A Gambling Man David Baldacci (reading eggs books .TXT) 📖

it. “Thanks. And keep aiming higher. Who knows, you might just end up running General Motors one day.”

She tucked the dollar down her blouse. “What a comedian. You should try vaudeville.”

As she walked off, Archer checked his watch. He decided it was time to drive up the mountain again. And maybe bag two for the price of one.

The Bentley was gone, but the Triumph and the Phantom Rolls were out front. The door opened and the same servant appeared. He looked at Archer like he’d never seen him before.

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Kemper in?”

“Who shall I say is asking, sir?”

“It’s Archer. I was here before, with Willie Dash?”

“It is very late, Mr. Archer. I believe you should come back—”

“It’s all right, Chen, I’ll see Mr. Archer.” Beth Kemper had appeared next to her butler. “Follow me, Archer. You look like you could use a drink.”

And so, just like that, Archer followed her. He liked following her. He liked how she moved, like a panther slinking through the brush. It was inspiring, actually, simply how the lady walked. You couldn’t teach it, he knew. You could either do it or you couldn’t. And this lady could do it in spades. Just like Callahan.

She took him into one of the rooms he and Dash had passed on their previous visit. It was all marble and white and cold and, despite all that, interesting. He stared at a large figurine of a naked woman looking at something over Archer’s right shoulder.

He pointed his hat at it. “Does it cost more not to have clothes on?”

She sat beautifully on the couch, her bright red skirt fanning out and covering her legs all the way to her calves. The blouse above it was a creamy white. She looked like some sort of exotic flower in full bloom.

“In life it usually does, Archer, so why not in art? Would you like a drink? I’m going to have one.”

“You look very comfortable sitting there, so let me do the honors. Dry Manhattan do the trick?”

She smiled and waved her hand at the bar. He guessed they had a bar in every room, and wasn’t that just the stuff of everyone’s fantasies?

He poured and measured and jiggered his way through the concoctions. He presented the Dry Manhattan to her and took a seat facing the woman.

They raised the glasses to each other and took sips.

She said, “And what can I do for you so late at night?”

He dabbed a bit of vermouth off his lip. “I think your father might be mad at me, again.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, you know Hank and Tony gave me the once-over when your father learned that we had come up here to question you.”

“But I thought that was all forgotten and forgiven after we met at his house.”

“But then I was a bad boy a second time and gave them more reason to give me the treatment again.”

“And what exactly did you do now?”

“If I tell you, you’ll tell your father, right?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

A smile eased across Archer’s face. “Now that’s a good line, Beth. Although Willie doesn’t want me to call you Beth.”

She set her drink down, took out her cigarette case, tapped a smoke on the top of the coffee table, and lit up. “Why is that?”

“Something about different classes of people. You’re up here on the mountain and I’m down on Porter Street with the dirty rabble.”

“I don’t see it that way, Archer, I really don’t.”

“Anyway, your instincts were right the other night. I did follow you to that diner. Which meant I saw you and your father in the parking lot of the wharf. Which of course means I saw him come in on his boat from visiting that island that a company with your hubby’s fingerprints all over recently bought from the feds.”

Kemper sat back, tapped ash into an ashtray, and took a swallow of her Manhattan.

“You were a busy boy, then, although I have no idea what you’re talking about. I thought you were going to tell me you burned down one of my father’s olive trees.”

“So the island was owned by the feds. And now it’s not. It’s owned by your husband, apparently.”

“No, it’s damn well not.”

This didn’t come from Beth Kemper. It came from her husband. They both turned to see him standing in the doorway, his hat in hand. His necktie was undone, his shirt was wrinkled, his hair was disheveled, and he didn’t look like the sparkling golden boy at this precise moment in time.

Beth rose and said in a concerned voice, “Douglas, are you all right?” There was genuine concern in both her voice and expression.

“No, Beth, I’m not. I’m really not, honey.” He paused and looked at her. “I…I just need some…help.”

Douglas walked forward while Archer watched both of them closely.

Beth reached her arms out to him and Douglas did the same, and a moment later they were wound as tightly as wire on a coil. They stood like that for a full ten seconds before they stepped back from one another.

Wilma Darling was right—he does love his wife.

Douglas looked at Archer. “I have no interest in that island.”

“Paperwork filed in the town hall says otherwise. You’re listed as the chairman of the board.”

“Anyone can list anyone else.”

“Any idea who might have listed you?”

“No, no idea. What was the name of the company?”

“Stearman Enterprises.”

The Kempers exchanged nervous glances.

“Yeah,” said Archer. “That was the model of your mother’s plane. The Stearman 75. Someone’s being either ironic or downright cruel.”

She looked at Douglas. “Do you know anything about this? I want the truth!”

“No. I swear. I’m involved with no company by that name. And I…wouldn’t have named it that.”

“The money behind Alfred Drake, maybe?” suggested Archer.

“Maybe,” said Douglas doubtfully.

Archer shook his head. “Wrong. There is no money behind Drake other than his own. He’s getting swamped by the bucks you and your father-in-law are throwing at this election. He knows he’s going to lose.” He glanced at