Chapter Four

Agnes was on a rare late-afternoon bathroom break when Bert snuck into Mr. Addison's office to make the call.

He was still riding a high composed of sleep deprivation, too much caffeine, and the stimulant of meeting a real live G-man. Ed Scharlock…now there was a guy. Oh, not that he didn't admire Mr. Addison—self-made, gutsy, a man who lived by his instincts and was wise in the ways of (most) women. He could learn a lot from Mr. Addison. But Ed Scharlock, a genuine FBI agent, someone who had run the gauntlet at Quantico, someone who had the latest detecting technology at his fingertips…well. It was pretty heady, working a case with a guy like that.

Based in part on Bert's information, they had tracked Joan Tenowich to Las Vegas, and Mr. Addison had flown there early that morning. The trail died out at the airport, however, and a search for her on the guest lists of the major hotels had so far proven fruitless. But an hour ago, Bert had gotten a lucky break.

He was nearly overwhelmed with excitement. This was real detective work, putting his considerable deductive prowess, honed over years of studying accounts, to good use. Not only that, but he was actually involved in solving a crime…assisting the FBI…helping to bring a known murderer to justice. In his own way, he was—his chest puffed out at the thought—working to preserve the American dream.

Bert sat down at Mr. Addison's desk. He took a moment to enjoy the feel of it: the comfortable black leather; the polished expanse, unbroken by petty files or paperwork. He pulled himself closer in the wheeled chair. His hand slipped, and he accidentally knocked over a Godzilla figurine. Picking it up sheepishly, he set it beside his case notes and started dialing.

"Caesar's Palace. How may I direct your call?"

"David Addison's room, please." Bert took a deep breath, quickly skimming the notes.

"Yep?"

"Mr. Addison? It's me," Bert whispered.

"Gee, and here I was hoping it was Ed McMahon. Speak up, Herbert, and tell me what you've got."

Bert cleared his throat. "Well, sir, one of my cousins works for the Nevada Gaming Commission. Apparently, a woman matching our suspect's description lost a fair sum at the MGM Grand two weeks ago, so the NGC decided to keep tabs on her. One of their agents spotted her at the airport this morning and tailed her to the Flamingo, where she checked in under the name—" Bert checked his notes—"Deirdre Johnson."

David sounded surprised at the depth of Bert's information. "Nice work, Bertie my boy."

"Thank you, sir. It was no trouble at all," said Bert expansively. He swung around, tilting the desk chair back.

"Better call your new friend Sherlock and get him up here."

"You're sure I couldn't…"

"Hey—haven't you just proven your worth there at Command Central? I need you to stay put."

Bert didn't hear the door open behind him.

"Yes, sir. So, you think you'll secure her this evening?" He chuckled appreciatively at David's slightly off-color response. "You're right, sir…the night is definitely made for that kind of work!"

"Mr. Vi-ola!"

His feet came down with a thud; he turned in the chair to see a livid Ms. Hayes. At the same time, the phone went dead as Mr. Addison hung up abruptly.

"Ms. Hayes," he began nervously, putting the handset back in its cradle.

"Was that Mr. Addison?"

He couldn't be sure how much she'd heard, but he thought that much must've been obvious. "Yes, ma'am."

She folded her arms. "And where exactly is Mr. Addison?"

This question placed him in a quandary. Mr. Addison had expressly told Bert not to divulge his whereabouts to anyone at Blue Moon, especially not Ms. Hayes. Bert wasn't certain why, but Mr. Addison had been insistent that it would "compromise the integrity of the investigation." On the other hand, Ms. Hayes was the one who signed the checks…

Then he remembered what Mr. Addison had told him yesterday about Ms. Hayes wanting to nab the terrorist on her own. No. His duty was clear: he must protect the information, protect Mr. Addison, protect Ms. Hayes from herself…even if it cost him his job.

He gulped. "I'm afraid…I'm not at liberty to say." Glancing back up at Ms. Hayes, he lifted his arm to ward off her glare.

"I see," she bit out. Bert slid down a little in the desk chair, fully expecting gale-force wrath. Her jaw was set and her eyes darkened, but to his surprise, she turned on her heel and stalked out the door without another word. He braced himself as—SLAM—the office walls shook.

He slumped down, head in his hands. At least he hadn't been fired…yet.

Moments later, the door opened gingerly. "Mr. Addison?" Agnes called softly into the gloom.

Bert's head shot up. Shocked, Agnes stopped in mid-tiptoe. "Herbert? What are you doing in here?"

Her accusatory tone put him on the defensive. "Some work for Mr. Addison," he said brusquely.

She eyed him with suspicion. "What kind of work? And why are you in his office?"

Bert drew himself up to his full height of five feet, five inches. "I can't tell you that."

Palms flat on the desk, Agnes ignored his response. "And WHAT did you say to Ms. Hayes to make her storm out of here?"

He stood firm, though he leaned back on his heels just a bit. "I can't really say, Agnes. I'm sorry—it's confidential."

The receptionist arched over the desk threateningly. "You can't say, huh? Well, listen, J. Edgar—" she poked him in the chest—"I've been here a lot longer than you"—she stabbed at him again—"and if there's going to be any confidentiality around here, I wanna know about it!"

She stood up, folding her arms in unconscious imitation of a certain lady boss, and saying with Hayes-like disdain, "Is there a woman involved?"

Bert's silence spoke clearly.

Agnes walked around the desk, closing the space between them so quickly that Bert tumbled back into the black chair. She stood over him, hands on her hips, hazel eyes flashing. She suddenly looked to Bert like an avenging angel—for a moment, he could swear he saw a halo atop her brown curls.

"Herbert Viola, if you have been encouraging him in some kind of ridiculous scheme…Do you have any idea what I've been through with those two? And we were so close! Then this 'Sam' starts calling, and Mr. Addison disappears with some floozy…"

Bert forgot his promise to Mr. Addison, his vow to protect…he could think only of the fire-lit woman in front of him, rendered beautiful by her righteous anger. He hastened to reassure her. "It's not what you think, Agnes. It's a case."

"A what?"

"A case. It's top-secret. Not even Ms. Hayes knows."

Agnes wasn't buying it. "Nice try, Mr. Viola. No new cases have come in for at least the past week."

Herbert boosted himself from the chair, lowering his voice. "This is something that just came up last night. Mr. Addison and I were doing some…surveillance…when we—well, really, me—" he couldn't resist—"stumbled on this case."

"Why doesn't Ms. Hayes know about it?"

Bert hesitated. "Mr. Addison has his reasons—good ones, I swear!" He took hold of her elbows. "Please, Agnes, I need you to keep this on the QT until I get the OK from the boss…it's in Blue Moon's best interests," he added, hoping this would convince her.

Agnes looked back at him. Her expression was still fierce, but her tone was marginally softer. "All right, Herbert. I'll give you ONE day."

Bert exhaled in relief—he could just kiss her—he knew he could count on her, dear, sweet Dipesto! He leaned in, just a little. "Agnes…"

She took hold of his tie. "Save it for tomorrow," she said, giving it a quick yank that left him gasping. He watched bemused as she strode quickly back to her desk.

What a woman!