“Right, it’s his fault. Of course. Well, since I’m now apparently a travel agent as well as your music agent, I will take care of your problem and then get back to work. I’ll send you an email with the details. Don’t miss that plane, Thomas. Warsaw is expecting you, and the concert is fully booked.”
Thomas promised and hung up. He kept his phone in his hand to type a message, which he sent just before going back in to see his father.
Manon looked at her phone and smiled as she reread the message.
I missed my plane. Is your invitation to dinner still open?
How did you manage that?
It doesn’t take off until this afternoon.
How do you know that?
I have a gift.
So do I. Mine’s missing planes that haven’t left yet.
Okay.
???
Okay to dinner!
Where would you like to go?
Pick me up at the bookstore at 7.
On Geary Boulevard?
Good memory. See you later.
Thomas put his phone away and walked into the living room.
“Are you ready?” his father asked.
“I’m not leaving.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re still here. I’ll stay with you until the end. That’s what it means to be a son.”
Raymond turned around and smiled. “I’m so glad to have one.”
Then he returned to his episode.
Pilguez arrived at Mr. Bartel’s home around noon. His long career had taught him to pay special attention to the way people reacted when they first saw his badge. Surprise, distrust, or goodwill—each one said a lot. Mr. Bartel’s reaction, however, didn’t fit any of these categories. In fact, he seemed to have been waiting for the detective. It was almost like he was relieved.
“Ah, so they’ve decided to file charges. I was just about to do it myself.”
“Is the urn yours?”
“Of course, it’s my wife’s.”
“Do you know where it is?”
“In the library.”
“With Colonel Mustard?”
