“But you’ve never seen them?”
“Well, I’ve seen Mr. Mack like a couple of times. He was here when I came to interview. He asked me what I wanted to do for a career and I told him be a model or be in advertising, then he said I was perfect and hired me. After that, he’s come in a couple times with little beat-up guys. I think they’re wrestlers or something, but they’re kind of small for that. He doesn’t show up much. He’s like independently wealthy, so why bother?”
“How do you know that?”
Shelly giggled. “Why else would you never show up at your job? And Mr. Becwith works nights.”
“Yeah. So when you take the messages, how do you pass them along?”
“Mr. Mack calls in at nine, one, and four. Every day.”
“From where?”
“Beats me. Why all the questions, Chuck? You must really need that job.”
“You have a number to get him, say for an emergency, or a real important call?”
Shelly looked at him for a long moment. “I really think what I’m doing here is, like, getting myself into trouble. Daddy got me this job, ya know. I don’t want to—”
“—Give me that number, Shel.”
“Gawd, Chuck. Be cool.”
“Sorry. I mean it, I’m sorry.”
She smiled. “Okay.”
“You’ve been a real help, Shelly. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about what you told me.” He looked around again at the empty office, then helped himself to a business card from a holder on each desk. Shelly eyed him from the doorway, a little red-faced now, a little fearful, a little like a girl who’s just been seduced. Frye felt bad.
“Thanks. One more thing, Shelly. Don’t tell Mr. Mack I’ve been here asking questions.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
For a brief moment Frye wanted to hug her and apologize. “You come to Mega any time you want and pick out a board. Take whatever you want, and a MegaSuit too. No charge. Bill gives you any trouble, just have him call me. I’m in the book.”
She brightened, started brushing her hair again. “Me too. Shelly Morris. Thanks for the board, Chuck! I always liked Mega the best, except you don’t have any girls’ stuff.”
“We’re working on that.” He gave her a couple of tickets to the Saturday movie. She took them in a smooth dark hand.
“Will you tell him I was here, about the Ledger advertising? Just the advertising, not all the questions.”
“I may be an airhead, but I’m not like completely stupid. I’ll write on that pad that you came by about ads. That’s all.”
“Come get that board sometime, now.”
“Thanks, Chuck. You really want to know if Mr. Mack comes in here, don’t you?”
“I really do.”
She deliberated. “I could maybe like sneak you a call when he’s back in the office or something.”
“Be careful.”
“See ya Saturday night. If you act like you know me, my friends will think I’m cool.”
“You’re a good friend, Shelly, Does Elite have a fighter on the Sherrington card tonight?”
“We have two.”
“Mr. Mack be there?”
“He always goes when one of his guys is fighting, Chuck.” She smiled and the phone rang. The wall clock said one o’clock. “You better go now.”
Frye nodded and headed down the stairs. At a gas station he called Dianne Resnick to see if she’d ever actually laid eyes on Mr. Mack of Elite Management. She hadn’t.
Neither had Ronald Billingham, who had taken Elite’s advertising cancellation over the phone.
Chapter 16
Cristobel was standing on Frye’s patio when he drove up to the cave-house. She had an immense spray of flame-orange gladiolas in one hand and an envelope in the other. Her dress was short and her legs were lovely, and she stood like a woman who knew it. She had a purse slung over her shoulder. Frye’s heart surged.
She watched him come up the walk. “I’m busted,” she said. “These are for you. For bringing back Blaster.”
As if on cue, the dog nosed around a corner, pissed on Frye’s mailbox stand, and looked at him with absolutely no recognition whatsoever.
“Your dog’s a moron. I love him.”
“Careful, He’s my main man.”
“Wish I had one just like him. Thanks. Beautiful flowers.”
Frye opened his door and let them in. When she walked past him he could smell the alcohol.
Cristobel sat on his couch while Frye put the flowers in a vase. He watched her while he trimmed the stalks. “You’ve got a choice between tea and straight vodka.”
“Tea.”
They sat in the living room. She took off her sunglasses. She looked at Frye, then at the flowers, then outside for the dog, then at the coffee table in front of her. “So, this is it.”
“You nervous?”
“Not a bit. Why?”
“Your eyes are. Don’t worry, I’m done with bad opening lines.”
“I’d prefer to stay off that topic just now.”
“Can do.”
She drank off half the tea and checked her watch. “How’s the case progressing? Any news about Li?”
Frye shook his head. “Just a lot of strings that don’t make a rope.”
“Like what?”
“Stuff that she and my brother were into. Things that... don’t look good on a résumé.”
“Cops have a way of Ending out.”
Frye wondered what kind of bureaucratic rack the cops had stretched Cristobel on. Four men. Inside, Frye shuddered. “I hear the cure’s worse than the disease, sometimes.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Frye looked at her, wondering just how you handle a case like this. “All I feel qualified to say is the wrong thing.”
“How about saying nothing?”
“Is that best?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What if at some point, just say for the sake of argument, that I wanted to get to know you better?”
“Skate over the silences. They’re hard as ice.”
Frye nodded. “I found this bird once that blew out of a tree in Santa Ana. I couldn’t find the nest, so I kept the bird. Little fleshy guy with no feathers and big eyes, like something from outer space. Anyway, I kept him in a tissue box and fed him with an eyedropper every two hours.”
“What happened?”
“He died after the third feeding.”
“What’s the moral?”
“I’m not sure. It’s been a bad couple of days.”
Cristobel smiled, but it wasn’t happy and she didn’t seem amused. “I’ll go now. I just wanted to say thanks.”
Frye walked her to the door. She stood in front of him with her arms crossed and her sunglasses back on. “This isn’t easy for me. I’ve never been in this position before. I hate it.”
“You know where I live.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“Yes.”
She reached out and touched his face, then brought her mouth to his. Frye felt her purse fall off her shoulder and tug down on her arm. It was one of those kisses that seal off the outside world and make a better one, just between the two of you. His brain rang. His ears got hot. She was there, but tentative, willing but controlled. She sighed into him, then stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Don’t be.”
She touched his face again. “You don’t understand.”
“Maybe I don’t.”
“It’s quite a way from point A to point B,” she said. “But I like long, straight lines.”
Frye smiled. “I’m going to the fights tonight. Want to come?”
She looked at him uneasily. “I was going to see Steve Martin’s new one. But, well, okay.”
“Pick you up at seven.”
Cristobel nodded. Blaster bounded to her side and led her down the driveway toward her Volkswagen.