purple-and-black hair, chatting up a guy by the bar. The guy was wearing the standard-issue hipster attire of heavy black glasses and an ironic T-shirt that said “Tastes Like Chicken.” He was openly flouting the city’s no-smoking ban. I heard him say, “You would not believe what I could do with a sitar. It is one sexy instrument.”
I entered first, caught Muriel’s eye, and mouthed the word, “Client.” Muriel mouthed, “Huh?” and then pointed at the guy. As he droned on about his sitar, she mouthed, “Hot!”
I figured Muriel could more than occupy herself for a little while. I asked Mr. Buckner, “You want a drink?”
He was already starting to sweat, even though the bar was cool. He jumped when a Tom Waits track began to howl from the jukebox. He stared at Muriel with a mix of amazement and horror, as if he didn’t know whether to get her phone number or run like hell. “Um, yes. Gin and tonic, please.”
I nodded. I bought him his gin and tonic, along with a Bud and a bag of Fritos for myself. I said to Muriel, “Find me later.” Then I led Mr. Buckner to the back. “There’s a quiet corner where we can talk.”
The Seagull’s Nest had a raised plateau just behind the pool tables. From there, no one at the bar could see what was going on, and the owner would sometimes stroll back there to refill drinks. I would be able to concentrate and find out what Sabrina Norton Buckner’s husband wanted.
The chancellor climbed the stairs and sloshed his gin and tonic slightly, muttering something about how “interesting” the Seagull’s Nest was. He pulled out a handkerchief and made a show of wiping down the booth seat.
I took out my notepad and got to work. “What kind of work do you need from me, Mr. Buckner?”
Mr. Buckner raised his handkerchief to his forehead, all ready to wipe the sweat from it, but he thought better of it since he’d already pressed it to the seat. He stuffed the hankie back in his pocket and settled for smearing the sweat across his forehead with his hand. “I know my wife contacted you today. I found your card in our bedroom. She’s lost that necklace, hasn’t she?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to start looking for it.” That was interesting. Sabrina seemed to think her husband didn’t know about the necklace.
“Good.” The chancellor’s sweat dripped down his nose. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to add something to your case load—at a reasonable fee, of course. I don’t know if you know much about the UC pay dispute—”
I merely nodded. After living with Harold, I probably knew more about the dispute than the chancellor himself did, and Mr. Buckner wouldn’t appreciate my opinion. To help Mr. Buckner explain himself, I kept my thoughts to myself. “It’s my job to keep up with local news. It’s not my job to judge.” Sometimes I wished I could have those words tattooed on my forehead.
“I am under scrutiny, Miss Parker. I have reporters following me.” He smiled ruefully. “They probably do as much snooping around as you do.”
I doubted it. I knew a few reporters who liked to unwind at the local shows. Most of them drank harder than I or any other Marquee Idol did. Some of them bought pot from Wayne. And, when a few of them found out about my day job, they started calling me for tips.
The chancellor continued, “With the reporters after me at school, I don’t need any trouble in my private life. And my wife’s habits are causing me problems. It’s not just the necklace.”
“What do you mean by problems?” I asked.
“She hasn’t been stable lately. She’s not careful about where she goes or who she speaks with. She forgets things. She spends money like water. She decided to go to a psychiatrist, but he’s not helping. She talks to herself even more, and she leaves our valuables all over the house. That’s how she lost her necklace.”
“Funny,” I said. “She told me that she doesn’t lose things.”
Mr. Buckner
I entered first, caught Muriel’s eye, and mouthed the word, “Client.” Muriel mouthed, “Huh?” and then pointed at the guy. As he droned on about his sitar, she mouthed, “Hot!”
I figured Muriel could more than occupy herself for a little while. I asked Mr. Buckner, “You want a drink?”
He was already starting to sweat, even though the bar was cool. He jumped when a Tom Waits track began to howl from the jukebox. He stared at Muriel with a mix of amazement and horror, as if he didn’t know whether to get her phone number or run like hell. “Um, yes. Gin and tonic, please.”
I nodded. I bought him his gin and tonic, along with a Bud and a bag of Fritos for myself. I said to Muriel, “Find me later.” Then I led Mr. Buckner to the back. “There’s a quiet corner where we can talk.”
The Seagull’s Nest had a raised plateau just behind the pool tables. From there, no one at the bar could see what was going on, and the owner would sometimes stroll back there to refill drinks. I would be able to concentrate and find out what Sabrina Norton Buckner’s husband wanted.
The chancellor climbed the stairs and sloshed his gin and tonic slightly, muttering something about how “interesting” the Seagull’s Nest was. He pulled out a handkerchief and made a show of wiping down the booth seat.
I took out my notepad and got to work. “What kind of work do you need from me, Mr. Buckner?”
Mr. Buckner raised his handkerchief to his forehead, all ready to wipe the sweat from it, but he thought better of it since he’d already pressed it to the seat. He stuffed the hankie back in his pocket and settled for smearing the sweat across his forehead with his hand. “I know my wife contacted you today. I found your card in our bedroom. She’s lost that necklace, hasn’t she?”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going to start looking for it.” That was interesting. Sabrina seemed to think her husband didn’t know about the necklace.
“Good.” The chancellor’s sweat dripped down his nose. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to add something to your case load—at a reasonable fee, of course. I don’t know if you know much about the UC pay dispute—”
I merely nodded. After living with Harold, I probably knew more about the dispute than the chancellor himself did, and Mr. Buckner wouldn’t appreciate my opinion. To help Mr. Buckner explain himself, I kept my thoughts to myself. “It’s my job to keep up with local news. It’s not my job to judge.” Sometimes I wished I could have those words tattooed on my forehead.
“I am under scrutiny, Miss Parker. I have reporters following me.” He smiled ruefully. “They probably do as much snooping around as you do.”
I doubted it. I knew a few reporters who liked to unwind at the local shows. Most of them drank harder than I or any other Marquee Idol did. Some of them bought pot from Wayne. And, when a few of them found out about my day job, they started calling me for tips.
The chancellor continued, “With the reporters after me at school, I don’t need any trouble in my private life. And my wife’s habits are causing me problems. It’s not just the necklace.”
“What do you mean by problems?” I asked.
“She hasn’t been stable lately. She’s not careful about where she goes or who she speaks with. She forgets things. She spends money like water. She decided to go to a psychiatrist, but he’s not helping. She talks to herself even more, and she leaves our valuables all over the house. That’s how she lost her necklace.”
“Funny,” I said. “She told me that she doesn’t lose things.”
Mr. Buckner
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