Bitter Business

the woman who stood between Pete and Adele serving up the biscuits. It looked to me like she had enough “meat” for both of us.
    “I don’t like breakfast,” I said, resenting having to explain.
    “Then what you doin’ here?” demanded a good-natured voice from behind me in line.
    “You be nice to her, now,” joked another. “She looks like she had herself a rough night.”
    “Fine,” I said definitively. “I’ll have two eggs, scrambled, and a biscuit.”
    “No grits?” demanded Pete, pressing his advantage.
    “Absolutely,” I replied. “A double order, if you please.”
    As Pete cracked eggs onto the well-oiled surface of the hot griddle, Elliott took two trays off the pile. As he wiped them carefully with a napkin the butt of his Browning automatic peeked out from the holster under his arm.
    Miraculously, three cops got up from their table just as we finished at the cash register. At the Valois a group of regulars takes up the tables between the front door and the pay phones, nursing their coffee and making book, so seating is generally at a premium.
    “I went to see Jack Cavanaugh yesterday. He didn’t object to hiring me. He seemed pretty out of it. Most of the time he let his wife do the talking.”
    “Peaches?”
    “I’d heard that she left Channel Seven to marry some old guy. I knew her when I was working in the prosecutor’s office. She was having trouble with an obsessed fan. Lots of women in the public eye have that kind of trouble—men, too, for that matter. There are a lot of sick people in this world and not a lot you can do about it. Most people just hire a bodyguard, change their routine, keep their fingers crossed, and chalk it up as one of the unpleasant realities of success—you know, like divorce and liposuction.” He flashed me one of the wonderful grins that transformed his face and—I hate to admit it— made my heart beat faster.
    “But the guy who was stalking Peaches took it a step further. He broke into her apartment one night while she was on the air—went through her underwear and stuff. Most people would have freaked out, but Peaches is one tough lady. Smart, too. She got the station to agree to let her do a series on celebrity stalkers. They ran it during sweeps month, and ratings went through the roof. Needless to say, she did a segment on what had happened to her. Lit a fire under the cops, who miraculously arrested the guy in time for the chief of police to get an interview on the eleven o’clock.”
    “Daniel Babbage told me that Peaches was smart, that I shouldn’t be fooled by her fluff-girl act. Have you talked to the family yet?”
    “I thought I’d wait until this afternoon—give the cops a chance to finish up. In the meantime I’ve been doing a little checking on Cecilia Dobson.”
    “So what did you find out?”
    “I decided to pay a call on her landlady. It turns out that your friend’s secretary was hardly a model tenant— even by Uptown standards. By all accounts she was a real party girl—late on the rent, lots of loud music, male visitors, and empty bottles in the trash.”
    “So Philip wasn’t the only guy she was seeing.”
    Elliott smiled again. “Joe told me that you managed to sweat a confession out of Philip Cavanaugh yesterday.”
    “Yeah, right. He came into my office practically beating his breast in contrition.”
    “You know what they say. The Jews may have invented guilt, but it’s the Catholics who first used it to its full potential.”
    We both laughed.
    “I met Philip’s wife, the lovely Sally, when I went to see Jack Cavanaugh about taking the case,” Elliott continued. “I must confess, I can hardly blame Philip for playing around.”
    “Why? What’s she like?”
    “Church lady. You know the type—starched hair, sensible shoes, can spot a sin before it’s committed.”
    “Philip told me that Cecilia had another boyfriend— somebody regular,” I said. “Did you find anything out about him?”
    “Richard Cooper, age twenty-six, plays drums with a band called Spastic Cantaloupe. I have the name of a guy who might know where I can find him. He works in a body-piercing parlor over on Halsted, but it doesn’t open until noon. You want to come?”
    “I’ll pass.”
    “Cecilia also had a small-time criminal record. Did Joe tell you? Two busts for shoplifting. She was also picked up once in a prostitution sweep but was never charged.”
    “Any drug arrests?”
    “No. But that doesn’t mean