Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [65]
“Things have been topsy-turvy lately, not going the way they were supposed to go.”
His smile was comforting. “Obviously, your musical life isn’t in turmoil. Your boyfriend?”
She nodded and swallowed against further tears. When he didn’t respond, she said, “I’m absolutely nuts about him, madly in love, but sometimes I wonder why.” She spent the next five minutes talking about her relationship with Potamos, its ups and downs, highs and lows, the happy times and those other times, like tonight, when she wanted to drop a piano on his thick head. When she’d finished, she blew a stream of air at an errant strand of hair that had fallen over her forehead, smiled, then laughed and said, “I can’t believe I’ve done this.”
“Had dinner with me?”
“No, talked like this about Joe and my personal life to—to a stranger.”
“I understand,” he said, motioning to their waiter for the check. “If I’d known how much in love you were with him, I wouldn’t have asked you to dinner.”
“I’m glad you did. I’d better go.”
“Sure. Drive you home?”
“No, I’ll take a cab, thanks.”
They went to the bar, where Thomas told the maître d’ a taxi was needed for the lady.
“I understand your friend Potamos has an interest in a murder that occurred not long ago,” Thomas said casually as they waited.
She thought for a moment, then replied, “Oh, the Canadian, the man who was killed in the park.”
“Yes. Jeremy Wilcox. He was a friend of mine.”
“Oh? I’m sorry.”
“We worked pretty closely at the embassy.”
“That’s right, he did work there. I never even thought about that. Joe has been trying to find out more about it.”
“So I hear. I might be able to help him.”
“Really?”
“Yes. There’s an aspect to it that no one knows, at least outside of a few of us at the embassy. Have him call me.” He handed her his business card.
“I already have one,” she said.
“I thought you might have tossed it in the trash the minute you left the reception. I’m serious, Roseann. I’d like to talk to Mr. Potamos.”
“All right, I’ll—”
The cab arrived. Roseann shook Thomas’s hand. “Thanks for a lovely evening, although I didn’t intend to have you end up playing shrink.”
“I enjoyed every minute of it. Safe home.”
She had the cab drop her two blocks from the apartment, in front of a convenience store that carried Joe’s favorite ice cream flavor—peanut butter chocolate—and bought a half gallon. He was at the computer when she arrived.
“Hey, I was getting worried about you,” he said, getting up and kissing her.
“I went out for a bite with friends. Here.” She handed him the ice cream.
“Hey, thanks.”
Later, in pajamas, they sat up in bed eating ice cream.
“I love you, Joe,” she said.
“Even though I can be an idiot sometimes? Or because for a few minutes a day I’m not an idiot?”
“Maybe that’s what I love about you.”
“Lucky me.”
They put their empty dishes on the night table and made love. After, and when what had been left of their ice cream had melted into cold soup, Potamos let Jumper lick from the bowls while Roseann went to the bathroom.
How do I finesse this? she thought as she looked in the mirror. He’ll be pleased to have a lead on the murder story, but I’ll have to tell him about going to dinner with Craig.
Tomorrow, she decided. It can wait until tomorrow.
“Joe, I didn’t go out to dinner last night with friends. I went out with a man I met at the State Department when I played that reception a few days ago.”
Potamos had been reading the paper and enjoying an English muffin and coffee. He lowered the paper and looked at her across the kitchen table. “You went out with this guy?”
“Yes. He was at the Four Seasons, and you and I were fighting, and… he’s with the Canadian embassy, in public information. He says he was a good friend of the embassy person who was murdered, the one you’ve been digging into, and says he can tell you some things that no one else knows about the murder.”
“Yeah? What’s his name?”
“Thomas.”
“Thomas what?”
“Craig Thomas. And, Joe, all we did was go to dinner and talk. He’s a gentleman. We shook hands when I left the restaurant. Here’s