The Investigators Part 6

"What?"

"They have Chablis."

"Don't go away."

"We'll see."

He went to the upstairs bar and ordered a Chablis and a scotch and soda, no ice, for himself, and returned to Susan Reynolds.

"Thank you," she said.

"You're not from here, are you?" Matt said.

"Now you sound like Chad."

"How's that?"

"A pillar of Philadelphia society, surprised at meeting a barbarian within the gates."

"I didn't mean it that way. But I've never seen you around before. I would have noticed."

"Harrisburg," she said. "Outside Camp Hill."

"h.e.l.lo," a female voice said behind him.

"Miss Reynolds, may I introduce my mother and father?" Matt said. "Mother, Dad, this is Susan Reynolds."

Matt's mother did not look her forty-five years. She had a smooth, tanned, unwrinkled complexion and a trim body. It was often said that she looked at least fifteen years younger than her husband, a tall, well-built, dignified, silver-haired man in his early fifties.

"How do you do?" Patricia Moffitt Payne said. "Daffy's told me about you."

"You're not supposed to call her Daffy," Matt said.

"I've known her since she was in diapers," Patricia Payne said. "I'll call her whatever I please."

"And it does fit, doesn't it?" Susan Reynolds said.

"I didn't say that," Patricia Payne said.

"I think you're a friend of Mr. Emmons, aren't you, Mr. Payne?" Susan Reynolds asked.

"Charles Emmons?" Brewster Payne asked.

She nodded. "He's a good friend of my father."

"Does that make you Thomas Reynolds's daughter, by chance?"

"Guilty."

"Charley and I went to law school together," Brewster C. Payne said. "I don't know your father. But Charley often mentions him."

"Matt," Patricia Payne said. "You're going to have to say h.e.l.lo to the Detweilers. They know you're here."

"Oh, G.o.d!"

"Matt!"

"Yes, ma'am," Matt said.

"Now would be a good time," Patricia Payne said.

"Will you excuse me, please?" Matt said to Susan Reynolds. "I will return."

Making his manners with Penny's parents was as painful as he thought it would be. And it took five minutes, which seemed like much longer.

When he returned to Susan Reynolds, his parents were gone, replaced by two young men who had also discovered the good-looking blonde without visible escort.

"What do you say, Payne?" one of them said. His name was T. Winslow Hayes, and they had been cla.s.smates at Episcopal Academy. Matt hadn't liked him then, and didn't like him now. The other one was vaguely familiar, but Matt couldn't put a name to him.

"What do I say about what?"

"Can I get you another drink, Susan?" the other one asked.

"Thank you, but I have appointed Matt booze-bearer for the evening," Susan said, and, raising her gla.s.s, added, "And I already have one."

Am I getting lucky?

T. Winslow Hayes and the other left shortly thereafter.

Their hostess appeared.

"I feel duty-bound to warn you about him, Susan," Daffy said.

"Daffy has never forgiven me for refusing to marry her," Matt said. "Don't pay any attention to her."

"You s.h.i.+t!" Daffy said.

Susan Reynolds chuckled.

"He doesn't look very threatening to me," Susan said.

"There are some very nice boys here I could introduce you to," Daffy said.

"Thank you, but no thank you."

I am getting lucky.

"Well, don't say I didn't warn you," Daffy said, and left them.

"Oddly enough, I think Daffy likes you," Susan said.

"In her own perverted way, perhaps," Matt said.

"Are you a lawyer, like your father?" Susan asked.

"No."

"You look like a lawyer."

"How does a lawyer look?"

"Like you."

"Sorry."

"What do you do?"

"Would you believe policeman?"

"No."

"Cross my heart and hope to die. Boy Scout's honor."

"How interesting. Really?"

"Detective Matthew Payne at your service, ma'am."

He saw that she now believed him-and in her eyes that he was no longer going to be lucky.

Let's cut to the chase.

"Do you like jazz, Susan?"

"What kind of jazz?"

"Dixieland."

She nodded.

"There's a club, in Center City, where there's a real live, imported-directly-from-Bourbon-Street-in-New-Orleans-Louisiana Dixieland band," Matt made his pitch. "Could I interest you in leaving these sordid surroundings and all these charming people to go there? They serve gen-u-ine southern barbecue ribs and oysters and beer."

Susan Reynolds met his eyes.

"Sorry," she said. "Try somebody else."

"Daffy scared you off?"

"Look, I'm sure you're a very nice fellow, but I'm just not interested. Okay?"

"Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free," Matt said. "May I get you another drink before I leave?"

She held up her gla.s.s.

"I have one. Thank you just the same."

"Have a nice night, Susan."

"You, too," Susan Reynolds said.

Although she had hoped to be able to get away from the party without being seen, Susan Reynolds ran into her hostess as she was going down the stairway to the first floor.

"You're not leaving so soon?" Daffy asked, pro forma.

"Thank you for having me, Daffy," Susan said. "I had a lovely time."

"Even if you're leaving alone?" Daffy challenged. "You didn't find anyone interesting?"

"I don't recall saying I didn't find anybody anybody interesting," Susan said, "just that I was leaving interesting," Susan said, "just that I was leaving here here alone. A policeman offered to take me someplace where the jazz is supposed to be good." alone. A policeman offered to take me someplace where the jazz is supposed to be good."

She winked at Daffy, who smiled with pleasure.

"Have a good time," Daffy said.

"I will try," Susan said, and kissed Daffy on the cheek.

"He's really not as bad as I said," Daffy said.

"Now you tell me?" Susan said. "After I get my hopes up?"

Daffy laughed appreciatively.

Susan walked to the end of Stockton Place and handed the claim check to her car to the man in charge of the valet parking. It was delivered much sooner than she expected, but with what she had come to regard as the ritual expression of admiration.

"Nice wheels," the valet parking driver said.

Susan had come into a trust fund established for her by her paternal grandfather when she had turned twenty-five. The Porsche 911 had been her present to herself on that occasion.

"Nice engine, too," Susan said, and slipped him two dollar bills.

He looked like a nice kid, and he smiled warmly at her.

"Thanks a lot," he said.

Susan got behind the wheel, smiled up at the kid, and drove away.