got one kid, Mal.”
“You don’t look like a grandmother,” I said, gingerly pulling the toast out of the toaster and dropping it onto a plate.
“You?” she asked with a smile.
“Married Anne. Went to work for the Glendale Police force. Was asked to leave. Did security work for Warner Brothers. Got fired. Became a private detective. Lost Anne, wound up here.”
The coffee was ready.
“Sugar and milk?” I asked.
“Black,” she said. “I want to stay awake and I have to open the diner at seven.”
She put Dash gently down on the sofa. He curled up and went to sleep.
“I fed him,” she said, moving around the mattress and to the table. “Hope that’s okay.”
“Fine,” I said, pouring the coffee into two mugs. I pulled some orange marmalade from the small refrigerator and put it on the table.
“Well,” Anita said, taking a sip of coffee. “I’ve thought about you off and on over the years. You didn’t have big hands and you didn’t know how to kiss.”
“That was a lot of years ago,” I said. “I was a kid.”
She nodded and said, “So was I. Since Mack died twelve years ago, I’ve been to bed with three men: a cop, a bread salesman, and a sergeant in the army. They all reminded me of you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I look in the mirror every morning to shave-well, almost every morning. What I see there is a definitely middle-aged man whose hair is rapidly going gray. I see a brown-eyed mug with a mashed-in nose. I do not see anyone close to Preston Stewart. I do not even see Humphrey Bogart.
“So,” I said. “You tracked me down.”
“To end the fantasy or bring it to life,” she said.
“Nicely put,” I said.
“I do a lot of reading.”
She was looking at me over her cup. She held the cup in two hands. Her fingernails were short and very red. Her hands were rough. Her eyes were moist and perfect and when she put the cup down, her lips were red and full just like the girl I had kissed on prom night.
“Are you a little nuts?” I asked.
“Not usually,” she said with a sigh. “I’m usually a patient counter cleaner who knows how to keep her customers happy and her bottom from being pinched. I don’t think I’ve done a really wild thing in my life besides this. Are we going to keep talking?”
I got up and so did she. I moved to her. She pressed against me. The height was right. The feel of her breasts was right. I kissed her. Not like the kid at her door, like Gary Cooper. Long. Mouths open. She eased away and her hand went down between my legs. She smiled.
“Let’s end the fantasy,” I said.
“Let’s see if we can find a new and better one,” she answered.
Something woke me up. The first light of the sun was just glowing through the darkness. I blinked at the Beech-Nut clock on the wall. It was ten after six. I sat up. Anita came through the door.
“Wash room,” she said. “I’ve got to get to the diner.”
She leaned over and kissed me. I kissed back and tried to pull her gently back onto the mattress. She patted my hand and I let go.
“How’s your fantasy?” I asked.
“Alive and well,” she said with a smile.
“Movie Saturday?” I asked.
“Saturday night is busy,” she answered. “You can have me all day Sunday.”
I grinned and she left. I thought about Anne. I didn’t much care at the moment if she married Preston Stewart or Tojo. If it weren’t for the fact that someone had tried to kill me the night before, I would be in a damned good mood. My rear end didn’t even hurt, though there was a tenderness to it that I had done my best to keep Anita from finding out about.
I threw the covers back and went through my ritual of standing up. First roll over on my hands and knees. Then put one foot on the floor and rise slowly. I waddled naked to the dresser in the corner, found a clean though holey pair of underpants and some socks that were not in need of serious mending, and put them on. Trousers were another problem. I went to the closet and found a pair of navy twills and a shirt with all the buttons. My poplin jacket was ruined, probably beyond repair after my fall on the roof where Willie Talbott was killed. I had a tan zipper jacket. The good news was that it was clean. The bad news was that the zipper didn’t work. I pulled it out anyway.
Before I put on the shirt, I went down the hall to the communal bathroom. I thought I’d easily be the first one up. I was mistaken. Someone was taking a shower. I knocked on the door. Mr. Hill, the mailman who turned into an opera singer when he had some of Mrs. Plaut’s Christmas grog in him, called, “Come in.”
“It’s me,” I said loudly. “Toby Peters. Mind if I shave?”
“Shave,” he called.
The room was steamy. That included the mirror. I shaved carefully with my Gem razor and a fresh blade. The day was going well so far. I managed to keep from cutting my throat or even nicking my chin.
“Early run,” Mr. Hill said. “Why are you up? You’re never up this early.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, gathering my shaving gear and trying to examine my face in the mirror, which had clouded again.
“Know how it is,” he said. “Miss Reynal and I were up late in the parlor, talking.”
Miss Reynal was the latest boarder, a redhead about forty-six, kind of pretty in a skinny way, which apparently was to Mr. Hill’s liking.
“She’s a fine woman,” I said.
“Yes,” said Mr. Hill in a rather throaty voice. Love was definitely in the air of the upstairs rooms of Mrs. Plaut’s boardinghouse.
I dressed, put on my shoulder holster and gun, and covered them with my jacket that wouldn’t zipper. Then Dash and I each had a big bowl of Wheaties and I was off on my quest for a killer.
Mrs. Plaut caught me as I tiptoed down the stairs. Mrs. Plaut seemed to sense when a boarder was going up or down.
“Mr. Peelers,” she said, her hands folded over her broom-stick frame. She was still or again wearing the Mister’s robe.
“Yes, Mrs. Plaut.”
“Your sister did not leave here till one hour past.”
“We were up late talking about old times.”
“What sane person would remain awake all night trying to remember old rhymes?” Mrs. Plaut was not wearing her hearing aid.
“She slept on the sofa,” I shouted. Cornelia the budgie began chirping wildly.
“Your sister?”
“My sister.”
“You do not look at all alike,” she said suspiciously.
“You don’t think so?” I shouted. “Strange, most people see the resemblance immediately. But I tend to think Anita looks like mom while I look like dad.”
“Yes, you do seem to be quite mad. Here nor there. Sister or no sister. She stayed the night. Overnight guest rate is two dollars.”
I got two dollars out of my wallet.
“New ration books Monday,” she said, poking the two singles into the depths of the Mister’s robe.
“I’ll give you the food stamps, Mrs. Plaut.”
“Dole’s liniment,” she said. “Takes care of your foot cramps like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“Thank you,” I shouted, trying to get past her.
“Wait,” she said, holding up her hand.
