10
"I have a confession," Pendergast announced as he stood staring into the open cabinets before him. "When we last met, you told me that your partner was a chef, and I…thought you were merely embellishing on the notion that he was a good cook. But this," he continued, reaching up for a short cylindrical canister marked Grains Of Paradise and another that indicated the contents within were known as Herbes de Provence, "this seems to prove me wrong." He'd discovered seven different types of salt and eight of pepper, flours made from four different grains, seven different mustards, six assorted cooking oils not including home-rendered fats in glass jars labeled bacon, sausage, smoked pork, and spicy sausage. In the freezer were quart containers of beef stock, poultry stock, mixed specie, vegetable, seafood, and roasted bone stock, labeled and dated. There were quail eggs stored in the refrigerator along with brown chicken eggs. "Does someone come and cook for you, or do you do any cooking, my dear?"
Amanda leaned against the edge of the doorway and told him, "No."
"Alexander truly has had training in the culinary arts?"
"Think he worked in a restaurant," she muttered.
"Tavern On The Green? The Four Seasons? The Rainbow Room? The Russian Tea Room?" He was teasing, but wouldn't be surprised if she indicated one of them had been his employer at some point in time.
"I dunno…Chinatown?"
"Chinatown? Really?" But as he said this, he happened to look down in the lower cabinets he had left open and saw that indeed easily half of the pots and pans were woks and steamers. "Cantonese? Szechwan? Mandarin?"
She sounded tired. "I don't know."
He picked up on her tone and turned toward her. "I am immensely curious about this version of my…reality, and of the man who allegedly now possesses my body…but, as before, there is nothing more fascinating to my senses than you."
There was that shy smile again.
He began closing all of the cabinets. "How old are you, Amanda?"
"Not sure."
"Have you ever been married?"
"No."
"Did you have a…a boyfriend before you met Alex?" When she didn't respond immediately, he glanced her way and saw the struggle on her face.
"No," she finally decided.
"Alex mentioned that it is unlikely that you look now the way you did before you were…Quasared."
"What?"
"Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…" he trailed off, uncertain how to mend his faux pas.
"Not the same?" she asked from just behind his right arm. He looked back toward the doorway and saw she had covered a couple of yards in the speed of thought. Did she actually run, dematerialize and then rematerialize, or was she utilizing an aspect of quantum physics to transport her cells across space and time at the speed of light?
"I'm afraid I wouldn't know," he said gently. If he upset her, how would he ever calm her down? He had witnessed her supernatural displays of strength and reflexes. Obviously, she had to possess some sort of weakness in order for Alex to control her. "My main interest in your appearance stems from the fact that you apparently appear some years younger than your actual chronological age."
Her eyes narrowed and she slid her mouth to the side in a dubious pucker until a sudden rapping upon the front door distracted her.
Pendergast froze. He dared not slip out of the kitchen because he'd be exposed to anyone standing on the other side of the sliding glass door at the back of the house. It was dark out and there were lights on inside. It very likely appeared that someone was home. "You said no one else stays here, no visitors drop by."
"Maybe Geoff," she said, heading for the living room until the hand on her shoulder halted her progress.
"Who is Geoff?"
"Friend," she said with a shrug.
"Yours or Alex's?"
"Yes," she answered.
"Do you know it is Geoff, or do you merely suspect it?"
He winced as she told him, "I dunno."
"Does anyone else have a key to this place?"
"Don't think so."
The knocking continued, growing louder with each refrain. Pendergast made his way toward one of the small, high kitchen windows and remained low, to the side, and as far back as possible as he attempted to peer without. "I see a BMW. And a woman…with very dark hair."
He turned to look at Amanda, and saw only the lower half of her as she leaned through the wall for a peek. She found herself yanked backward abruptly. "Halbot."
"Halbot…." He had heard the name earlier. It was someone who worked for ArtReal, someone possibly high-placed. Someone who might have made inquiries regarding the FBI agent who had visited her workplace asking to speak with a Quasar. She wouldn't have turned up anything. She might have even caused concern with the belief that there was a man posing as an FBI agent asking after one of their Quasars. "Are you psychic, Amanda? Like Alex? Can you do what he does?"
"No. Not really. Maybe sorta…."
Not good enough. The woman had stepped back for a look toward the windows and called Roglitz's name. If she was alone, it signified that no one was investigating the alleged imposter case. The phone trilled again. Pendergast stole another peek and saw that Halbot was on her cell. Would she go away? Try the back door? The phone stopped and the knocking resumed. Soon thereafter the agent heard the unmistakable sound of a lock being picked. He seized the Quasar and commanded, "Home! Now!" Before he could blink, he'd noticed the drastic alteration of their surroundings. The tall, pale man exhaled with relief, then had an afterthought. "Amanda, we need Alex here, now!" At his feet lay the big, unconscious Russian.