But with this one I was fresh out of places. And names. The only thing seemed to be to go through the whole process again, and it wasn’t a prospect that appealed. I lit an Old Favorite and pulled the telephone towards me. I had to wait a minute or two before the receiver at the other end was lifted. Eve Prince said:
“Hallo?”
“This is Preston, Mrs. Prince. Understand you called my office.”
“Why yes, hallo Mr. Preston. I simply wanted you to know I did as you suggested. My lawyer speaks very well of you, and I wanted to apologize for being so foolish.”
“You weren’t foolish,” I assured her. “You did the right thing. It doesn’t pay to trust everybody who comes banging on the door. Say, if you’re not too busy I’d like to have another talk.”
She hesitated.
“Well, I have an engagement this afternoon,” she said doubtfully.
“This won’t take long. I don’t think I should call at your house again, and the police sometimes watch my office, just out of curiosity. Perhaps we could make it a quiet drink somewhere? The whole thing wouldn’t take thirty minutes.”
“Oh. Well, perhaps that would be all right. Where do you suggest?”
“You know the Esperanza? It’s a couple of miles out on Highway Eight?”
“Yes. Or rather, I’ve been past the place.”
The correction was to make it quite clear that Mrs. Prince was not on first-name terms with every saloon in town.
“Fine. I’ll see you out there in——” I looked at my watch——” fifteen minutes?”
“Very well. But I really mustn’t stay too long.”
It was a little after one when I pulled in outside Rancho Esperanza. Nobody gets any prizes for guessing the place is done out in old Spanish California style, plenty of white pillars and black iron grillework on view. Inside it was cool, and I perched thankfully on a tall stool by the bar. The jockey wore a frilled shirt with a string tie and his face looked familiar.
“Hi, Mr. Preston. Long time etcetera.”
I puzzled, but not for long.
“Tom. Tom Golding.”
“Right.”
We shook hands, but there was still something wrong about him. Then I had it.
“It’s your hair,” I exclaimed. “Your hair ought to be brown.”
He grinned self-consciously and patted at his shiny black locks.
“Mr. Preston, whoever heard of a Spanish waiter with brown hair? You want the job. you gotta look Spanish. You wanta look Spanish, you need black hair.”
“Well, if the job is worth it,” I grinned. “Pretty busy?”
“Not daytimes. We get a few people in, mostly guys meeting other people’s wives. You know, we’re kind of off the track out here. People can have a quiet chat with nobody around. Nights though, that’s different. Man, this place really swings then. You wanta sit on that stool tonight, you better be here good and early.”
I ordered some scotch with a lot of ice and Tom did his usual professional job of serving it up. As I was the only customer in the place I didn’t have to feel guilty about taking up his time.
“Last time I saw you, you were working at the old Grease Paint Pot on Malabar. Something go wrong down there?”
He grimaced, as he polished away at a glass with a snow-white cloth.
“Places change, Mr. Preston. You remember the Pot, we used to get real movie people, television people, like that. Always a few faces around down there, and it was, you know, always something going on. Then suddenly they don’t come any more. We always had our share of phonies around, but nobody took no notice of them. All of a sudden one day, it’s all phonies. Guess they drove the real celebrities away. So I figured it was time to move on. You know me, I never could stand those dead beats.”
I knew what he meant. Bartenders have their own methods for dealing with drunks, troublemakers and phonies, but even among bartenders Tom had a reputation. Then there was the sound of a car pulling up outside. A door slammed and there was Eve Prince coming through the door. Today she wore a sleeveless lemon dress that set off the deep tan, and her black hair was pulled back from her face and tied behind. She walked with a free swinging grace, and I began to regret she already had an engagement for the afternoon. Behind me, I could sense Tom watching her too, and I didn’t blame him.
“Am I late?”
She smiled, one of those smiles that made people forget how long they’d been waiting.
“Not at all, I just got here. May I get you something?”
“Thank you. Could I have some gin, with ginger ale and ice?”
“Tom.”
He was already busy. I led her to a table by a window, where we could look out into the paved garden where the fountain played. Tom brought her drink across and we raised our glasses.
“What shall we drink to?” she asked.
“To our better understanding?”
She smiled slightly and we sipped at the cool drink. She looked through the window.
“This is nice. You bring all your suspects out here?”
She was a different woman from the one I’d talked to before. This one was completely calm and self-possessed. And very attractive.
“No,” I admitted. “Only the females. And who said anything about suspects?”
“Wrong word,” she corrected. “But you did say something about another talk.”
“Yes.”
She refused a cigaret, I didn’t. The blue smoke hung lazily in the still air, and I leaned towards her so
