'Not a single question,' I said.
'Will you pick me up?'
'Absolutely. When may I come?'
'I have to decide what to wear,' she said. 'And my hair… Come at noon.'
'I'll be there,' I said.
We had lunch in a place called Weylu's. It was on a hill off Route 1 in Saugus, overlooking a parking lot for school buses. The place looked like a Disney version of the Forbidden City. There was a small stream coursing through one of the dining rooms with a little bridge over it. The food wasn't bad, but given her choice of lunch anywhere she wanted, Weylu's seemed a modest aspiration on Olivia's part. Maybe Jeanette's circle wasn't as sophisticated as I'd been led to believe.
The waiter inquired as to cocktails. I ordered a Changsho beer to be authentic. Olivia had a glass of Cordon.
'So,' Olivia said. 'What's the best part about being a detective.'
'Legitimizes nosiness,' I said.
'And you get paid for it.'
'Sometimes.'
'How did you come to be a detective?'
She was through her first glass of wine already. The waiter was alert. He brought her another.
'I started out as a cop,' I said.
'And why did you leave that?'
'I got fired,' I said. 'I had a problem with authority.'
'Had?'
'I'm older now,' I said.
She was leaning forward, her eyes on me, her whole person focused on me. It was flattering, but it was technical. It's what she did to be charming.
'Would you go back?'
'No.'
She smiled as if she'd discovered the innermost me.
'Did you get your nose broken in the line of duty?' she said.
'Among other things,' I said.
'Like what?'
'I used to box.'
'Oh my,' she said.
We ordered more food than we could eat, and Olivia had another glass of wine.
'I promised not to ask you any questions about Jeanette Ronan,' I said.
'That's right,' Olivia said.
She had a little trouble with the't's.
'But I would like you to give her a message from me.'
'How come you don' give't to her yourself?'
She wasn't doing so well with adjacent vowel sounds either.
'She won't take my calls,' I said.
She drank some more wine.
'Why don' you go out there in person?'
'I don't want her husband to know,' I said.
'Why not?'
'There's something involved here that he shouldn't know. I'm trying to spare her.'
A pu-pu platter had arrived and Olivia sampled a spare rib while she thought this through.
'Wha's the message?'
'It's a question,' I said. 'I'll write it on the back of my business card.'
I took out a card and wrote: Do you have a remote control device on your Polaroid? I handed it to Olivia who looked at it and frowned.
'Wha's this mean.'
She had solved the problem with her't's by dropping them.
