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chèvre. I’ll order some dinner after I have settled in. And I’ll need a taxi at ten in the morning. Thank you.”
    He made himself comfortable in his room. When the wine arrived, he poured a tall glass and turned the suite’s stereo up, loud. It was Delibes, Lakme. Sensual, powerful, and thoroughly revitalizing.
    “Well, Lessa,” he spoke softly, “what do you think of this situation? Your husband can now add criminal detective to his resume. That is, if he should ever seek some honest labor.”
    He rose and began to walk around the four rooms of his suite, talking to her as he wandered.
    “Why would anyone want to kill these people? Of all the victims to choose, these have the least to offer. Nothing at all for anyone to envy or lust after. Is it because they use drugs? Is someone killing them with their own poison…as some sort of revenge? And how did I get involved?”
    Now there was a sixty-four dollar question. The man who didn’t even pause for conversation on the streets of his own neighborhood was suddenly playing Sherlock Holmes halfway across the country.
    But he had to admit, morbid circumstances aside, that he felt more vital and alive than he had in many years. Still, he wasn’t going to get any more involved than was absolutely necessary. He would gather what information he could as discreetly as he could, confirm his theories as well as possible, and turn the entire matter over to the police.
    He went through the rooms again, turning off all the lights. He turned the stereo’s volume up another notch, so that he could hear it outside, and took his wine out onto the balcony.
    The night was a brilliant sapphire with the lights of the city below him sparkling like facets in the gem. Dvorak drifted out to him now. He swirled the wine around and over his tongue, enjoying the heady sensuality. And, answering the call of his ever-present longing, Lessa was before him, laughing. It was no longer Baton Rouge. It was Warsaw, four nights before their wedding, 1938. He was teaching her to drink Cognac. She wasn’t getting it, but she was certainly enjoying the lesson.
    “Once more…no, no! Inhale before you swallow…”
    “Pfffffttt!!! She sprayed a mouthful across his shirt, and began to laugh and choke all at once. He thumped her on the back.
    “All right, you lush, that’s enough. You peasants are below refinement. This stuff is too good for you. Be off! You’re banished to the potato stills!”
    “No, Isaac! One more chance. I promise I’ll get it right this time. Please? I’ll be your best friend.”
    He laughed in spite of himself. “All right. One last time. A mouthful of the brandy, now inhale through your mouth so that the air mingles with the liquid, then swallow. And finally, exhale forcefully through your nose. OK? Try it.”
    “Yes, but you have to promise that you will kiss me as soon as I have done it. Promise?”
    “Of course. That’s easily done…if you’re still standing. Now drink!”
    She concentrated on each step of the process until she blew the air out of her nose like a surfacing cetacean. He applauded and laughed, then leaned into her lips, which she parted to allow the sip of Cognac that she hadn’t swallowed to flow into his mouth. He swallowed it down and opened his eyes to look at her.
    “Miss Frankle, I do believe that there will be severe reprimands when I return you to your father’s house. You’re drunk. And your kisses are making me so.”
    “If you liked that one, wait until Friday,” she whispered teasingly.
    He took her into his arms and ran his fingers through the blue-black night of her hair, kissing her over and over again until they were both gasping.
    “I can’t believe that you are going to be my wife. My wife! What did I ever do to deserve such a gift?”
    “You have given me a life of love, Isaac. That is what you have done. And I intend to spend forever giving it back to you…
    back to you
    back to
    you.”
    The Dvorak had become