Serious Moonlight(91)

Trying not to laugh, we headed up the patio stairs to the second-floor deck while Daniel called out “Twinkle Toes” in a low voice as he searched for cameras or a sign of anyone inside. We were high up with a splendid view of both downtown and all the homes below. I felt like royalty.

“I think the coast is clear,” Daniel whispered into my ear from behind, causing me to squeal. He grabbed me around the waist, pulled my body back against his, and pretended to eat my neck. After some hushed laughter and wrestling, I freed myself and swung around to give him a finger of warning.

“This is not cat-hunting behavior,” I whispered.

“I could make a joke right now, but I won’t. Jesus ever-loving Christ, look at this shit, Birdie,” he said, suddenly distracted as he stared into Darke’s window.

Just as I thought, we could see right inside a large, open living room with posh furniture, artwork, plants, and a grand piano. It was like something out of one of those lifestyles of the you-can’t-afford-it, so don’t bother magazines.

“Look,” Daniel said. “In the frame, hanging over that chair. It’s the same artwork from that Aida opera album sleeve—the one I bought at Tenor Records.”

So it was. And nearby it were several framed prints from local opera productions. I spotted the Paramount Theatre; I’d seen Les Misérables there a few years ago with Aunt Mona.

But it was the print hanging next to it that caught my eye. A chair sitting in front of the print prevented me from seeing the bottom half of it, but there was something familiar about the bold design at the top of the print: a yellow sunset on a red background with something black and swirly blocking the sun. Why did this look familiar? Maybe it was something I’d seen on another opera album cover in Tenor Records, like the Egyptian-temple Aida album Daniel had bought there. As I was squinting to make out the swirly mark blocking the sun—or the type below it—Daniel said from several feet away, “What do we have here? Recycling?”

He was on the side of the deck, peeking inside a built-in hutch that hid three plastic bins.

“He shreds a shitload of paper,” Daniel noted, digging around. “Hey, what’s this?”

It was an envelope that had been opened. Daniel rooted through the shreds and found its mate: a piece of folded paper. The envelope and letter were addressed to Bill Waddle. “What does it say?” I asked, peering over his arm.

“It’s from the Seattle Opera. A written confirmation for the reservation of a private box for him and five guests. You think that’s one of those balcony seats on the side of a concert hall?”

I nodded. “Probably very expensive.”

“Well, seems as if the opera company is just reminding dear old Bill to let his guest know that they can pick up tickets the night of the opera by going to the VIP will-call window and letting the attendant know they’re part of his party. They’ll be shown up to the box.”

I blinked at the paper. “They don’t have to show ID?”

“Huh? Oh, nope. It just says to identify themselves as a member of his party. And they thank him for his continued patronage and generous donations.”

“When is it?” I asked, taking the letter from him. “A week from now.”

“So?”

“At the Seattle Center.”

“Again, not following,” he said, tugging his bad ear.

I repositioned myself so that he could hear me better. “Remember what Ivanov said when he was buying those shrunken heads?”

Daniel stared at me, realization dawning behind his eyes. “He was stopping in Seattle one last time to see a show ‘uptown.’?”

I nodded slowly, unable to stop smiling.

“Oh shit! Do you really think Ivanov is planning to attend this opera?”

“If so, he’ll be with Darke. In his opera box.”

“Both of them there at the same time. In public,” Daniel said, blinking rapidly. “How does that help our case?”

All my mystery-loving senses were lighting up and blinking inside my head, screaming, Undercover. “Don’t you see? If this letter is right and all we have to do to get inside the opera house is mention we’re with Darke—or Waddle, as the opera company knows him. And voilà! We’re in. It’s the perfect opportunity for spying.”

“You’re seriously proposing we should sneak into the opera and spy on him?”

“Who says we’re not members of his party? We don’t have to actually sit in the box. Maybe we can trail him. See if Ivanov shows up. Overhear some conversations that won’t be behind a closed hotel door. Their guard will be down. They won’t be expecting anyone like us to be spying on them.”

Daniel grimaced. “I don’t know. That seems . . .”

“Risky? Like what we’re doing now, standing on the man’s balcony? We could be shot for trespassing.”

“Touché, Birdie.”

“You don’t have to wear a tuxedo or suit, or anything. I know boys hate that.”

“Au contraire, mon ami,” he said. “I look dope in a suit.”

I laughed. “Dope?”

“So dope . . . so fly. I’ll have you know, I’ve got a lucky suit.”

I squinted. “It makes you lucky, or you got lucky in it?”