She only had ten left, considered asking him to take half. Found the idea even more annoying, so slogged through on her own.
She swung around. “I’ve got nine more,” she told him. “That includes a married couple who attended, divorced shortly thereafter, and the male’s already remarried. And two couples who weren’t yet married, but now are married. According to the guest list, one of those couples attended with people who were set to but didn’t end up getting married.”
“I had eight, and that included a couple now newly married. It would fit, wouldn’t it, as the Patricks were newly married at the time of the attack?”
“Exactly. So we’ll assume he keeps up. Either because he’s in that circle, or he uses the society and gossip media. Maybe all of that. One on my list is on the edge, age wise, as they’re both into their fifties, and he’s gone younger on the females. But, and this could be a connect, she’s an actress. Mostly theater, but some screen, too. Nothing with On Screen that’s listed.”
“What’s her name?”
Eve swung back to her list. “Gloria Grecian. Do you know her?”
“Of. I’ve seen her perform. Musical comedy.”
“Makes sense. She’s been married to Maurice Cartier, a choreographer, for twelve years. We’ll start making contact with the thirty-odd couples on the list tomorrow.”
She looked toward the window. Had the snow thinned or was that just her own version of cheery optimism? “Nothing much we can do tonight.”
“Are you still in the mood for a vid?”
“Yeah.” She looked at the list, her board, accepted she’d just be turning in circles to keep at it now. “Yeah, I am. What’s it again?”
“I thought we’d dive right in to The Avengers rather than take you through the individual vids establishing the characters.”
“Superheroes.”
“Exactly.” He went to her, took her hand. “Ironman, for instance.”
“Like Cal Ripken, Jr.?”
“Sorry?”
“Ha—got you on one. Cal Ripken, Iron Man Ripken—late-twentieth-century baseball player, Baltimore. Third base, shortstop. Still holds the record for most consecutive games played.”
“You often amaze me,” he said as they started out.
“Well, it’s baseball. Ironman, but not like Ripken.” Her eyes narrowed. “Is this porn?”
He laughed. “It isn’t, no.”
“Ironman sounds suspicious to me. What are the others?”
“There’s Thor, the Hulk,” he began.
“Sounds like porn.”
“You’ll see for yourself.”
“I want popcorn,” she decided. “It’ll probably make me sick, but I want it.”
“The way you saturate it with butter and salt, there’s no doubt you’ll be sick.”
“I still want it,” she said, also wanting to find out who the hell Ironman was if it didn’t apply to sports or porn.
* * *
While she stretched out with Roarke—eat
ing popcorn, watching the Hulk smash—a solitary figure walked the snow-covered sidewalks.