Дэвид Балдаччи - A Gambling Man [calibre]

She flounced off, and Archer hustled over to claim his hat while Darling was adjusting hers.

“Well, funny meeting you here,” he said to Darling.

She quickly turned. “Mr. Archer?”

“I thought this place was built mainly for the guys.”

Her gaze inadvertently ventured upward, all the way, Archer thought, to the room where Sheen was now peacefully sleeping off probably the best sex of his life.

She blushed beautifully and looked back at him. “I was meeting a friend. And I come here for a drink now and then.”

“Oh, well, then I’ll leave you to it.”

“No. I mean, I’ve met my friend and we’re all…done now.”

“Well, then how about that drink we talked about?”

“What? Oh, um, all right. What the hell.”

“That’s what I like to hear from a gal: ‘What the hell.’”

He was rewarded with a crimsoning of her cheeks.

They got their drinks, he a beer and she a gin and tonic. He led her out to the rear terrace, and they occupied the same chairs he and Kemper had used earlier.

“So, was your friend one of the gals in the office?” he said.

“Um, yes, Sally. We had a drink.”

“You like working for Mr. Kemper?”

“It’s a job. I like the conditions.”

“I guess you spend more time with Wilson Sheen, though.”

She glanced sharply at him, searching his features for some telltale sign that his words meant something more. But Archer had prepared himself and gave nothing away.

“I mean, that’s why he has Sheen, right? To handle stuff for him.”

“Yes, that’s right. I do deal with Mr. Sheen more.”

She pulled out a pack of Pall Malls and he lit one for her. Her hand trembled. She took a puff and said, “Why were you meeting with him?”

“Something to do with Kemper’s campaign. We’re helping him out.”

She said derisively, “If he can’t beat a damn dentist, he doesn’t deserve the job.”

“Right. So you come here often?”

“Once or maybe twice a week. For a drink, like I said.”

“You ever run across a gal named Ruby Fraser?”

“Was she the one who was killed here? I read about it in the paper.”

“She was. So, did you know her?”

She tapped her ash into the ashtray a little too hard. It was like a toddler banging his toy against the wall right before she went truly berserk.

“No, no I didn’t.”

“I spoke with Kemper earlier. He was here. We sat at this very table.”

Her eyes opened wider with interest. “Really? What did you talk about?”

“Just business. He said Wilson Sheen was here, too. Have you seen him? I think I spotted him a while ago. I wanted to talk to him as well.”

“Mr. Sheen? No, no, I haven’t seen him. If he was here, he might have left. I find he…tires easily.”

Archer observed she had to struggle to keep the smile off her face. Finally she looked away from him and drank her gin and tonic nearly to the bottom of the glass.

“Oh, that’s too bad. So how’s business?”

“We’re very busy. Mr. Kemper has his fingers in lots of pies.”

“Do you know his wife?”

“I’ve seen her.”

“She’s quite beautiful.”

“You know, Archer, the gal you’re with is the one you should be complimenting.”

He grinned. “Sorry. You don’t need me to tell you that you’re quite the looker.”

“That’s better. And I do need you to tell me.”

“Okay, you’re quite the looker. You stood out from the other gals in the office like a flamingo in the desert.”

“First time I’ve been compared to a flamingo, but I’ll take it. Even though those gals are younger than me, Archer?”

“Even though.”

She looked over his shoulder and her gaze caught on something.

When Archer turned to look, all he saw was a waitress setting down a shrimp cocktail in front of an old man with a gal half his age on his lap.

“You know them?” asked Archer.

“He’s a client of Mr. Kemper. Owns some property Kemper is trying to develop. His wife wouldn’t like what he’s doing right now.”

“I guess not.”

“So why do you want to talk to Sheen?”

“Part of the investigation. After this drink, I’m going to try to find him. He must be around here somewhere. I’ll roust him.”

She ran her eye up and down him to such an invasive degree that Archer felt his own cheeks start to burn.

“Why don’t we blow this joint, Archer? My place is only twenty minutes from here.”

“But what about Sheen?”

“Come by the office tomorrow. You can talk to him then. He’s there every day, and this time I won’t make you wait.”

“So what are we going to do at your place?”

She gave him a look that raised one distinct possibility. “If I can’t think of something and you can’t think of something, then something is very wrong, mister.”

“I’ve got a car.”

“Good, because I don’t.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions along the way?”

“Not so long as we get to where we’re really going at the end.”

Chapter 49

THIS IS YOUR CAR? REALLY?” she said as the valet brought it up.

Archer flipped the kid a quarter and held the door for her. “Yeah it is.”

“Shouldn’t I be getting in the other side?”

“The Brits do it differently from us,” he replied.

“So this is a British car?”

“No, it’s actually French, but it’s a long story and not that exciting.”

“Come on, where’d you get this ride?”

“Won it in a poker game back in Reno.”

“Wow, you must be really good ,” she said. “Maybe I’ll find out.”

He smiled at her. “You know, you have a whole other persona at work.”

“At work, everyone has to be someone they’re not. I’m no exception. And I’m a gal who likes to have fun in her off-hours. All work and no play makes poor Wilma very dull indeed.”

“Okay.”

“So what questions do you have?”

“You ever see Kemper when you’re at Midnight Moods? I understand that he’s a regular.”

“I see him sometimes. He plays cards. They only let men in there.”

“Yeah, I saw that. How come?”

“They don’t want to lose to women, that’s how come.”

“You ever see him with Ruby Fraser?”

“How should I know? I don’t know what she looks like.”

Archer described the woman for her.

“Well, that sounds like half the women who work there,” she noted.

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Why are you interested in her and Mr. Kemper?”

“Part of the business I’m doing with him.”

“You think he was messing around with her? He’s a married man.”

“He ever mess with you?”

She shook her head. “To tell you the truth, Archer, I think he’s in love with his wife.”

“You’re the first one to say that, and that includes him and his wife.”

“Some of the gals at work have given it their best shot with the man, and came away with zip for their troubles.”

“What about Sheen?”

“What about him?”

“You or the other girls ever make a run at him?”

“Maybe some of the other gals, but I don’t like to bake, Archer.”

“What does that mean?” he said with a puzzled expression.

“I don’t enjoy sticking my fingers in dough.” She let out a throaty laugh that was so spontaneous and unexpected that Archer couldn’t help but join her.

“Hey,” she said. “You look like a man who carries a pocket flask, and I need a drink.”

He pulled it out and handed it across. She took a long sip and screwed the top back on before handing it back to him.

She directed him to her place, a one-story bungalow on the fringes of Bay Town in a quiet tree-lined neighborhood of like abodes. Like much of Bay Town, it smacked of Spanish influence, with stucco walls, wrought iron railings that were starting to rust from the salt air and stain the stucco, and a peaked terra-cotta tile roof. The front door was dark oak with black, strappy metal adornments.