Page 55 of Gone Before Goodbye

“Why aren’t you, I don’t know, in the Midwest with your family?”

“My decisions are none of your business.”

“That’s true.”

“You’re not my psychiatrist or spiritual advisor. You’re just a plastic surgeon.”

“But I want to help.”

“You can’t,” Nadia says. “I told you already. You don’t know my life. Just do your job and leave me in peace.”

CHAPTER NINE

Nadia says that she’s going to say goodnight to Oleg before heading to bed.

“Do you mind if I come with you?” Maggie asks.

Nadia shrugs, so Maggie follows her up the stairs and around the corner. There is a gold door with two beefy bodyguards on either side. Nadia says something in Russian. One of the bodyguards barks something back and points at Maggie with his chin. Nadia explains who Maggie is, or at least, that’s what Maggie assumes. The bodyguard talks into his watch. A few seconds later, the door opens. Nadia enters first. Maggie is right behind her.

The room is done up in a gaudy red velvet that a Vegas brothel might consider over-the-top. The floor is blanketed in beanbag chairs and oversize pillows and various low-level seating, all punctuated by glass-piped, multi-hose/multiuser hookahs. You could probably fit a hundred people in here for an orgy—that looks like the room’s natural use—but right now there is only one person: Oleg Ragoravich. He stands by one long windowed wall. The windows are one-way and at an angle so you can look down at the ballroom, but the ballroom can’t look in on you. Maggie remembers the mirrors lining the top of the wall where the crown molding is. She figures that this is the other side of those mirrors.

Ragoravich doesn’t turn when they enter. He stares down at hisballroom not unlike an emperor at the Colosseum. Nadia says something in Russian. Maggie catches the end, “dobre noche,” meaning good night. Oleg waves and mutters the same words back. Nadia doesn’t wait. She turns and heads back out the door without another word or even a glance, leaving Oleg and Maggie alone.

Oleg still has his back to Maggie.

“Are you going down?” she asks him.

“Later.” He points through the window below. His voice is suddenly soft. “I saw you.”

“In the ballroom, you mean?”

“Yes. How’s the food?”

“Eh, not bad. You could have spent a little more, gone for the upgraded appetizers.”

He still doesn’t turn around, but she can see a small smile from where she stands. “You saw the stage?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who’s going to play?”

“No.”

“Elton John. Are you a fan?”

Maggie nods. “He’s one of my favorites.”

He finally turns and faces her. “Mine too.”

“I’m almost tempted to stay up,” Maggie says.

“Please do.”

“I have surgery tomorrow.”

“True.”

“So do you.”