“What could Yalom have had on her that would have screwed her up with VerHauten?” Decker asked. “We figured maybe she had an affair with a black. Maybe the guy was a Black Muslim to boot. Having an affair with someone like that would have been highly frowned upon in a bastion of white conservatism like VerHauten.”

Kreisman said, “I don’t think VerHauten would have dismissed her services as long as she was doing a good job. Business is business.”

Rina said, “Maybe while working for VerHauten, Milligan came to some sort of an epiphany. She met a black man, fell deeply in love, and was suddenly full of rage that she couldn’t openly love him.”

Decker said, “And opportunity reared its head. Here was a way to get rich and get even with VerHauten—the white power structure of South Africa. Not only that, Israel, another oppressor country, would get screwed as well.”

“Do you have a name for this mysterious black man?” Kreisman asked.

“No,” Decker said. “Just throwing out ideas. Retrospectively dissecting Milligan’s mind.”

“A nice theory,” Kreisman said. “Find a name to go along with it and you might give us something to work with.”

Rina blurted out, “Donald.”

Decker looked at her.

“And why not?” Rina said.

Decker said, “Didn’t Milligan say that Donald was working for her? That he was her underling?”

“Peter,” Rina chided. “Where is it written that the woman can’t have the upper hand in a love relationship?”

“Women always have the upper hand in a love relationship,” Kreisman said, dryly.

“Well, not always,” Rina said.

There was a pause. Then Kreisman and Decker said in unison, “Always.”

37

Without thinking, Rina leaned against the heavy glass door, butting it open with her shoulder.

“What are you doing? I’ll get that.” Decker held open the door. “Chivalry isn’t totally dead.”

He stepped aside and let Rina enter the hotel lobby first. It was filled with casually dressed tourists, bellhops, management personnel, and lots of kids garbed in bathing wear. Wearily, Rina trudged up to the front desk and checked for messages. Nothing. She slung her purse over her shoulder and slipped her arm around Peter. “I’m hungry.”

“I’m tired of room service,” Decker said. “Let’s just eat downstairs.”

“Fine. Do you want to eat meat or dairy?”

“Up to you.”

“I’ll opt for dairy,” Rina said. “The thought of eating fleisch on three hours of sleep churns my stomach. Besides, I’m in the mood for onion soup.”