The Shadow by James Luceno Read Free Book Online Page A

somewhat masklike, as if it veiled what lay beneath it. She was reminded of a man she met a year earlier, on a cruise of the Caribbean. He positioned the chair directly to her right, but before he could say anything, Chad was back, leaning between the two of them.
    “One thing I neglected to mention, Margo. Some of us are going over to Billy Reed’s place a little later on, and I was wondering if you’d join us.”
    “Chad,” she said, “this is Mr. Cranston.”
    He looked over his shoulder at the man he was practically elbowing in the face. “Sorry to cut in like this, old chap, but it simply can’t wait.”
    Cranston smiled without showing his teeth and touched his fingertips to his chin.
    “Well, here’s the thing,” Chad went on. “You’ll hear some great jazz, and it’ll give us a chance to talk and get better acquainted. Or are you more the jive and boogie-woogie type?”
    For reasons unexplained, Chad had picked up the bottle of wine and was holding it at waist level. Margo watched him, hardly hearing a word of what he was saying.
    “We never seem to be able to hook up, you and I, and I—”
    Chad had tipped the bottle to his cummerbund and was suddenly pouring the wine down the inside of his trousers. Margo’s hand flew to her mouth, but not fast enough to stifle a laugh. “Chad, what are you doing?”
    He looked down, then up at her in alarmed confusion. “Oh, my god,” he sputtered. “Excuse me, excuse me.”
    He hurried away, leaving Margo to stare at Cranston in disbelief.
    “People,” he said, with exaggerated nonchalance. “It’s interesting to note, however, that all three of us seem to favor the Twenty-eight.”
    Margo laughed out loud.
    Cranston had a silver dollar in his hand, and was rolling it across his knuckles and making it disappear into his palm. “You know, it’s the strangest thing,” he said suddenly. “I have an irresistible craving for Peking duck.”
    The comment unnerved her. “That’s so odd,” she managed. “I was thinking earlier about Chinese food.”
    “Imagine the coincidence.” His grin was roguish. “But, listen, since we’re both craving the same thing, perhaps you’d join me for dinner?”
    He stood up and offered her his arm.
    Which she impetuously accepted.
    “That was Chinese, wasn’t it?” Margo asked after Cranston finished ordering and the waiter had hurried off to the kitchen.
    “Mandarin, actually,” he told her in false modesty.
    Margo eyed him dubiously. “Is that right.” She gestured with her chin to an Asian couple seated nearby, who couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other and were whispering intimately. “What are those two saying?”
    Cranston smiled. “A test, is that the idea?” When she nodded, he leaned slightly in the direction of the couple and listened for a moment, his grin widening.
    The decor of the restaurant was understated: Chinese silk screens on the walls, candlesticks and black enamel vases with sprigs of dried flowers on the tables. The tablecloths were salmon-colored and matched the window valences, and the china was emblazoned with hand-painted Oriental dragons.
    “They’d like to sneak away for the weekend, but they’re undecided on the excuse he should give his wife.”
    He studied Margo while she studied the couple. She was more petite than she looked from a distance. She had prominent cheekbones and her big blue eyes were widely spaced. Her nails were short and lacquered red, and her scent was Hermes No. 1. Her wavy hair was swept behind her left ear, revealing a dangling pearl teardrop. Rhinestone cuffs adorned both her wrists; a diamond-cluster cocktail ring, her right hand.
    Margo forced an exhale. “Well, whatever he’s saying, I wouldn’t trust a word of it. He already has guilt written all over him.”
    Cranston’s brows arched. “Does he? I hadn’t noticed. But tell me, what exactly does guilt look like? Can you read it on a face?”
    “I can certainly read it on yours.”