True-Life Adventure

sharply at lunch. I’m sorry.”
    I took her hand. I didn’t know what to say again.
    “What the fuck,” I said at last, “was Jack up to?”
    “I thought you might know.”
    “Let’s have some more wine. It might help us think.” We did, and it did. But not right away. This is the way with wine.
    We kicked the thing around awhile.
    Finally, it occurred to me to ask an obvious question. “What did you think when you saw the messages?”
    “I got sort of paranoid about them.”
    “What do you mean?”
    She looked embarrassed. “It’s dumb, but for some reason I got the idea of a blackmailer in my head. I mean, I know it doesn’t happen much in real life, especially when you haven’t got a lot of money in the first place, but it popped into my head.” She shrugged, as if to excuse herself.
    “Maybe that’s not so crazy.” My mind was humming along like a Japanese import. “Maybe Jack had a habit of buying information. I mean, maybe he was going to use Mr. A&L as leverage with you— to make sure you told him what you knew about Lindsay.”
    “My God. You’d work for a man like that?”
    “I didn’t know. I mean, I don’t know. But I never liked the guy much, if you want to know the truth. I guess I thought he was a little sleazy.” It was my turn to shrug. “I sort of thought it went with the territory. P. I.’s have had a pretty bad reputation ever since Philip Marlowe went out of action.”
    “Nonsense. Marlowe lives.”
    Sardis was nothing if not full of surprises. We’d have to explore the subject of Chandler in depth. But some other time. My little brain was still busy.
    “There was something about Jack that always struck me as peculiar. Sometimes reasonably easy cases seemed to take a lot longer than they ought. He explained it by saying he had a lot of ‘background checking’ to do. So take this as a hypothesis— he investigated everyone he wanted to question before he questioned him, only going to the questionee when he finally had something damaging on him. Something to use as a persuader. Does that fly?”
    “It’s weird. If he was going to be a blackmailer, why not blackmail people for money instead of information?”
    “Maybe he did both. Maybe that’s what got him killed.”
    “Omigod. Do you know who else he talked to about Lindsay?”
    “Yes. Why?”
    “Was Mike Brissette one of them?”
    I saw what she meant. There was a guy with something to lose. And he’d been as blackmailable as a movie star with a rap sheet. He had a coke habit a twelve-year-old could ferret out. But I didn’t think he killed Jack.
    “You know Brissette?”
    “Not really. Lindsay talked about him, that’s all.”
    “He was killed this afternoon. I found the body.” I picked up my wineglass and drained it. The time had come to alter my blood chemistry. For a while I’d been pretty successful forgetting things I wanted to forget, but now I had to think about them.
    “Killed! Was he murdered?”
    “I don’t know. I think he may have been.” I told her the story. And then I told her about the attempt on my life. I got drunker and drunker as I did it.
    I hated the whole situation. I hated having someone on the loose who wanted to kill me and I hated possibly being an unwitting instrument of Brissette’s death and I hated needing somebody to talk to.
    In the morning I’d probably hate myself for getting drunk and forever ruining my chances with Sardis. But getting drunk I was.
    I’m pretty good at disguising it, though, so she didn’t catch on right away. Not only did she consent to let me drive her home, but she invited me in and offered me a brandy. I had three. Four, maybe.
    By then I had the courage to make a pass at her. We were sitting on her sofa, at opposite ends. I was thinking she had the greatest legs I ever saw. On the pretext of putting my glass on the coffee table, I moved a little closer to her. Then, very suavely, I put my right hand on her left breast and squeezed.
    She yelped.
    Not only that, she leaped up. Terrified, maybe. Repelled more likely.
    “Paul Mcdonald,” she said, “you are definitely not driving home.” And she disappeared.
    When she came back with a pillow and blanket, I was already half asleep. She leaned down to tuck me in and I grabbed her right breast. What a sophisticate.
    No wonder I was so popular.

CHAPTER 9
    I was right about one thing. I hated myself the next morning. I had such a hangover that losing my chance with Sardis seemed