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She smiled at him, then drained her Champagne glass. She walked to the door, paused just long enough to touch him again, said, “Another time, Señor,” and left.
He closed the door, walked back to the display of whiskey bottles, and had another straight shot of Jack Daniel’s.
[TWO]
1728 Avenida Coronel Díaz
Palermo, Buenos Aires
0820 7 May 1943
Cletus Frade was eating breakfast at a small table at the window overlooking the formal gardens in the sitting of the master suite when Antonio entered to inquire if he was at home to Padre Welner, who was on the telephone.
What the hell does he want this time of morning?
“I am as much at home as you can get in a museum, Antonio,” Clete said. “Put him on.”
His breakfast—a small bife de chorizo, two fried eggs, a large glass of grapefruit juice, a glass of milk, and coffee made half as strong as the Argentine variety—had struck both the cook (when he had gone to the kitchen to order it) and the maid (who had delivered it) as another manifestation of the oddity of norteamericanos. An Argentine breakfast usually consisted of a cup of coffee and a couple of very sweet croissants.
The look in the maid’s eyes when she laid the breakfast before him made him wonder what the boys at Fighter One on Guadalcanal were having for breakfast—if they were lucky, some rehydrated dried eggs—and how they had dressed for the occasion.
He was wearing a red silk dressing gown that had more or less been his father’s. He had found it, still in it’s Sulka’s Rue de Castiglione Paris box, apparently forgotten since his father had returned from his last European trip in 1940.
Antonio headed for the telephone, which was on a table against a wall.
Clete stood up and waited for Antonio to announce that Señor Frade was at home, then took the telephone from him.
“And how is my favorite devious Jesuit this fine morning?”
“I am involved in my pastoral duties, Cletus, and the odd thought just struck me that you might he able to help.”
“Exactly what did you have in mind?”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where Alicia Carzino-Cormano is, would you, Cletus?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Why do I think I have just struck the bull’s-eye? Where is she, Cletus? Claudia is nearly out of her mind.”
“Why?”
“Is she there with you?”
“Why is Claudia nearly out of her mind?”
“Alicia went out of the house last night a little before eleven. Without telling anyone. And she hasn’t come home.”
“Oh, shit.”
“You do know where she is?” Welner asked, but it was a statement rather than a question.
“I’ve got an idea,” Clete said.
“Where?”
“Where are you?”