Stardust by Robert B. Parker Page A

I lit her cigarette, blew out the match and put it in the ashtray. I put the book of matches beside her cigarettes.
    â€œWhat instances of harassment have there been?” I said. When interrogating a suspect, cleverly rephrasing the question is often effective.
    â€œI think this is harassment,” Jill said, her eyes searching for the waitress. “We have a nice evening together and you just want to talk about icky business.”
    â€œIcky business is my profession,” I said. “Tell me about the harassment.”
    The waitress arrived with another double martini.
    Jill said, “Ah.”
    The waitress looked at my beer, saw that it was nearly untouched, and went away. Jill dipped right in. I waited. Jill looked at me with her lovely innocent cornflower-blue eyes. I crossed my legs and tossed my foot a little to pass the time.
    â€œPhone calls,” Jill said. “Mostly phone calls.”
    â€œFrom a man?”
    â€œYes.” There was surprise in Jill’s voice, as if only men would ever call her.
    â€œWhere’d the calls come?”
    â€œYou mean where did I get them?”
    â€œUn huh.”
    â€œOn the phone in my mobile home. Here, at the hotel.”
    â€œThere’s been enough press about this show so that anyone would know you were staying here. How about the mobile home. How would he get that number?”
    â€œ I don’t know. How, for Christ’s sake, would I know?”
    â€œIs it listed?”
    She shook her head in disgust and flapped her hands in front of her, the cigarette smoking in her right one.
    â€œSpenser, I don’t know about stuff like that. I don’t know if it’s listed or not. Some gopher takes care of that. Ask Sandy, or the UPM.”
    â€œUPM?”
    â€œUnit production manager, for God’s sake. Why didn’t they get somebody who at least knows something about the business.”
    â€œWhat’s the name of the unit production manager?”
    â€œBob,” Jill said. She was well into the second double martini.
    â€œBob what?” I said.
    Jill flapped her hands again and shook her head.
    â€œYou think I memorize lists of names? I have to memorize sixty pages of dialogue every week. I don’t have time to get chummy with every member of the office staff.”
    â€œUneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” I said.
    â€œWhere’s that from?” Jill said.
    â€œSome play,” I said. “What did this caller say when he called?”
    â€œDifferent stuff. Sex stuff, mostly.”
    â€œLike what?” I said.
    â€œThat a turn-on for you?” Jill said. “Having me talk about it?”
    â€œSure is,” I said. “This whole conversation is more exciting than dinner with Jesse Helms.”
    Jill frowned beautifully, a lovely vertical frown line appearing briefly between her eyebrows and smoothing out at once.
    â€œWhoever he is,” she said. “Mostly this guy told me what he’d like to do to me when he got me alone.”
    â€œAbusive?” I said.
    She was sipping her martini now; apparently the edge of need had softened.
    â€œActually,” she said, “no. It wasn’t, it was more, you know, ah, romantic.”
    â€œRomantic?”
    â€œYeah, lovey-dovey. Except he used all the dirty words. But he used them, like, romantically.”
    I nodded.
    â€œAnd you don’t, I suppose, have even a guess as to who he might be?” I said.
    â€œIf I did, you think I wouldn’t have already told you? What kind of dumb jerk question is that?”
    â€œThe kind if you don’t ask, you feel like a fool when it comes out that you should have asked.”
    â€œNo, I don’t know the guy. I don’t recognize his voice. I don’t have any idea who he is.”
    â€œAny letters?”
    She shook her head. The martini was gone. She gestured at the waitress.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGet any recordings of his