Fugitive Nights(12)

Then he said, "Elastic's done more for Palm Springs tourism than sunshine and movie stars."

When the waitress refilled their cups, Breda Burrows, who'd never been in the eatery in her life, said, "Thanks, Dot."

The waitress said, "My name's Bonnie."

"Really?" Breda said. "Not Dot?"

"Dot works nights," the waitress said.

"That's a relief," said Breda.

After the waitress left, Lynn asked, "What was that all about?"

"Private joke."

"Between you and yourself? I guess you're glad you're here, or you'd be bored as hell."

Breda showed him that irritating grin and took another bite of pie. On the drive over, she'd explained everything she'd learned from Rhonda Devon about her husband, Clive. She didn't tell Lynn about the five-thousand-dollar bonus. He was already too nosey about fees.

Then he asked, "So how much we charging this Devon woman?" "We?"

"I've heard P. I.'s say they get maybe forty-five bucks an hour for surveillance. And how much a mile? Forty-five cents?"

"Look, I'm offering you a flat fee of a thousand bucks if you get the results I want. That's pretty generous."

Lynn Cutter liked the way she handled a knife and fork. Too many of the babes he dated talked during dinner with food hanging out their mouths. He hated that more than gum chewing, but when he complained, they always implied that he was awfully prissy for a cop.

He absolutely loved the very dark freckle just below Breda's lower lip, near the corner of her mouth. He had a crazy impulse to lick a tiny drop of cherry syrup off that bittersweet chocolate freckle.

Still probing, he said, "I'll bet you demanded a hefty fee up front. If I was doing a garbage domestic case like this I'd ask for two grand."

Breda Burrows quietly ate her cherry pie, chewing with her mouth closed.

Lynn Cutter sipped his coffee, looked into those electric blues, and said, "In this town I bet you can make good bucks for domestic crap. Like when some a these fifty-million-dollar marriages break up they'll fight over a used Maytag washer and hire P. I.'s to tail each other out of spite. Big bucks, right?"

"I try to avoid domestic cases. Like you said, they're garbage. And yeah, a P. I. better take a retainer up front and bill against it because you can never make a client happy in a domestic case."

"So how much're we . . . you getting an hour for this one?"

She sighed and said, "I asked for sixty an hour. I usually ask for forty-five."

"Beverly Hills broad, Beverly Hills prices," Lynn said, smiling.

"There's a lotta competition," she said, irked by the happy face. "There's at least a dozen P. I.'s in the local phone book. Gotta get it when I can."

"So what're we gonna do about Clive Devon?" he asked. "I hope you don't expect me to hang around in the urologist's alley and go through his trash for clues"

"That's not what I had in mind," she said, squinting when the last of the afternoon sun slanted through the window of the coffee shop.

"Why don't you call his doctor's office and tell his receptionist you're from the Beverly Hills Fertility Institute? That you got some problem with the care and storage of his little tadpoles."

"I tried that the moment I left Mrs. Devon's home," she said. "Only I said there was a billing problem at the institute and I needed to verify the client's address."

"What'd the receptionist say?"

"That Mister Clive Devon hadn't seen Doctor Blanchard in over twelve months. That there must be some mistake."

"Maybe he went to some other doctor."

"Mrs. Devon said that Doctor Blanchard's been her husband's urologist for years. Maybe he's lying."

"Hell, most a them lie. My doctor lies every time he sends me a bill for shooting my knee with a needle like a railroad spike. And he tells me he has to charge me a hundred 'n fifty bucks for asking, 'Does it hurt?' Far as I'm concerned, my doctor's just a lawyer with a stethoscope."

"She thinks maybe Doctor Blanchard was ordered by Clive Devon to keep mum about the semen sample."

"So whaddaya want me to do?"

"I was thinking you might go there as a patient and say that you and your wife're considering in vitro fertilization and you need to have your sperm checked out. You could consult with him and casually mention that an acquaintance of yours is a patient. You could go with the flow and see where the conversation leads."

"What if he wants the sample?"

"You give it to him. That's one of the reasons I need a man helping me with this one."

"Forget it! I'm not gonna lay there and give up my little pollywogs to some stranger! Besides, it's humiliating!"