“Nonsense.” He tossed down the last of the whiskey and stood. “Stuff and nonsense. Well, at least the music was excellent. And tell your Miss Driscoll that champagne will be waiting for her in Seattle.” He gestured to the bandstand. “Is she going to sing again this evening?”

I shook my head. “She came down with laryngitis. Caught it from a friend in San Diego.”

Russ gave Martha a quarter, and she went to get her wrap from the cloakroom. He threw some money down on the table. “So there’s a rehearsal tomorrow of Gail’s composition?”

“Yes, at three.”

“Look forward to hearing it. You’ll be there?”

I said I would.

He confided, “I appreciate all the help you’ve been giving her. Made a fool of myself tonight, but she’s become almost a daughter to me, if that doesn’t sound too foolish.”

“Not at all,” I said.

He gave a low grunt. “Hate that little twerp Toby Ackland.”

“Me too,” I agreed, to his mild surprise.

I led the first twenty minutes of the last set. It wasn’t a big deal, not as if I stood there waving a baton. It just entailed giving a count-off. After each intro, I sat with the rest of the band and only got up for the cutoff.

Jack returned to the stage looking reinvigorated. His hair could have used a comb. My guess was he’d gone outside to take in some clean air and exhale some Vera.

After the last number, Tommy Trego took my instrument cases and wished me a good night. I wandered over to the Terrace Lounge to see if for any reason Gail had returned, but no. I wondered if she was still out with Ackland.

I walked through the lobby and saw a bellman and a uniformed custodian gravely inspecting the tropical fish tank near the elevator bank. I wondered what held their attention. I stepped over and saw that all the fish in the tank were dead, forming a colorful ceiling of delicate cadavers above a model of a deep-sea diver, an underwater castle, a bubbling clam shell nestled against a sponge, and some coral.

I walked up the steps to my room, withdrew my mailable key from my wallet, and opened the door. The lights were on in the room, although I was next to certain I’d turned them off before leaving.

It was an absolute shambles. Someone had broken in and searched the room, and they hadn’t given a damn if I knew it. They’d overturned a chair as if I might have hidden something beneath its seat. The writing desk’s drawer was inverted on the floor. The covers had been pulled from the bed and the mattress raised and moved off the bedsprings.