Breda Burrows studied Lynn Cutter for a moment, and said, "Feeling better?"
"Yeah, well, I'm not quite ready to do eyelid surgery." Lynn looked at his calendar watch and said, "We only got seven or eight weeks till Easter and I gotta color eggs this year. Do you think you'll get to the point by then?"
For a cynical boozer, he wasn't a bad-looking guy, Breda thought. She didn't like his mustache and he was at least twenty pounds overweight, but he still had most of his hair: sandy gray and curly. He wasn't big but he had good shoulders and big wrists and hands. His brown eyes were intelligent when he bothered to look at her. She suspected he was competent, and she felt like punching him in the mouth.
"Okay, I'll get to the point, Lynn," she said. "I need a consultant."
"Why didn't you say so," he said, finishing his fourth drink, grateful he didn't have to work the next day. Or ever again! "There's a gypsy in Cathedral City that does Tarot cards, palms and even tea leaves if you bring the tea. Me, I got a job flocking Christmas trees. It's not real steady work, of course, but I still don't have enough hours to consult even though I gotta admit I'm way ahead a my time in business matters. I went broke two years before the recession. My old man was the same way. Went broke in nineteen-twenny-e/g/?PS."
With a grin only half as wide as her pimp-killer grin, she said to this world-class wiseass, "Look, Lynn, I know you don't feel well today and you don't know me and don't have any reason to trust me, but I haven't come here to ask you to compromise your pension and get in trouble. I've learned that Palm Springs and this whole desert valley is a different sorta place, and I'm the new kid on the block. I just need help and guidance from somebody in local law enforcement, and I was told you might be that somebody."
He peered into her eyes then-the electric blue was giving off sparks. Despite his hangover, that irritating grin of hers somehow turned him on a little bit. But he said, "Yeah, I'm full a talent all right. I could probably blow smoke rings if I smoked. I did smoke till last May when the doc said the arteries around my heart're like the L. A. interchange at rush hour, so I quit smoking. It was easy to quit, except I got this need to kill six or seven cats a day. I gotta say so long for now and head for the Humane Society to pick up a few. I tried ground squirrels but they don't work."
And to her utter astonishment, Lynn Cutter suddenly stood up, waved bye-bye, and wobbled toward the front door of the saloon! But he was stopped by a large blond woman who was on her way in.
"Lynn," the blonde said, backlit by the brilliant Palm Springs sunlight, which penetrated his skull like hot nails.
"Have we met?" he croaked.
"You better remember me. Phyllis!"
"Charmed, I'm sure," he said, vaguely recognizing the mustache. She was wearing what she thought was a drop-dead, midthigh leather skirt that would've turned off Ted Bundy.
"Such a kidder," she giggled. "You said we'd have lunch today."
Lynn was frozen in the doorway, trapped. "I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot about lunch, Phyllis."
"Well I didn't!" she said. "And I don't appreciate being made a fool out of!"
She was taller than Breda Burrows. With heels she was taller than Lynn, and almost as heavy! Her 'stash was heavier, in fact. "Phyllis," he said. "That woman over there glaring at me? That's my wife! I can't be seen with you!"
"Goddamnit, you said you were single!" Her voice was like cymbals clashing. "You sang to me: 'I got that lovin feeling!' You sonofabitch!"
God, he hated that song! "Well, I'm not exactly married," he whined. "I mean, I'm getting a divorce and we're talking settlement now. And we agreed not to see other people till it's over. Get it?"
Breda Burrows was paying her bill during all this, and was striding indignantly toward the door when Lynn turned a blood-red eye in her direction.
"Breda," he called out. "Breda!" But the P. I. brushed past and was gone.
"She acts like she really cares," Phyllis said, with a hideous smirk.
"Yeah, well, she pretends like she couldn't care less if I starred in a snuff film or went to Disneyland, but really, she loves me. She's a great little mother too."
"You got kids? You asshole! You told me you were single and childless!"
"I gotta go now," he said. "I gotta catch up with my wife. The settlement. The final decree. The property. Our four little ankle-biters!"
Phyllis followed him into the merciless glare and watched as he put on his sunglasses and caught up with Breda, who was unlocking the door of her white Datsun 280ZX. Phyllis gave up when Lynn climbed in beside the P. I.