“He claims he gets information from autistic savants, ball boys, drug dealers, steroid pushers, memorabilia salespeople, fitness trainers, hookers—you name it. And everyone in town, from the gamblers to the casinos to the mob—wants to know who these people are and how Lucky Peters analyzes their data to beat the spread.”
“Maybe we should find out.”
“Maybe we should. How do you know about the affair?”
“On her desktop there’s a hand sanitizer and a colorful foam coaster that appears to have been painted by a child.”
“Wow, you’re truly amazing!”
“I know. It’s called deductive reasoning.”
“Uh huh. So you opened her computer, read her emails, and found out about her affair.”
“Sounds so trivial when you put it that way. But yeah, lots of emails. Mostly sexual.”
“Read me one.”
“They’re not impressive.”
“Read one anyway. It’s so intrusive! Makes me feel like we’re doing something wrong.”
“Unlike breaking and entering.”
“You broke and entered. I’m just sitting here, living vicariously.”
I click open her email account. “Okay, this one from last week is from Lucky. It says, ‘I wish you’d come to Jamaica with me. I’d love to see you in a grass skirt.’ And she says, ‘they wear grass skirts in Hawaii, not Jamaica.’ They argue about that a bit, then he says, “We could hit that famous nude beach. I bet the natives have never seen an orange beaver before.’ And she says, ‘especially with your initials on it!’”
Callie says, “Okay, I’ve heard enough.”
“I tried to warn you.”
We’re silent a minute.
“I can’t get it out of my mind,” she says. “Orange beaver? His initials?”
“Me either.”
“She’s supposed to be a doctor.”
“I know.”
“I keep picturing it,” she says.
“Me too.”
“You think she put all three initials, or just the two?” Callie says. “And if it’s two, would it be JP or LP? And are the initials in hair? Or shaved out of it?”
“I’ll ask her, if I get the chance.”
“Please do,” Callie says.
“I also found a small gift-wrapped box on her kitchen counter.”
“Please tell me you opened it.”
“Of course.”
“Let me guess: a present for Lucky?”
“Cufflinks. An L and a P.”
“Lucky Peters!” Callie says.
“Think about it,” I say.
She’s quiet a few seconds, then says, “Ah! Clever! Lucky and Phyllis!”
“He could wear them and his wife would never know.”
“And is there a note?”
I smile. “There is.”
“Please read it with passion in your voice.”
“Your turn to get lucky!”
Callie laughs. “This is fun. Which tells you how sad my life is.”
“Glad I could cheer you up.”
“Is she cute?”
“Who, Phyllis? She’s average.” I think about it a few seconds, then say, “Above average.”
“You think she went to Jamaica with him?”
“No. She sent an email telling him she hopes he’s feeling better, and saying how awful to feel badly on vacation.”
“What else have you learned?”
