Bombshell

Griffin had to admit it, he was shocked, though none of the other women seemed to find her display unusual.

Griffin left Salazar’s rented house on Golden Meadow Terrace a thoughtful man. Would Delsey have ever told him about this soap opera?

Henderson County Hospital

Saturday afternoon

The door to Delsey’s memory wouldn’t open even a crack. The more she shoved at the door, the more it made her head hurt.

Griffin strode into the hospital room, paused for a moment in the doorway to study her. “Stop it, Delsey, you’re thinking too hard.”

She flapped her hand at him. “It doesn’t matter how hard I try, I still can’t remember much. Where have you been? Nobody knew.”

He walked to her bed, took her hand. “You were sleeping, so I went to see Professor Salazar. The snow’s been coming down so hard again you can barely see a foot in front of you, but the good professor had managed to convince half a dozen students to drive to his house and clean up the mess from last night. The place was gossip central, once I told them what had happened to you.”

“I’ll bet they were all women, and Professor Salazar won’t pay them a cent. There’s not even any extra credit.”

Griffin smiled. He told her about Gabrielle DuBois in her summer-pink shorts, on her hands and knees searching under the sofa and putting on a show for Professor Salazar.

“Gabrielle has been after him from the moment he stepped out of his brand-new Fiat in September. Then he made the mistake of paying attention to her. She’s having an affair with him, but still, he likes to be among his musicians, especially the women. As you probably saw, this doesn’t make Gabrielle happy. You know, even if he does play like a god and looks really good, he’s still got too many notches on his belt—I wouldn’t want to sleep with him.”

Griffin said, “You’ve always been clear-sighted about people, and living in the melting pot of L.A., I imagine you’ve seen it all before. None of these personalities is new to you. True?”

“Yes, all right, but I sometimes think I saw too much in L.A.” She brightened. “But at least in L.A. the guys on the beach were buff. Hey, did Gabrielle bring him his chilled glass of fresh- squeezed orange juice, the pulp removed?”

“That must have been before I arrived. He was obsessing about a latte. Oh, yes, Gloria sends her best wishes. Now, Salazar told me the director, Dr. Hayman—his twin brother—was all over you last night, plying you with too many margaritas. I think Salazar wants you to replace Gabrielle.”

Delsey shook her head, regretted it, and held perfectly still. “Not me in particular.” And Griffin laughed, since she’d echoed the other women at Salazar’s house.

“Nope. Professor Salazar really wants Anna, not Gabrielle.”

“Anna, as in your best friend?”

“Yep, but he better pray he doesn’t get her, because Anna’s tough, doesn’t put up with any guff.”

“Sort of like you?”

Delsey laughed. “Anna says Professor Salazar’s a talented lush with a cool name and an exaggerated accent, but I know he wants her; I’m only a stray guppy, an afterthought. She’s the one who told me she’d read he and his twin Dr. Hayman were separated as boys and it was Rafael the mom took back to Spain. He is always waxing eloquent about his upbringing in Barcelona and his training at Queen Sofía College of Music in Madrid, studying under the famous Natalia Bron.”

She sighed. “I guess I was drunk.”

“Sounds like it. That’s weird for you, Ms. One Drink.” He turned toward the door. “Ah, here he is, your friend and neighbor, Mr. Stoltzen. He asked if he could come see you.” Griffin nodded to Henry. “Mr. Stoltzen.”

Henry didn’t quite meet his eyes. He whispered, “Please, Agent Hammersmith, call me Henry.”

“All right,” Griffin said, and watched Delsey smile with affection at him.

Henry was different, Delsey knew it when she’d first met him, and she really liked him—impossible not to. She took his hand, shook it. “Hey, dude. You found me and called the paramedics. Thank you.”

Griffin had met music nerds before Henry, and when Stoltzen had stopped him in the lobby, Griffin knew he fit the bill nicely. He was on the short side, his shoulders stooped, his skin vampire-pale and soft-looking, like he’d never thrown anything heavier than a wadded-up piece of paper into a wastebasket. He wore a long goatee, blacker even than his shaggy hair, meaning he probably dyed it. Still, all six inches of it was a pure distraction, an excellent affectation for him. Even though Griffin had read the statement Dix took from Henry, he thought it was a good idea to let him visit with Delsey. Perhaps he would help her remember something.