Final justice - W.E.B. Griffin [202]
And it wasn't just an idle conversation. They had been at it over an hour, ever since Brewster's sedate black Cadillac had unexpectedly led Amy's battered Suburban and Matt's unmarked police Ford into the drive. When he had called from the Flatspin Restaurant where they had had lunch, she had asked what the chances were of having "the children" home for supper. He had said he'd see. From his tone of voice, it had seemed unlikely.
But then they'd appeared, surprising and pleasing her. Brewster had said Matt couldn't come for supper, he had to be with Stan Colt, so they'd come now. They'd immediately gone out to the patio, arranged themselves on the comfortably upholstered lawn furniture, and started talking about Homer C. Daniels.
Without being asked, Mrs. Newman, the Payne house-keeper--a comfortable looking gray-haired woman in her fifties--had produced a pot of coffee and a tray with toasted rye bread, liverwurst, mustard, and sliced raw onions, and then taken a chair by the door. Patricia was pleased to see Mrs. Newman was as fascinated with Mr. Homer C. Daniels as she was.
And then the phone rang, and Patricia didn't want to talk to anyone, and said as much.
"Grab that, please, Elizabeth," she called. "And get rid of whoever it is. I'll call them back."
Mrs. Newman took her walk-around telephone from a pocket in her dress and spoke into it. Then she got up and walked to them.
"Mrs. Nesbitt for Mr. Payne," she said. "She won't take 'no' for an answer."
"Damn!" Brewster C. Payne, Esq., said.
"Not you," Mrs. Newman said. "Young Mrs. Nesbitt for Young Mr. Payne."
"Shit," Young Mr. Payne said.
"Matty!" his mother said.
Mrs. Newman handed him the phone.
"And how is the somewhat careless caretaker of my god-daughter? "
"God, you're such an asshole, Matt . . ." Daffy Nesbitt said.
"Thank you for sharing that with me. I'll tell Mother what you said."
". . . but despite that, I'm going to do you a favor."
"Oh, God!"
"I probably really shouldn't tell you this, but Chad said I should."
"You're in the family way again?"
"No, goddamn it!"
"Can we get to the point of this fascinating conversation, please?"
"We're having a few people in here before we make an appearance at the Four Seasons thing," Daffy said.
"What people?" Matt asked.
"Old friends of ours, of yours," Chad said.
"And I want you to show up in black tie and spare us your usual bad manners," Daffy said.
"What's in it for me?"
"Terry," Chad Nesbitt chimed in.
"She's the door prize?"
Chad laughed.
"I can't imagine why," Daffy said. "But she really likes you. She asked if you would be coming."
Now, that's interesting!
Detective Lassiter's cellular phone was reported out of service. And messages left on her answering machine and at Northwest Detectives asking that she call him had brought no response.
"Tell me more," Matt said.
"You could take Terry to the Colt dinner at the Four Seasons and then to La Famiglia."
"Whose idea is that?"
"Mine," Daffy said. "She's not throwing herself at you."
"Well, I don't know. I like it better when they throw themselves at me."
"Suit yourself, you bastard," Daffy said.
"What time is this drunken brawl of yours?"
"Five-ish," Daffy said.
"What was that all about?" Dr. Payne inquired, asking the question her mother had just, reluctantly, decided was none of her business and couldn't ask.
"Daffy wants me to go by Society Hill before the Colt dinner at the Four Seasons. They're having people in. What I think they really want is for me to entertain one and all by telling them all about Homer C. Daniels."
"That's unkind, Matt," Patricia Payne said. "They're your oldest friends."
"And they're playing cupid again," Matt said, "trying to pair me off with Terry Davis."
"So you're not going?" Amy asked.
"As Mother says, Chad and I go back a long way," Matt said, realizing as he said it that it sounded transparently lame.
[TWO]
At 11:48, when Matt Payne left La Famiglia--an upscale restaurant on South Front