Devil in a Blue Dress

'I, ah … I'll see if he can make time, Mr.—?'

'Rawlins.'

'You just have a seat over on the couch and I'll be right back.'

She went through a doorway behind the desk. After a few minutes another elderly lady came out. She looked at me suspiciously and then took up the work that the other one had left.

The waiting room was nice enough. There was a long, black leather couch set up against a window that looked out onto La Cienega Boulevard. Through the window was a view of one of those fancy restaurants, the Angus Steak House. There was a man standing out front in a Beefeater's uniform, ready to open the door for all the nice people who were going to drop a whole day's salary in forty-five minutes. The Beefeater looked happy. I wondered how much he made in tips.

There was a long coffee table in front of the couch. It was covered with business newspapers and business magazines. Nothing for women. And nothing for men who might have been looking for something sporty or entertaining. When I got tired of watching the Beefeater open doors I started looking around the room.

On the wall next to the couch was a bronze placard. At the top there was a raised oval that had the form of a swooping falcon carved into it. The falcon had three arrows in its talons. Below that were the names of all the important partners and affiliates of Lion Investments. I recognized some of the names as celebrities that you read about in the daily Times. Lawyers, bankers, and just the plain old wealthy folks. The president's name was at the bottom of the plaque as if he were a shy man who didn't want his name placed too obviously as the one in charge. Mr. Todd Carter wasn't the kind of man who wanted his name spread around, I figured. I mean, what would he say if he knew that a strange French girl, who went in the night to steal a dead man's car, was using his name? I laughed loud enough for the old woman behind the desk to look up and scowl.

'Mr. Rawlins,' the first secretary said as she walked up to me. 'You know Mr. Baxter is a very busy man. He doesn't have a lot of time …'

'Well, then maybe he better see me quick so he can get back to work.'

She didn't like that.

'May I ask what is the nature of your request?'

'Sure you can, but I don't think your boss wants me to talk to the help about his business.'

'I assure you, sir,' she said, barely holding in her anger, 'that whatever you have to say to Mr. Baxter is safe with me. Also, he cannot see you and I am the only person with whom you may speak.'

'Naw.'

'I'm afraid so. Now if you have some sort of message please tell me so I can get back to my work.' She produced a small pad and a yellow, wooden pencil.

'Well, Miss—?' For some reason I thought that it would be nice if we traded names.

'What is your message, sir?'

'I see,' I said. 'Well, my message is this: I have news for a Mr. Todd Carter, the president of your company, I believe. I was given Mr. Baxter's card to forward a message to Mr. Carter about a job I was employed to do by a Mr. DeWitt Albright.' I stopped there.

'Yes? What job is that?'

'Are you sure you want to know?' I asked.

'What job, sir?' If she was nervous at all I couldn't see it.

'Mr. Albright hired me to find Mr. Carter's girlfriend after she ditched him.'

She stopped writing and peered at me over the rim of her bifocals. 'Is this some sort of joke?'

'Not that I know of, ma'am. As a matter of fact, I haven't had a good laugh since I went to work for your boss. Not one laugh at all.'

'Excuse me,' she said.

She slammed the pad down hard enough to startle her helper and disappeared through the back door again.

She wasn't gone for more than five minutes when a tall man in a dark gray suit came out to see me. He was thin with bushy black hair and thick black eyebrows. His eyes seemed to pull back into shadows under those hefty brows.

'Mr. Rawlins.' His smile was so white that it would have looked at home on DeWitt Albright.

'Mr. Baxter?' I rose and grabbed his extended hand.

'Why don't you come with me, sir?'

We went past the two scowling women. I was sure that they'd put their heads together and start gabbing as soon as Mr. Baxter and I had gone through the door.

The hallway we entered was narrow but well carpeted and the walls were papered with a plush blue fabric. At the end of the hall was a fine oak door with 'Maxim T. Baxter, Vice-President,' carved into it.

His office was modest and small. The ash desk was good but not big or fancy. The floor was pine and the window behind his desk looked out onto a parking lot.

'Not very smart talking about Mr. Carter's business to the front desk,' Baxter said the moment we were both seated.

'I don't wanna hear it, man.'

'What?' It was a question but there was a kind of superiority in his tone.