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him.”
    Another of my visions sprang into my head—a gruesome scene of two masked men jumping out of the shadows, hitting Victor on the head with a blackjack and dragging him into a dark alley. Except that it must have happened in broad daylight and it must have happened here, in or near this underground parking lot, as he’d never made it to the apartment. Someone must have been following him or been waiting in the garage.
    “If he was here, and he wasn’t upstairs, then maybe he’s still here,” Sean said logically, and began looking around the parking lot. Into cars, around and between them, even under them, but of course my uncle wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. Logic bedamned, he’d vanished.
    “Maybe he didn’t drive to the Casa Loma. Maybe he took a cab,” Sean suggested.
    “He drove. I asked him. He drives half a block. Any excuse to get into his car. Besides, Rhoda said he left with his violin and the tuxedo. The tux is in the car, and the violin’s gone. He had the violin at the Casa Loma.”
    “He could have parked here and taken a cab to the hall. He wouldn’t need the tax for a sound check. He’d need the violin, so maybe he left the suit in the car. I wonder if the car’s broken down.”
    Despite my aspersions on his logic, he got in and started it up. It worked just fine. I knew Victor wouldn’t have taken a cab.
    “I dread to think of going back to that damned empty apartment,” I said, with a sudden shudder.
    He put a consoling hand on my arm and gave me a bracing, tender smile. “Come on, don’t get yourself psyched out. Let’s think about this logically. There’s got to be an explanation. He was here after five, and he had a concert at eight. Now if he was a rational man, what would he do in the three hour interval? He’d get himself something to eat, right?”
    “Rhoda left supper. He didn’t touch it. He wasn’t in the apartment.” I had a sudden jolt of inspiration. “Maybe he ate out, in a restaurant close enough that he didn’t bother to drive.”
    “That’s probably it. Where would be the likeliest spot?”
    “We sometimes eat at the Four Seasons, just up the road. Let’s go there and talk to the manager.”
    He took my arm and we left. I was suddenly very thankful for Sean’s sane company. I didn’t even want to think about enduring this evening alone.
    We walked over to the restaurant in the hotel. It was a lovely spot, but I wasn’t there to soak up glamour. The maitre d’ recognized Victor Mazzini’s niece. “Good evening, Ms. Newton,” he smiled.
    “Good evening.” I asked if my uncle had been here for dinner.
    “Not today,” he said. He seemed a little surprised at the question. “A table for two?”
    “No, thanks. We’re—just going to have a drink at the bar,” I said, as I felt some explanation was necessary for being in there.
    We walked off toward the bar. “We’re wasting our time,” I said to Sean.
    “We might as well check out the bar while we’re here.” I gave a mutinous stare but kept walking. The actual bar was populated solely by men, though there were women sitting at the tables in the lounge. We were shown to a small table and handed a list of drinks.
    “You won’t want to go up to the bar, with all those guys leering at you,” Sean said, making it sound plausible for him to accost the bartender.
    “It’s a waste of time,” I repeated.
    “But since we’re here . . .” He was already on his feet, heading for the bar.
    I watched as he did his questioning. I noticed a bill being discreetly palmed by the bartender, and tried vainly to overhear the conversation. I had to interpret by their expressions— Sean’s querying, alert, the bartender nodding his head first, smiling, but soon the nod became a negative shake. Yes, he knew Victor Mazzini but he hadn’t seen him this evening.
    “Zilch,” Sean grimaced when he came back to me.
    When the waiter came with our order, I decided to resume control of the