in Overlook."
"Yes, I know."
"Oh. Dangerous neighborhood."
"Actually, it was a nice little place until your cousin dropped by. He lowered the tone considerably."
"I'll be right there."
"Thank you," Mitch said, but she'd already hung up, and he felt curiously bereft for a moment. This is
just a case, he told himself. She is just a client. Yeah, right, his spine said.
He was out in front of his tenement sweating in the morning sun when Mae pulled up in her brown Mercedes. He seemed bigger and bulkier than she'd remembered. The same stubborn lock of blond hair fell in his eyes, and he leaned against the grimy building in the nastiest part of town with no indication that he recognized the tawdriness around him. He got in the front seat, held his hand gratefully in front of the air-conditioning vent, and said, "Great car." Mae said, "I hate it," and he said, "Why?" and she pulled away from the curb.
From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking her over from the passenger seat before he closed his eyes and turned away. "You look very nice today," he told her while he stared out the windshield.
Mae glanced down at her flowered black sundress. "Thank you." She felt an irrational glow of pleasure that he liked real Mae clothes on her instead of June's vamp skirt, and then she kicked herself mentally. It didn't make any difference what Mitchell Peatwick liked. Back to business.
"I'm truly sorry about your tires," she began.
"It's not a problem." He made himself comfortable in the leather seat. "I've alerted the neighborhood-watch association, and they'll keep an eye out from now on."
They drove past a parked car just as a spindly teenager put a crowbar through the window and grabbed the radio.
"Should I stop?" Mae asked, checking the rearview mirror as she slowed.
"Why? You already have a radio."
Mae tried to rein in her exasperation. "I thought you might like to make a citizen's arrest."
Mitch snorted.
"Well, you're a private detective. I assumed—''
"Don't," Mitch advised her. "Assuming is always bad. I, for example, assumed that since you were driving an expensive luxury car that you'd like it. Why don't you?" He blinked at her, looking more like a doofus than ever, but Mae wasn't fooled.
Not anymore.
"Why don't you like this car?" he persisted, and Mae sighed.
He wasn't going to quit asking. The thing about Mitch wasn't that he asked such brilliant questions. It was that he asked dumb questions and asked them and asked them and asked them and asked them, and eventually you told him everything you knew just to make him shut up and go away. Well, maybe not go away...
"If you didn't like this car, why did you buy it?"
Mae gave up. "I didn't. I bought a beautiful little blue Miata which was more than I could afford, but I loved it so much, it was worth the sacrifice."
"More than you can afford?"
''I told you, I'm not rich. My uncles are rich. I make fifteen thousand a year as the volunteer coordinator for the Riverbend Art Institute."
"You work ?" Mitch sounded incredulous. "How come you're not working now?"
"Because my uncle just died, and the memorial service is tomorrow." Mae turned out of Overlook and onto the wide boulevard next to the university. "I have to go back to work on Monday."
"Oh." Mitch was silent, evidently digesting new information, and then he asked, "So how did you end up in a car you hate?''
Mae began to smile in spite of herself. "You are incredibly persistent."
"One of my finest qualities. Why did you buy this—"
"I didn't. My Uncle Armand did. He didn't like the Miata, and it was sitting in his garage, and only the best could sit in his garage, so he traded it in for this chocolate shoe box."
Mitch frowned. "That's illegal. The title wasn't in his name."
Mae rolled her eyes in scorn. "If you think that would stop my uncle, you haven't been reading his diaries."
"As a matter of fact, I have. Well, at least you got a great car for free."
"No, I didn't." Mae turned
"Yes, I know."
"Oh. Dangerous neighborhood."
"Actually, it was a nice little place until your cousin dropped by. He lowered the tone considerably."
"I'll be right there."
"Thank you," Mitch said, but she'd already hung up, and he felt curiously bereft for a moment. This is
just a case, he told himself. She is just a client. Yeah, right, his spine said.
He was out in front of his tenement sweating in the morning sun when Mae pulled up in her brown Mercedes. He seemed bigger and bulkier than she'd remembered. The same stubborn lock of blond hair fell in his eyes, and he leaned against the grimy building in the nastiest part of town with no indication that he recognized the tawdriness around him. He got in the front seat, held his hand gratefully in front of the air-conditioning vent, and said, "Great car." Mae said, "I hate it," and he said, "Why?" and she pulled away from the curb.
From the corner of her eye, she could see him looking her over from the passenger seat before he closed his eyes and turned away. "You look very nice today," he told her while he stared out the windshield.
Mae glanced down at her flowered black sundress. "Thank you." She felt an irrational glow of pleasure that he liked real Mae clothes on her instead of June's vamp skirt, and then she kicked herself mentally. It didn't make any difference what Mitchell Peatwick liked. Back to business.
"I'm truly sorry about your tires," she began.
"It's not a problem." He made himself comfortable in the leather seat. "I've alerted the neighborhood-watch association, and they'll keep an eye out from now on."
They drove past a parked car just as a spindly teenager put a crowbar through the window and grabbed the radio.
"Should I stop?" Mae asked, checking the rearview mirror as she slowed.
"Why? You already have a radio."
Mae tried to rein in her exasperation. "I thought you might like to make a citizen's arrest."
Mitch snorted.
"Well, you're a private detective. I assumed—''
"Don't," Mitch advised her. "Assuming is always bad. I, for example, assumed that since you were driving an expensive luxury car that you'd like it. Why don't you?" He blinked at her, looking more like a doofus than ever, but Mae wasn't fooled.
Not anymore.
"Why don't you like this car?" he persisted, and Mae sighed.
He wasn't going to quit asking. The thing about Mitch wasn't that he asked such brilliant questions. It was that he asked dumb questions and asked them and asked them and asked them and asked them, and eventually you told him everything you knew just to make him shut up and go away. Well, maybe not go away...
"If you didn't like this car, why did you buy it?"
Mae gave up. "I didn't. I bought a beautiful little blue Miata which was more than I could afford, but I loved it so much, it was worth the sacrifice."
"More than you can afford?"
''I told you, I'm not rich. My uncles are rich. I make fifteen thousand a year as the volunteer coordinator for the Riverbend Art Institute."
"You work ?" Mitch sounded incredulous. "How come you're not working now?"
"Because my uncle just died, and the memorial service is tomorrow." Mae turned out of Overlook and onto the wide boulevard next to the university. "I have to go back to work on Monday."
"Oh." Mitch was silent, evidently digesting new information, and then he asked, "So how did you end up in a car you hate?''
Mae began to smile in spite of herself. "You are incredibly persistent."
"One of my finest qualities. Why did you buy this—"
"I didn't. My Uncle Armand did. He didn't like the Miata, and it was sitting in his garage, and only the best could sit in his garage, so he traded it in for this chocolate shoe box."
Mitch frowned. "That's illegal. The title wasn't in his name."
Mae rolled her eyes in scorn. "If you think that would stop my uncle, you haven't been reading his diaries."
"As a matter of fact, I have. Well, at least you got a great car for free."
"No, I didn't." Mae turned
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