The Kind Worth Saving (Henry Kimball/Lily Kintner, #2)(27)

“Janey.”

“Right, Janey.”

“You should go tonight. I was planning on stopping by but I have this . . .” She gestured toward the restaurant. “It’s a birthday party for one of my coworkers, but I don’t think it will go on that long.”

“Well, maybe I will head over and grab a drink.”

“Stick around there, will ya?” she said, and reached out and touched me on the shoulder. “I’ll definitely show up.”

“Okay,” I said.

I got back into my car and watched her enter the restaurant in the reflection of my side mirror. I needed to decide what to do but sitting in that particular parking lot and thinking about it was probably not the smartest move. I pulled out into rush-hour traffic, turning in the direction that would lead me to the Taste of Hong Kong, and the Colonial Estates, where Pam lived. Twenty minutes later I was parking underneath the high blue letters that spelled out the name of the Chinese restaurant. It was early, but the parking lot was already half full.

Inside the lounge, the bar was filling up, but I managed to grab a seat at the far end, positioned so I could keep an eye on the entryway. The crowd was similar to the one on Tuesday night but there were more of them. Young professionals and hip couples that looked like they lived in downtown condominiums. Pete the bartender was rapidly building drinks. He had help behind the bar, the same young woman who’d been there on Tuesday night, plus a skinny twenty-year-old who was clearly a barback, pouring water and washing glasses.

Pete glanced in my direction, and said, “Pam’s friend, right? Mai tai?”

“Sure,” I said.

After I was handed the drink, plus a food menu, I took a sip and considered my options. I could finish the drink quickly, pay my bill, and drive back to Cambridge. Tomorrow was Friday, and if Joan was right, her husband and Pam would find an empty house for some afternoon delight, and I’d be there to witness it. Case closed. Or I could stick around and wait for Pam to arrive. She’d probably already be a little tipsy from after-work drinks at the Ninety Nine, and she’d probably drink plenty here at the bar, especially since she’d told me she always came here on Thursdays. And if she drank enough then how hard would it be to get her to confess to having an affair with her boss? And that would be enough for Joan, wouldn’t it? She just wanted confirmation, not any actual photographic proof. At least that was the impression I’d gotten.

But there were two problems with staying at the Hong Kong cocktail lounge. The first was that spending more time with Pam made it harder to keep an eye on her comings and goings from the Blackburn offices. Even though I was primarily following Richard, if he were to meet up with Pam tomorrow afternoon, then I’d be following both of them. The other problem was that if I didn’t get Pam to confess to an affair with Richard, she might become suspicious of my questions. She’d be on guard if she was having a clandestine affair with her married boss. And maybe she’d even let Richard know that some stranger—a man who’d also been outside of the Ninety Nine—was asking questions about her love life.

Pondering what to do next I noticed my drink was finished. Pete raised an eyebrow at me, and I told him I was thinking. Two couples entered together, led by the hostess to a high-top table that had been reserved. The lights were dimmed a little, and the music—1960s exotica—was turned up. A platter was delivered to a foursome at the other end of the bar, a blue flame in the middle of the food. I decided to stay. But I also decided I would not ask Pam any obvious questions about who she was, or was not, sleeping with. If it came naturally, then I’d see if I could get some information.

I called Pete over and asked him if he could make me a nonalcoholic beverage.

“Sure,” he said. “I make a virgin pi?a colada that’s better than most ones with alcohol.”

“I’ll take it,” I said. I didn’t know how long it would be before Pam showed up, and I needed to pace myself.

As it was, I only had to wait about an hour.

She came in alone, which was surprising, since I figured she’d bring other Blackburn employees with her. I’d even wondered if maybe Richard Whalen would show up, although I suppose I was hoping he wouldn’t. Pam stood in the doorway, yellow light from the bar illuminating her pale coat but leaving her face in shadow so that I couldn’t tell where she was looking. But then she was waving and moving through the crowded bar area. I swiveled to greet her, and she kissed me on the cheek. She smelled of white wine and French fries.

I stood up to offer her my stool but the couple next to me offered to move down so that we could each have a seat. Pam shucked her jacket and hung it on the hook under the lip of the bar. “Oh, I’m so glad to be here,” she said. “Real drinks, real food.”

“I thought you’d show up with a huge crew from your office,” I said.

“They’re all still at the Ninety Nine, but I couldn’t take it anymore. My guess is Janey, who you know, plus maybe a couple of the other agents will show up later.”

Pete had spotted Pam and come over, reaching out a fist that Pam bumped with her own over the bar. “Make me that thing with all the basil leaves that you made me a week ago, please, Pete?”

“Oh, sure,” he said, then looked at me. “Same again?”

“No, I’ll have what she’s having,” I said.