“Then how do you know about them?”
“I’d check out his apartment periodically.”
“When he wasn’t around?”
“Of course. A mother’s privilege.”
I shuddered. I thought again of the burning woman down the Rabbit Hole. But I didn’t want to say what I felt and spoil the flow now that I had her talking. I decided to return to my original trail.
“Was it in connection with any of this that he met Victor Melman?” I asked.
She studied me for a moment through narrowed eyes, then nodded and finished her soup.
“Yes,” she said then, laying her spoon aside. “He took a few lessons from the man. He’d liked some of his paintings and looked him up. Perhaps he bought something of his, too. I don’t know. But at some point he mentioned his own work and Victor asked to see it. He told Rinaldo he liked it and said he thought he could teach him a few things that might be of help.”
She raised her goblet and sniffed it, sipped her wine, and stared at the mountains.
I was about to prompt her, hoping she’d go on, when she began to laugh. I waited it out.
“A real asshole,” she said then. “But talented. Give him that.”
“Uh, what do you mean?” I asked.
“After a time he began speaking of the development of personal power, using all those circumlocutions the half-enlightened love to play with. He wanted Rinaldo to know he was an occultist with something pretty strong going for him. Then he began to hint that he might be willing to pass it along to the right person.”
She began laughing again. I chuckled myself, at the thought of that trained seal addressing the genuine article in such a fashion.
“It was because he realized Rinaldo was rich, of course,” she continued. “Victor was, as usual, broke himself at the time. Rinaldo showed no interest, though, and simply stopped taking painting lessons from him shortly after that — as he felt he’d learned all he could from him. When he told me about it later, however, I realized that the man could be made into a perfect cat’s-paw. I was certain such a person would do anything for a taste of real power.”