G Is for Gumshoe

He sorted through it quickly. "Let me tell you what we're looking for, in case I'm not here to do this. An unfamiliar return address, or one done by hand. Anything marked personal, extra postage due to weight, oil stains…"
    "A bulky package with a fuse hanging out the side," I said.
    He handed me the stack, his expression bland. It's hard to warm to somebody who looks at you that way. Apparently, he didn't think I was as funny as I thought I was. I took the stack of mail and sorted through it as he had. Much of it was third-class, but I did have a few checks coming in-all with return addresses I could identify on sight. Together we listened to the few messages on my machine. None were threatening. Dietz wanted time to acquaint himself with the building and its environs, so he went off to inspect the premises while I put on a pot of coffee.
    I opened the French doors and paused, suddenly reluctant to step out on the balcony. Across the street, I could see the tiers of the parking garage and it occurred to me that anyone could drive up two levels, park, and get a bead on me. I wasn't even sure a high-powered rifle would be required. You could almost throw a rock from there arid pop me in the noggin. I stepped away from the doors, withdrawing into the shadowy safety of the office. I really hated this.
    At 9:05, I put a call through to my insurance agent and reported the accident. She said there was no blue book on the VW because of its age. It looked like I was going to be lucky if I picked up two hundred bucks on the claim, so there was no point in having the car towed. Finding an adjuster in Brawley who would go out and take a look was almost more trouble than the car was worth. She said she'd check into it and get back to me. This conversation failed to fill me with happiness. I have a savings account, but the purchase of a car would seriously deplete my funds.
    Dietz returned to the office in time to intercept Vera, who had stopped in to say hello on her way into the office next door.
    "My God, what happened to you?" she said when she saw my face.
    "My car ended up in an irrigation ditch down in Brawley," I said. "This is Robert Dietz. He was nice enough to drive me back. Vera Lipton, from the offices next door."
    They shook hands briefly. She was wearing a black leather miniskirt that fit her like automobile upholstery and made a creaking sound when she eased into one of my client chairs. Dietz moved over and parked a hip on the edge of my desk. It was amusing to watch them size each other up. Unknown to Vera, Dietz was viewing her as a potential assassin while I suspect she was evaluating his qualifications for a roll in the hay- whether hers or mine, I couldn't say. From her expression, she assumed he'd picked me up hitchhiking and since she considers me hopelessly conservative when it comes to men, I thought the possibility might lend me a certain stature in her eyes. I tried to look like the kind of woman who'd flag down a stranger on the road, but she wasn't interested in me-she was studying him. I was going to have to call this doctor friend of hers so we could double-date.
    She reached into her handbag automatically and pulled a cigarette from a pack of Virginia Slims. "I'm not smoking this. I just need to hold it," she said when she caught my look. "I quit last week," she added in an aside to him.
    I glanced at Dietz to see what his reaction would be. He hadn't had a cigarette now for over twenty-four hours, a personal best perhaps. Fortunately, he seemed to be sidetracked by the pheromones wafting through the air like perfume. Vera didn't actually drape one long leg across the chair arm, but there was something provocative about the way she sat. As often as I've seen her operate, I've still never figured out exactly what she does. Whatever the behavior, most men will begin to sit, lie down, and fetch like trained pups.
    "I hope you're not forgetting the dinner tomorrow night," she said. She knew from my face I hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about. "For Jewel. Retirement," she said, keeping it simple for those of us who'd suffered brain damage.
    "Oh, that's right! I completely forgot. Really, I'm sorry, but I just don't see how I can make it," I said, with visual reference to Dietz. He was never going to permit my attendance at a public affair. Vera caught the look and said to Dietz, "You're invited, of course. Jewel's leaving the company after twenty-five years. Attendance is mandatory…