Let Me Call You Sweetheart

68

Jason Arnott had planned to stay quietly at home on Friday night and prepare a simple dinner for himself. With that in mind he had sent his twice-weekly cleaning woman shopping, and she had returned with the filet of sole, watercress, pea pods and crisp French bread he had requested. But when Amanda Coble phoned at five o’clock to invite him to dinner at the Ridgewood Country Club with Richard and her, he had accepted gladly.

The Cobles were his kind of people-superrich but marvelously unpretentious; amusing; very, very smart. Richard was an international banker and Amanda an interior designer. Jason successfully handled his own portfolio and keenly enjoyed talking with Richard about futures and foreign markets. He knew that Richard respected his judgment and Amanda appreciated his expertise in antiques.

He decided they would be a welcome diversion after the disquieting time he had spent in New York yesterday with Vera Todd. And in addition, he had met a number of interesting people through the Cobles. In fact, their introduction had led to a most successful forage in Palm Springs three years ago.

He drove up to the front door of the club just as the Cobles surrendered their car to the parking valet. He was a moment behind them going through the front entrance, then waited as they greeted a distinguished-looking couple who were just leaving. He recognized the man immediately. Senator Jonathan Hoover. He’d been at a couple of political dinners where Hoover put in an appearance but they’d never met face to face.

The woman was in a wheelchair but still managed to look regal in a deep blue dinner suit with a skirt that came to the tips of high-laced shoes. He had heard that Mrs. Hoover was disabled, but had never seen her before. With an eye that instantly absorbed the smallest detail, he noted the position of her hands, clasped together, partially concealing the swollen joints of her fingers.

She must have been a knockout when she was young, and before all this happened, he thought as he studied the still-stunning features dominated by sapphire blue eyes.

Amanda Coble glanced up and saw him. “Jason, you’re here.” She waved him over and made the introductions. “We’re talking about those terrible murders in Summit this morning. Both Senator Hoover and Richard knew the lawyer, Mark Young.”

“It’s pretty clear that it was a mob hit,” Richard Coble said angrily.

“I agree,” Jonathan Hoover said. “And so does the governor. We all know how he’s cracked down on crime these eight years, and now we need Frank Green to keep up the good work. I can tell you this: If Weeks were being tried in a state court, you can bet the attorney general would have completed the plea bargain and gotten Haskell’s testimony, and these murders never would have happened. And now Royce, the man who bungled this whole operation, wants to be governor. Well, not if I can help it!”

“Jonathan,” Grace Hoover murmured reprovingly. “You can tell it’s an election year, can’t you, Amanda?” As they all smiled, she added, “Now we mustn’t keep you any longer.”

“My wife has been keeping me in line since we met as college freshmen,” Jonathan Hoover explained to Jason. “Good seeing you again, Mr. Arnott.”

“Mr. Arnott, haven’t we met before as well?” Grace Hoover asked suddenly.

Jason felt his internal alarm system kick in. It was sending out a strong warning. “I don’t think so,” he answered slowly. I’m sure I’d have remembered, he thought. So what makes her think we’ve met?

“I don’t know why, but I feel as though I know you. Well, I’m sure I’m wrong. Good-bye.”

Even though the Cobles were their usual interesting selves and the dinner was delicious, Jason spent the evening heartily wishing he had stayed home alone and cooked the filet of sole.

When he got back to his house at ten-thirty, his day was further ruined by listening to the one message on his answering machine. It was from Kerry McGrath, who introduced herself as a Bergen County assistant prosecutor, gave her phone number, asked him to call her at home till eleven tonight or first thing in the morning. She explained that she wanted to talk to him unofficially about his late neighbor and friend, the murder victim, Suzanne Reardon.