddenly, I set the legs of my chair down with a thump. “Sweeney would talk.”
“I haven’t seen Sweeney in twenty years,” Mary Alice said.
Helen sat forward. “It might be worth asking. He’s always been very fond of us.”
“He retired last year,” I said thoughtfully. “He might notbe as inclined to keep Museum secrets now that he has his pension.”
“Provided he knows any secrets,” Mary Alice pointed out. “If he’s not active, he might not be up on the latest gossip.”
“Targeting four active operatives is not exactly a story they’re going to be able to keep a lid on,” I said. “Trust me, people are talking.”
Nat looked up from her sketch—a male nude that was in danger of crossing over from tasteful to mildly pornographic. “Sweeney will help.”
I flicked her a look. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
Her expression was smug. “I ought to be. I slept with him last year.”
Anybody listening to what came next would have mistaken us for the world’s oldest slumber party.
“Euw, Nat,Sweeney—”
“You don’t like redheads.”
“Was he any good?”
The last was from me. Natalie grinned. “Better than you’d think.”
“Buthow?” Helen asked plaintively.
Natalie gave a satisfied little stretch, remembering. “It was in Osaka. We’d been assigned two members of the same crime family. Somebody in Provenance screwed up and didn’t realize they were related because the surnames were different. Otherwise we could have coordinated the job. As it was, when we crossed paths in the Ritz, we almost blew our covers. We had to compare notes, so he came to my room. One thing led to another.” She shrugged.
“So, you can get in touch with him?” I asked.
She shook her head. “We had a quickie before the job and then a nice encore after. He was out of my room by dawn. He had an early flight out.”
Helen gave a sudden exclamation and dove into her bag. “I’ve got it,” she said, waving her address book. She flipped through the pages. “McSween, Charles. Kansas City.”
She jotted down the number and offered it to Natalie. Nat stared at it like she’d offered her a spoonful of roadkill on a cracker. “I amnotcalling him.”
“But why?” Mary Alice asked. “You’re the last one who had any contact with him.” If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with Akiko, she might have snickered at the word “contact.” God knows I wanted to. But she was annoyed, speeding up the on-ramp to seriously pissed.
I grabbed the piece of paper from Helen. “I’ll do it. Talking to an ex can be awkward.”
