Chapter 79

He grunted, paused at the door, and glanced back. “I know you don’t ride elevators.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Portia’s a lady. She wouldn’t want to put you out in any way. But she isn’t going to be able to take three flights of stairs.”

“She won’t have to.”

“In spite of—”

“Yeah, in spite of.”

He studied my eyes for a minute, then nodded. “Happy Thanksgiving, Vincent.”

The door closed behind him before I could say anything. I flipped the locks, then picked up my cell phone—I’d put all the contacts in Quinn’s phone into mine—and texted him.

Back atcha, Novotny.

* * * *

It turned out to be a more intimate dinner than I’d anticipated, not that I had any objections to that. Early in the day before Thanksgiving, Quinn called to let me know something had come up on the West Coast, and his uncles would be unable to come east.

“What happened?”

“I might as well tell you what’s going on. You get me to talk even when I have no intention to.”