salesman?”
“Cape. Matt Cape.”
“Short and sweet. I like it.”
“I’m glad. What’s yours?”
“Lacy.”
“Vanowen?”
“God, no. Hammond. Stacy and Lacy. Cute, huh?”
“Sisters?”
“That’s us. Stacy and Lacy, Daddy’s little joke.” All at once her face darkened and she made a spitting mouth. Just as quickly, it cleared and she was grinning again. “He was hilarious, he was. Hilarious old son of a bitch.”
Cape said, “You live here?”
“Not me. I’m the poor relation. Little sister lets me come over and play with her toys when there’s nobody else around.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She feels sorry for me. Thinks I’m an alcoholic.”
“Are you?”
“You bet. Damn good one, too. Very controlled. I could give lessons.”
Cape slid the photos partway out of his pocket. The one of the ice-eyed man was on top. He held that one up.
“Recognize this man?”
Lacy looked, blinked, frowned. “Where’d you get that?”
“I’d rather give your sister the answer to that question.”
“Oh, you would.”
“If you don’t mind.”
The dark look and spitting mouth again; and again, as mercurially as before, her mood changed and she burst out laughing. A rich, bawdy laugh that said she was genuinely amused.
“What’s funny?” Cape asked her.
“You know who he is?”
“No. Who is he?”
“If you don’t know, how come you have his picture?”
“It’s a little complicated.”
“I’ll just bet it is. And you don’t want to explain it to anyone but Stacy.”
“Or her husband.”
“Aha.” The laugh rolled out again. “Those other photos in your pocket—little sister?”
“Two of them.”
“Pornographic? Let me see.”
“Just snapshots. Nobody in them but her.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Who’s in the others?”
“One other. Your sister’s husband.”
Lacy thought that was even funnier. The laughter rolled and echoed, finally caught in her throat and made her cough. She drowned the rest of her mirth with the last third of her drink.
“I haven’t laughed this hard in weeks,” she said a little breathlessly. “So it’s like that, is it.”
“Like what?”
“Come on, what’re you selling? And who to?”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“Shakedown? That’s what they call it, right?”
“Wrong.”
“What’re you up to, then? Oh,
I
know. You’re a private detective.”
“Wrong again. I’m here to do the Vanowens a favor.”
“Sure you are. And yourself a bigger one in return.”
“Look,” Cape said, “I don’t really care what you think of me or my motives. If your sister’s cheating on her husband, or vice versa, it’s none of my concern. That isn’t why or how I came into possession of these photos.”
Lacy’s amusement had vanished. Now she looked sullen, unhappy. “Shit,” she said.
“How about telling me the name of the man in this photo?”
“No. Ask Stacy, when you see her. Or Andrew.”
“The phone number here? So I can call later.”
“It’s unlisted.”
“I know. I checked the directory before I drove out here.”
“Well, you’ll just have to drive out here again.”
“So you won’t let me have the number.”
“Salesman, I won’t let you have a goddamn thing.”
“Will you at least tell your sister I stopped by?”
“Why should I? None of my business. You as much as said so.”
“If you change your mind,” Cape said, “I’ll be at the Lakeside Grand in Stateline. Staying there tonight if I can get a room. In the casino after seven o’clock, either way. If neither of them wants to see me in person, they can call my room or have me paged.”
“I’ve already forgotten you. More important things on my mind.”
“Such as?”
“Such as how much gin to put in my next drink.”
Cape stopped the ’Vette at the top of the driveway, next to the Vanowen mailbox. On a piece of scrap paper he wrote a note addressed to both Andrew and Stacy Vanowen—the same information he’d given Lacy,
“Cape. Matt Cape.”
“Short and sweet. I like it.”
“I’m glad. What’s yours?”
“Lacy.”
“Vanowen?”
“God, no. Hammond. Stacy and Lacy. Cute, huh?”
“Sisters?”
“That’s us. Stacy and Lacy, Daddy’s little joke.” All at once her face darkened and she made a spitting mouth. Just as quickly, it cleared and she was grinning again. “He was hilarious, he was. Hilarious old son of a bitch.”
Cape said, “You live here?”
“Not me. I’m the poor relation. Little sister lets me come over and play with her toys when there’s nobody else around.”
“Uh-huh.”
“She feels sorry for me. Thinks I’m an alcoholic.”
“Are you?”
“You bet. Damn good one, too. Very controlled. I could give lessons.”
Cape slid the photos partway out of his pocket. The one of the ice-eyed man was on top. He held that one up.
“Recognize this man?”
Lacy looked, blinked, frowned. “Where’d you get that?”
“I’d rather give your sister the answer to that question.”
“Oh, you would.”
“If you don’t mind.”
The dark look and spitting mouth again; and again, as mercurially as before, her mood changed and she burst out laughing. A rich, bawdy laugh that said she was genuinely amused.
“What’s funny?” Cape asked her.
“You know who he is?”
“No. Who is he?”
“If you don’t know, how come you have his picture?”
“It’s a little complicated.”
“I’ll just bet it is. And you don’t want to explain it to anyone but Stacy.”
“Or her husband.”
“Aha.” The laugh rolled out again. “Those other photos in your pocket—little sister?”
“Two of them.”
“Pornographic? Let me see.”
“Just snapshots. Nobody in them but her.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Who’s in the others?”
“One other. Your sister’s husband.”
Lacy thought that was even funnier. The laughter rolled and echoed, finally caught in her throat and made her cough. She drowned the rest of her mirth with the last third of her drink.
“I haven’t laughed this hard in weeks,” she said a little breathlessly. “So it’s like that, is it.”
“Like what?”
“Come on, what’re you selling? And who to?”
“I’m not selling anything.”
“Shakedown? That’s what they call it, right?”
“Wrong.”
“What’re you up to, then? Oh,
I
know. You’re a private detective.”
“Wrong again. I’m here to do the Vanowens a favor.”
“Sure you are. And yourself a bigger one in return.”
“Look,” Cape said, “I don’t really care what you think of me or my motives. If your sister’s cheating on her husband, or vice versa, it’s none of my concern. That isn’t why or how I came into possession of these photos.”
Lacy’s amusement had vanished. Now she looked sullen, unhappy. “Shit,” she said.
“How about telling me the name of the man in this photo?”
“No. Ask Stacy, when you see her. Or Andrew.”
“The phone number here? So I can call later.”
“It’s unlisted.”
“I know. I checked the directory before I drove out here.”
“Well, you’ll just have to drive out here again.”
“So you won’t let me have the number.”
“Salesman, I won’t let you have a goddamn thing.”
“Will you at least tell your sister I stopped by?”
“Why should I? None of my business. You as much as said so.”
“If you change your mind,” Cape said, “I’ll be at the Lakeside Grand in Stateline. Staying there tonight if I can get a room. In the casino after seven o’clock, either way. If neither of them wants to see me in person, they can call my room or have me paged.”
“I’ve already forgotten you. More important things on my mind.”
“Such as?”
“Such as how much gin to put in my next drink.”
Cape stopped the ’Vette at the top of the driveway, next to the Vanowen mailbox. On a piece of scrap paper he wrote a note addressed to both Andrew and Stacy Vanowen—the same information he’d given Lacy,
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