Murder on Embassy Row Read Free Page B

rubber bands. He removed the tin and a bottle of vodka, placed a silver bowl on a serving tray, filled the bowlwith crushed ice, and carefully nestled the vodka bottle in it. Next to the bottle went a small cut-glass cup. He spooned caviar from the tin into the cup and added four lemon wedges. “I need toast,” he told Eleanor as he replaced the tin of caviar in the refrigerator, secured the lock, returned the key to his pocket. “I’ll be back,” he said. He returned five minutes later. The toast was wrapped in a white linen napkin and was on the tray.
    Hafez crossed the ballroom and almost reached the twin limestone staircases leading to the upper floors when Marsha James intercepted him. “Nuri,” she said, “please bring the limousine around to the front. The Palingtons and I will be going to…”
    “I know,” he said sullenly.
    She started to comment on his tone of voice, but was suddenly surrounded by a group of guests, including Werner Gibronski. “I must leave immediately,” Gibronski said. He turned and bumped into Hafez, who nearly lost his grip on the serving tray. He placed it on a walnut Queen Anne table. Marsha James looked down. A lemon wedge had fallen to the floor. Hafez bent over and picked it up, looked for somewhere to put it, then walked to the kitchen, where he angrily tossed it in a trash can. Gibronski was gone by the time Hafez returned and Marsha James was saying good-bye to lingering guests. Standing next to her were the Palingtons. As Hafez picked up the tray, she said to him, “Please hurry. I don’t want to be late.”
    Hafez went to the main hallway, a long, wide corridor with red walls and a checkerboard floor of white Vermont marble and black Pennsylvania slate. The official coronation portrait of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II peered down at him as he slowly climbed the stairs to the next level, where the ambassador’s study was located. He paused at the door as he heard James’s voicesay, “Not tonight… I am not in the habit of being asked to apologize to anyone. Good night!” The phone was returned to its cradle with considerable force. Hafez waited a few seconds, then knocked. “Come in,” James said loudly.
    The ambassador had removed his shoes, suit jacket and tie, and had slipped into a red cashmere robe and slippers. “A fire,” he mumbled as Hafez placed the tray on a crotchwood lyre card table decorated with brass rosettes. Hafez quickly arranged newspaper, cedar kindling, and four slender logs in the fireplace, ignited them, and stood.
    “That’s all,” said James. “I won’t be going out tonight. Drive them to the show and pick them up. Please don’t disturb me.”
    As Hafez was about to open the door, James said, “You know, Nuri, there is an old saying about not biting the hand that feeds you.” Hafez half-turned and cocked his head. “Don’t give me that confused expression you’re so bloody fond of adopting, Nuri. Just think about what I said. Good night.”
    ***
    Marsha James returned to the embassy at midnight. She was driven by two plainclothes members of the internal security staff who’d escorted her and the Palingtons to the Robyn Archer show. Mrs. James and her guests had been driven in the ambassador’s limousine by Nuri Hafez, with the security men following in an unmarked sedan. When Hafez didn’t show up at the end of the evening and a call to the embassy failed to locate him, Mrs. James had the guards drop the Palingtons at the Madison Hotel, then bring her home.
    She was furious as she entered the front door. “Where is Nuri?” she asked the household staff, who were still cleaning up after the party.
    “We don’t know, ma’am.”
    She went to the ballroom, picked up a telephone, and dialed Hafez’s room. There was no answer. She dialed the main garage. No answer there, either. She returned to the foyer and told a security guard, “Go around back and see if the limousine is there.” He returned a few minutes later and