own husband. She was exonerated on a plea of temporary insanity having been drugged and brainwashed by Mikhail Weijnstein, the former world chess champion. Weijnstein had been her husband’s business partner. It was only of late that Esther had come back to herself. Her improved mental health was the result of months of intensive therapy. She seemingly emerged as vibrant as ever; but Sam had been warned by her doctor—though Esther had been drugged and brainwashed, she was driven partly by her own demons. And he was also warned that despite her recovery, these demons might be lying dormant ready to return at any time. Her marriage to Daniel Rozan and her illicit affair with Weijnstein had served to hone her sexual prowess. She was an artist when it came to pleasing a man. But like an artist, she was continuously searching for inspiration. And although her doctor had given her a clean bill of health, Sam sometimes found her lapsing into distant worlds of her own machinations. It’s something that Sam struggled with, though not always successfully. He reasoned that keeping her busy might be the best therapy.
Sam made the ultimate compromise by taking her into the firm; it was a true testament to his love. Esther immediately became consumed by the detective business. But her involvement often spelled trouble. For one thing, her meddling frequently alienated the inveterate staffers of Sonn and Son Investigations. Esther viewed herself as second in command to Sam—ruffling feathers was her specialty. Worse, her presence cramped Sam’s freewheeling, two-fisted style. Like the Thin Man’s, Nick Charles, Sam always had to worry about his female counterpart.
Sam caught a glimpse of Esther as soon as he walked through the front door of the Water Club. She was sitting at their reserved table, on the balcony beneath the cathedral window. Mount Aetna prior to erupting could not have looked more ominous. Sam met her icy gaze briefly and smiled. He pointed with his forefinger indicating that he would be back shortly. Sam needed to use the men’s room. There was still some soot and tar on his hands and face as a result of the explosion. He washed thoroughly, combed his hair and splashed some cologne on his face. “That’s better,” he said inspecting himself in the mirror. He left a dollar bill in the tray for the attendant then marched confidently over to Esther’s table and kissed her gently on the neck. It settled her down just a bit.
“Where were you?” she asked. There were still daggers in her eyes.
“An unexpected delay,” Sam replied. It was then that she noticed the bruise on his cheek.
“What the hell happened to you?” Her expression softened.
“I was at police headquarters on business . . .”
“What business?” Esther interrupted somewhat incensed that he had undertaken a case without consulting her.
“Earlier this week I told you that I was negotiating a retainer for a big case. Well, the Moreau family hired us to assist the police in the investigation of her death. Eleanor Moreau was the last victim of the crossword puzzle murderer. The family isn’t pleased with the lack of progress that the police and FBI are making.”
“The crossword puzzle murderer! You didn’t tell me you were on the case.”
“I was going to tell you. Chief of Detectives, Patrick Morgan agreed to let me review the evidence the police had amassed. When I went by to pick it up, I was asked to help them solve the latest puzzle.”
“Sam, you know I’m an excellent crossword puzzle solver. I have a three star rating from the “Black Squares Club,” the leading crossword club in the country.
“I know, Esther, but between Lentz and myself, we succeeded in solving it.”
“Lew Lentz the crossword editor of the Herald Gazette?”
“The ex-editor of the Herald Gazette.”
“What do you mean, ex-editor, Sam?”
“After we completed the puzzle, Lentz and I walked out of the building together. We were both parked in the officers’ lot across the street from the station. Lentz went to his car and I got into the Volvo. The next thing I see is Lentz’s car ramming the import behind it. The gas tank of his Mercedes exploded, and the car was engulfed in flames. I ran over to him and shot out the window with my Colt 2000. I managed to get the door open and pull him out. Just then there was a secondary explosion. We were thrown halfway across the lot. Don’t worry. I’m okay. I only sustained some bruises. Lentz on the other hand . . . EMS couldn’t revive him.”
“He’s dead? What happened?”
“Heart attack. Happened as soon as he started his car. The shock caused his body to stiffen and his foot to lock on the accelerator.”
“Sam, you could have been killed.”
“And miss our trip to Monte Carlo, no way,” he joked. “Let’s order, I’m hungry.”
Esther picked up the menu and studied it carefully though she already knew what she wanted.
“What’s your pleasure, Esther?”
Esther continued to peruse the menu. “I’ve decided. Lobster salad,” she replied.
Sam motioned to the waiter who came over to take their orders.
“Two lobster salads and a bottle of Dom Perignon.”
The waiter scurried off to the kitchen.
“Are you packed?” Sam asked.
“Almost,” she replied. “I have an appointment at Beverly’s. Beverly herself called me this morning. They’ve come out with a new designer line. I must have something new for Monte Carlo. When do I have to be ready?”
“We’re flying out on Top Flight Jet . But I’m afraid I have some bad news. We’re going to have to share the plane with another couple. The limousine will pick you up around four.”
“Sam, another couple? I had plans for the plane.” She licked his finger lasciviously.
“Save it for tonight. I have a surprise for you anyway.”
“Surprise?” she queried.
“Never mind, a surprise is a surprise.” The champagne arrived. The waiter popped the cork and poured. “Here’s to the face that launched a thousand ships,” Sam said.
“Here’s to Monte Carlo,” Esther answered. They touched glasses and sipped some of the bubbly.
“I’ll drink to that,” shouted a voice from over Sam’s shoulder. It was Frank Thorpe, Sam’s close friend and business associate. “You’re the luckiest man in town, Sam.” Frank was a top Wall Street lawyer who had used the services of Sonn and Son on many occasions. Over the years their business relationship had grown into a close personal friendship. But the two men lived in different worlds. Sam was a New Yorker of Jewish descent and although not at all religious he had a strong ethnic identity. Frank was a Sutton Place WASP— part of the good old boy network that extended back for generations. Sam could not even play a round of golf with him at Frank’s elitist country club but he understood.
Frank had taken the Ivy League route, graduating from Princeton and then Harvard Law. Like Sam, he inherited his father’s firm, and took it to new heights. But unlike Sam, Frank had successfully ensconced himself into the fabric of the upper crust of New York society. Sam admired Frank both for his intelligence and his business acumen. And he knew that in a pinch Frank could
