“Vic Bazhin’s decided to stay over the weekend,” Payne said. “I didn’t think he’d miss out. We’ll need to organize some girls. Another half dozen should balance things out.”
“I’ll call the agencies this evening. Put in a reservation.”
“Excellent.”
Finnion looked past Payne and motioned with his head. “Isn’t that her now?”
Payne turned to look back toward the house. Vanessa had appeared on the path leading from the summer house, presumably having just arrived and parked at the front. She was wearing a full, calf-length skirt with wrap-around coat and headscarf, along with sunglasses despite the leaden overcast.
“I hadn’t allowed for her on the guest list,” Finnion murmured. “Do you want her added?”
Payne shook his head. “I don’t think so, Andy. It wouldn’t look very becoming if the police had to trace her here to break the tragic news, would it? She needs to be at home to play the grieving widow.”
“That makes sense.” Finnion nodded. Then he grinned crookedly as a thought struck him. “Does that mean I should make it seven more girls?”
Payne tut-tutted, winked, and moved forward along the walkway outside the main salon to greet Vanessa at the port-side gate. Finnion followed. Vanessa walked quickly along the dock below, climbed the access stairs, and came aboard in a clatter of doe-skin boots. They went down a short flight of steps into the salon. Finnion closed the door leading forward—several of the crew were aboard, working about the vessel. Payne raised his eyebrows inquiringly.
Vanessa gave a quick nod. “Saturday’s confirmed. I’ve told him that the Jeep is playing up, so he’ll be using my car—the Jaguar. The special bug will be concealed among other gadgets and things in a couple of boxes that I’ll leave down by the back seat. They’ll be thrown all over the car in the wreck, so even if it’s found at all, there’ll be no reason for anyone to give it a second thought.” She looked at Finnion for an opinion.
He pursed his lips while various improbable scenarios paraded through his policeman’s mind. Finally he nodded, satisfied. “Nobody’s going to be looking for a weapon. And if the weather breaks, it’ll suit us even better. That road’s treacherous enough even in an Indian summer.” A fact of which Vanessa hardly needed reminding. It was she who had suggested it in the first place.
“And what’s your schedule for Saturday?” Payne asked her.
“Ostensibly shopping in the city in the morning and meeting a couple of old friends for lunch.” She had to be away, in order to be at Microbotics in Redmond to carry out the operation. The matter-of-fact way she was able to talk about it chilled even Payne. “Then back to Olympia in the afternoon. After that, well, just play along with what happens.” She ran an eye pointedly over Payne. “I presume you’ll be busy with the party.”
Irritation flared in him for an instant. What was she insinuating now—that he was just some kind of playboy, while she took care of the real work? Or was it a veiled reminder that the professional girls were strictly for Bazhin and the other guests? He could feel life becoming constrictive already. But until she—with the patents—became Mrs. Payne, that was something he’d have to practice living with.
He smiled and put an arm around her. “Someone has to look after those boring people. As you said the other day, taking care of finances is what I do best. In spirit I’ll be with you all the way. . . . Andy, how about a drink to welcome our lost sheep back to the fold? . . . Soon-to-be so, anyhow.”
Finnion opened a wooden wall cabinet that had ornaments and figurines lined along the top. “Aye, aye, skipper,” he replied.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Monsters in old movies had scales and fangs, and lumbered about squashing cars, picking up trains, and causing heroines to put their hands to their faces and scream. Their modern counterparts symbolized fears of mutant technology more than mutant biology, and consisted, more often than not, of intricate assemblages of machinery and wiring directed by silicon brains that always made the eyes glow a sinister red.