Fat Tuesday(131)

Burke had to shout above the party racket to make himself heard."Mr. Duvall is looking for his wife. Have you seen her?"

"I don't think she's come down yet."

Behind his small black mask, Basile rolled his eyes."The boss is going to be pissed if she doesn't get her ass down here before this damn thing's over. Thanks."

He patted the body builder's meaty shoulder and began elbowing his way through the crowd. Remembering the layout of the house from his previous visit and keeping on the lookout for Duvall or bodyguards, he headed toward the main staircase, which was also a high-traffic area.

He had expected the second floor to be deserted, but there were people waiting in the hallway for their turn in the powder room.

Pretending to be waiting for the facility himself, Burke moved along the corridor, nonchalantly studying the paintings on the wall, admiring the furnishings, until he reached the door of the master bedroom. It seemed like another lifetime when he'd passed himself off as a priest and hidden the wireless bug. That was before he really knew Remy. Before he regarded her with anything except contempt.

Before he loved her.

The door was standing ajar. He pushed it open, glanced in, and saw that the suite was empty.

"Damn! "

"Something wrong?"

He turned. Little Bo Peep was smiling up at him. Strawberry blond curls framed her face beguilingly, but her sultry expression was more in keeping with the flushed bosom that swelled above her low bodice.

"Uh, yeah. Mr. Duvall sent me after his wife. She's not where she's supposed to be."

"How sad," she said, pouting."You've lost her, and I've lost my sheep." She reached out and stroked the leather scabbard strapped to Burke's hip."Nice sword."

"Thanks. Have you seen her?"

"It's so long and stiff. I bet it could hurt a girl."

"Have you seen her?" he repeated, emphasizing each word.

She dropped her hand."Jeer, you're a barrel of laughs."

"Maybe some other time. Right now my job depends on finding Mrs. Duvall."

"Okay. I saw her going downstairs with a group just as I came up to use the powder room. At least I think it was her. She was dressed like Marie Antoinette."

'"Thanks." Burke sidestepped her and bolted downstairs. From the vantage point of the second step from the bottom, he glanced across the sea of people, trying to sort out the masquerades. Seeing no one who resembled the ill-fated French queen, he plunged into the throng, rudely pushing his way through the people, searching each crowded room.

Determined to pack as much enjoyment as possible into the last few remaining minutes of Mardi Gras, Duvall's guests were deliriously making merry.

Burke's progress was impeded by a Red Baron flying ace who was mauling a giggling gypsy girl. A drunken mime made playful grabs at Burke's sword, and a large woman in a toga tried to dance with him.

"Mission accomplished." Burke came around.

Holding a tray of drinks on his shoulder, the sumo wrestler smiled at him."I see you got her to come downstairs. After talking to you, I saw Mrs. Duvall pass through here."

"You're sure? Marie Antoinette?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Same costume as last year."

"Which way'd she go?"

The panniers were almost as wide as the aisles of the greenhouse.

Remy batted them down as she made her way along the aisle in darkness.

Knowing that Pinkie probably had spies posted at every exit, and fearing that she would encounter him, she hadn't felt really hopeful that her plan would work until she was well beyond the house, racing along the path toward the greenhouse.

It wasn't until she'd seen him dressed. as Henry VIII that she remembered the elaborate costume stored in the rear of her closet, complete with white wig, mask, shoes, faux jewelry, even the beauty mark to paste on her cheek. Once she was dressed, she waited for a crowd to collect outside the second-story powder room, which was inevitable with so many guests in the house.

Then, slipping from the master suite unnoticed, she had joined a group of ladies as they descended the stairs. The new bodyguard, engaged in bawdy conversation with Little Bo Peep, hadn't given Remy a second glance. He had probably been shown a picture of her, he hadn't been looking for Marie Antoinette.

It was pointless to try to use any of the telephones inside the main house. There were drunken guests in every room. Even if she dialed 911, she couldn't have made herself understood without shouting to the dispatcher and calling attention to herself.

But there was a telephone in the greenhouse. It was in a small closet at the rear of the structure where the climate controls were located.

For that reason, the enclosure was off limits to everyone except Pinkie.

She needed that telephone for only one call. One. She had only to dial a single number. Seven digits.

She pulled open the closet door.

"Hello, Remy." Pinkie was kneeling over what appeared to be a floor safe, previously covered by tiles and unbeknownst to her until now.

Upon seeing him, she froze. But only for a heartbeat. Then she turned and tried to run. But Pinkie caught her wrist, wrenched it, and shoved it up between her shoulder blades as he came to his feet. Then he roughly pushed her through the open doorway.

He was breathing heavily. His feathered cap was slightly askew.