“Goofy?” I said. “When I meet Mala Powers, I’m going to tell her you said that.”
“All right,” she said. “When will you arrive? I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“I’ll take the noon flight on American. Gets in at four.”
“You’ve been to Los Angeles before?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
“I think so,” I said. “It makes me smile a lot.”
“Good,” she said. “Fly first class. The station won’t blink. I’ll page you when your flight arrives.”
I looked at my watch. Ten of five. If the traffic was okay, I might still make it on time. “Okay,” I said. “See you tomorrow.”
“Good. Is there anything about you that would make you easy to recognize? Rachel told me you were big.”
“Yeah. I look just like Cary Grant would have if he’d been hit often in the nose.”
She giggled again. It was a nice sound. I liked it.
She didn’t sound too awful scared, and I kind of like that too.
“See you tomorrow,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. And hung up.
Chapter 2
CANDY SLOAN met me by the car rentals next to the baggage pickup at the L.A. airport. She had hair the color of jonquils and skin the color of honey and eyes the color of cornflowers. The good coloring was not wasted on the rest of her.
She said, “Is your name Spenser?” I said yes.
She said, “I wasn’t sure. I thought it might be Cary Grant.”
“After a bad flight,” I said.
She smiled. “I’m Candy Sloan,” she said.
“Good,” I said. “Show me a movie star.”
“Let’s get your luggage first,” she said and went through the doors toward the carousels.
I watched her for a moment. She was wearing skintight jeans with someone’s name on the butt and spiked heels. She had that rolling, arm-swinging walk that spike heels produce in agile women, and even here in Tinsel Town she turned a lot of heads. The top half (when I got to it) was covered with a scarlet blouse worn open over a lavender T-shirt. Around her neck were many gold chains. Her earrings were gold, and she wore several gold rings.
She looked back at me and smiled again. “Coming?” I nodded and trailed after her. She was tall; with her spiked heels, nearly as tall as I was. Her hair was long and smooth, touching her shoulders. The first pieces of luggage were beginning to circle the carousel as we got to it. Mine was not yet out.
“Good flight?” she asked.
“First class is very pleasant,” I said. “There was a former governor up there with me.”
“How exciting for you.”
“Well, he’s no Tom Conway, you know?”
“Or Mala Powers,” she said.
When she smiled, two lines deepened on either side of her mouth. Once you saw them, you realized they were always there. They were faint except when she smiled. Her nose was nice and straight and her eyebrows were darker than her hair. So were her eyelashes, which were long. There were several explanations for the dark hair- light hair contrast. i was speculating about them when my suitcase showed up. I snagged it and nodded toward the door. She asked, “One suitcase?”
“Yep.”
“My God, how do you travel with one suitcase?”
“It’s mostly full of ammunition,” I said. “If I’m not working, I can get by with a gym bag.”
Outside the heat was solid. On a crosswalk in a tow zone reserved for authorized vehicles only was a Ford Fairlane station wagon with a whip antenna and an emblem on the side that read KNBS: THE SOUND 01 THE GOLDEN WEST. Underneath that it said in smaller letters LIVE ACTION NEWS. A young airport cop with blond hair and a bushy blond mustache was leaning on the near front fender, his legs crossed, his arms folded over his chest. When he saw Candy Sloan, he stepped around and opened the door on the driver’s side for her. She smiled at him and said, “Thank YOU.”
He said, “Anytime, Miss Sloan,” and carefully closed the door for her.
I opened the rear door, put my suitcase on the rear seat, closed the door, opened the front door, and got in beside Miss Sloan. The cop ignored me. When I got my door closed, he blew a sharp whistle, held up a commanding hand, and stopped traffic while Miss Sloan pulled out of the tow zone and drove away.
“I suspect that man of sexism,” I said.
