flattered. Esther has become my Watson of late. She’s proven her mettle in a number of cases.”
“Sam’s exaggerating. I know very little about the business.”
“Come, come, Esther, you can’t underestimate a woman’s intuition when it comes to figuring out a whodunit,” Qu Min said.
“That’s very true, Miss Lee,” Sam affirmed. “She always sees things differently than I do. Her intuition is particularly good at the racetrack. I study the form and can’t pick a winner, while she looks over the jockeys and horses during the Post Parade and invariably comes up with the winner. Call it ESP or good horse sense; I can’t explain it. It’s uncanny.”
“Sam, I’ve come across one or two gamblers in my lifetime who have made similar claims. It’s extremely rare, but I do believe that some people have powers of ESP,” Buddy said.
“Nonsense,” Esther said, “I bet on the horse with the biggest tail.” They all laughed.
“I’m going to have to invite you both down to Santa Anita. I’d like to see your intuitive powers at work,” Radford said.
“I’ve never been out to Santa Anita. It must be a beautiful track,” Esther replied.
“It’s very beautiful, especially when you pick a few winners,” Qu Min said.
“Personally, I enjoy my four weeks in Saratoga. We won the Travers Stakes this year with Hieroglyph. He went gate to wire. He has a shot of being named Horse of the Year. After we get back from Monaco, he’s going into syndication. We’re pointing him toward the two million dollar Breeder’s Cup Classic in the fall. Maybe you and Esther would like to buy in?”
“It all depends how we fare in Monaco,” Sam answered.
“Just fade me when I’m shooting. I’m one hot roller. I once held the dice for forty-five minutes.”
“Sam, I’d love to have my picture taken in the winner’s circle,” Esther said. She was practically jumping out of her seat with enthusiasm.
“There’s no place like the winner’s circle. You feel like you’re on top of the world.” Qu Min asserted, “It’s better than sex.”
“We’ll I don’t know about that,” Radford said, “but it is the next best thing.”
“What do you think, Sam, is it better than sex?” Qu Min asked as she placed her hand on Sam’s leg.
“Nothing is better than sex,” Sam replied.
Chapter 4
The Stupidity of Man
Saturday, May 12, late afternoon.
L’hotel de St. Marie is the most exclusive resort in Monaco —— if not the world. Located in Monaco-Ville, it offers a panoramic view of the city. Suites range from five to ten thousand a night. Le Chateau de Pompeii is the most luxurious lodging in the complex and the most exclusive. Overlooking the main hotel on Mont Agel, it is replete with its own gardens, sundeck, pool and spas. Guests receive a comp for the accommodations by meeting a wager minimum of fifty thousand dollars a night at the casino which is a short boat ride from the hotel. Only royalty are permitted to occupy Le Chateau de Pompeii, but that restriction is a mere formality, easily overcome by the payment of a tribute tax, which goes directly into the coffers of the Royal Family. In return, the Prince Albert’s personal secretary bestows an honorary title effective for the length of the stay. The attendants of Le Chateau refer to the guests accordingly, as His or Her Serene Majesty.
The late afternoon sun had already refracted from floral white to blanched almond. In less than an hour it would turn a crimson red before descending into the aqua-blue waters of the Mediterranean. Esther lay nude on the chaise lounge next to Sam. She seemed unconcerned by the porter who emptied a fresh wheel barrel of ice into the ice spa. Even after a full day of vigorous sexual activity, Sam was still aroused by her beautiful form. When the porter disappeared from view, Esther mechanically rose and tiptoed over to the ice spa, sighing loudly as she jumped in feet first. She very quickly maneuvered her shivering wet body from out of the cold bath and into the hot tub where she relaxed for several minutes. Before returning to her chaise-lounge, she went under the San Trope tower—a shower-like apparatus that applied suntan oils. Sam watched her intently as she frolicked about. She moved like an angel, Sam’s private angel. Sam was in heaven. But, he wasn’t the only one watching. The deck was visible by telescope from every hotel in the city, and tele-peeping is one of the principle daytime activities in Monaco.
Sam used his iPad when he was abroad to get his emails. Ninety-six new e-mails were listed across his screen. Tim had obviously done his job well.
“Anything interesting?” Esther asked.
“Yes, most interesting. Tim forwarded me Eleanor Moreau’s e-mail that she received prior to her death.”
“What are you looking for, Sam?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. Sam began reading the e-mail to himself. “She corresponded regularly with her sister who kept her abreast of family matters. She also corresponded with her ex-husband, mostly regarding custody arrangements for their youngest child,” Sam continued. “And it appears that you and Eleanor Moreau had something in common.”
“Really? What’s that?” Esther asked.
“Apparently, she was also a member of the Black Squares Club.”
“There’s nothing unusual about that,” Esther replied, “it’s the best online crossword puzzle club in the country. And it’s the only one that offers prizes.”
“You mean you can actually win prizes?” Sam asked.
“You earn points that are redeemable in the R. SPELLMAN catalogue.”
“Here’s something else interesting—a number of correspondences from Henri Gateau.”
“Isn’t Gateau the race car driver?” Esther asked.
“Formula One, I believe.”
“He’s very debonair and good looking. Perhaps he’s racing in the Grand Prix?”
“If he is, he’ll be dining at the hotel tonight. All of the drivers are invited to a pre-race dinner.”
“What do his correspondences say, Sam?”
“I’ll read you his last e-mail sent January 15, three months before her unfortunate demise.”
Dearest Eleanor,
I have raised the cash, but I need it back by the 17th. We’ll need twice that for the operation. Hope we’re still partners in business as well as in love.
All my love,
Henri
“That’s a strange letter, Sam. Eleanor Moreau had all the money in the world. She was a charter member of the jet set. Why would she be giving Gateau for money?”
“That’s a very good question. Let me check her out box. Perhaps she replied to the letter. Yes. Here it is.”
My beautiful Henri,
Send the cash. One more thing. Tell Jacque I’ve finished the Alaska layout. Froze my butt off. Kept it on ice for you.
Love,
Eleanor
P.S. I will definitely return it by the 17th. And, yes, we are still partners in every sense of the word.
“Wait a minute,” Sam said.
“What is it, Sam?”
“There’s a shadow cc attached to her e-mail.”
“A shadow what?” Esther asked.
“A sophisticated