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guessed. That’s how you got used to what you no longer had.
    “Did you say something?” Russell Straight asked, turning in his chair.
    “I don’t think so,” Deal told him. “Maybe I had too much wine.”
    “Or not enough,” Russell said.
    Deal mustered a smile. “One or the other.”
    “…
Carey, get out your cane and I’ll put on some silver
,” she sang, “
you’re a mean old Daddy, but I like you
…”
    She closed the song with a reprise of the chorus and gave her audience a bow. The guy in the lime-green coat was up to applaud again, and even Russell Straight put down his glass to clap his thick hands together a couple of times.
    “You didn’t like it?” Russell said, glancing at Deal, who’d been staring, transfixed.
    Deal looked down at his hands. Too late for clapping now. “Sure,” he told Russell. “I was just thinking about something.”
    “Like, why did we come here in the first place?”
    It brought Deal all the way back from his reverie. “Stone’s secretary called while you were gone,” he said, reaching for his wine. “We’re rescheduled, for breakfast.”
    Russell nodded. “We’ll see,” he said, hardly convinced.
    “Whatever,” Deal said. “It’s been good to get out of town for a while.”
    “It
is
an interesting place,” Russell said, checking his watch.
    “You want to get some dinner?” Deal asked. He wasn’t really hungry, but it seemed the thing to do.
    Russell’s eyes hooded and he glanced away. “I guess not,” he said.
    Deal looked at him. He’d never known Russell Straight to pass up the prospect of food. “You’re not hungry?”
    Russell turned back. “That’s not what I said.”
    It took Deal a moment, then the picture of their cocktail waitress, scurrying down the hall in a T-shirt, flitted through his mind again. He sighed and held up his hands. “Sorry,” he said.
    “Nothing to be sorry for,” Russell said, stepping down from his stool. He clapped Deal on the shoulder. “You ought to finish that wine,” he said. “It’s too good to go to waste.”
    Deal nodded. “Have fun,” he said to Russell.
    “Catch you in the morning,” Russell Straight said, and headed for the door.

Chapter Three
    Russell had been right about the wine, Deal thought—it was a lot smoother than whatever house brand he’d had earlier. And there wasn’t any point in letting it go to waste. He’d thought briefly about carrying the bottle back to his room but had decided against it. The singer had finished her set and the piano player had vacated his place as well, but he was nursing hopes for her return.
    In any case, he wasn’t about to slink back to his room by himself. He was on vacation. In a tropical paradise. For the rest of the night, at least. He felt the stirrings of a pleasant buzz at the base of his brain. He could probably order something to eat at the bar. He could have more wine if he wanted to. Stay right here until closing time, stare out the windows at the pretty lights that dotted the harbor down below, call in a rollaway and sleep here if he wanted, by God.
    “I was wondering when you were going to show up,” came the voice at his side. Familiarity there. A trace of weariness.
    Deal turned, caught a flash of tanned skin, white fabric, and blond-streaked hair, found his face a foot away from that of the woman who’d been singing up onstage. He’d thought she was attractive from a distance, but up close, it was more than that. He also realized that she was older than he’d assumed, close to his own age, maybe, but it only enhanced her allure.
Pretty
, he had thought earlier. But the word didn’t seem adequate, now.
    He broke off his stare, turning over his shoulder to see whom she’d been talking to. There was no one else at the bar, though; even the bartender was busy at the distant service station.
    When he turned back, she was regarding him with a tolerant gaze. “How’s the wine?” she asked.
    Deal glanced at the bottle, then