Looking for Rachel Wallace by Robert B. Parker Read Free Book Online Page A

cost the state about two thousand dollars, and you’ll probably have to spend the morning in court and so will the two arresting officers. I could have made them sorry a lot sooner for free.”
    She continued to stare out the window.
    “And,” I said, “it was only a freaking pie, lady.”
    She looked at me and almost smiled. “You were very quick,” she said.
    “I didn’t know it was going to be a pie.”
    “Would you have shot him?” she said. She wasn’t looking out the window now; she stared straight at me.
    “If I had to. I almost did before I saw it was a pie.”
    “What kind of a man would do that?”
    “Throw a pie at someone?”
    “No,” she said. “Shoot someone.”
    “You asked me that before,” I said. “I don’t have a better answer this time except to say, Isn’t it good you’ve got one? At the rate we’re going, you’ll be attacked by a horde of chauvinist cameldrivers before the week is out.”
    “You sound as if it were my fault. It is not. I do not cause trouble—I am beset by it because of my views.”
    Linda Smith pulled the car onto Arlington Street and into the open space in front of the Ritz. I said, “Stay in the car till I tell you.”
    I got out and looked both ways and into the lobby. The doorman hustled forward to open the door for Rachel. She looked at me. I nodded. She stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel.
    “We’ll have a drink in the bar,” she said.
    I nodded and followed her in. There were a couple of business types having Scotch on the rocks at a table by the window, and a college-age boy and girl sitting at another table, very dressed up and a little ill at ease. He had beer. She had a champagne cocktail. Or at least it looked like a champagne cocktail. I hoped it was.
    Rachel slid onto a bar stool, and I sat next to her and turned my back to the bar and surveyed the room. No one but us and the business types and the college kids. Rachel’s coat had a hood. She slid the hood off but kept the coat on to cover up the pie smear down the front of her dress.
    “Beer, Spenser?”
    “Yes, please.”
    She ordered. Beer for me and a martini for her. For the Ritz Bar I was spectacularly underdressed. I thought the bartender paled a little when I came in, but he said nothing and tended the bar just as if I were not offensive to his sight.
    A young woman came into the bar alone. She had on a long cream-colored wool skirt and heavy black boots, the kind that seem to have extra leather. Her blouse was white.
    There was a black silk scarf at her neck, and she carried a gray leather coat over her arm. Very stylish. The skirt fit well, I noticed, especially around the hips. She looked around the room and spotted us at the bar and came directly to us. The kid can still attract them, I thought. Still got the old whammo.
    The young woman reached us and said, “Rachel,” and put her hand out.
    Rachel Wallace turned and looked at her and then smiled. She took the outstretched hand in both of hers. “Julie,” she said. “Julie Wells.” She leaned forward and Julie Wells put her face down and Rachel kissed her. “How lovely to see you,” she said. “Sit down.”
    Julie slid onto the bar stool on the other side of Rachel.
    “I heard you were in town again,” she said, “and I knew you’d be staying here, so I got through work early and came over. I called your room, and when there was no answer, I thought, well, knowing Rachel, chances are she’s in the bar.”
    “Well, you do know me,” Rachel said. “Can you stay? Can you have dinner with me?”
    “Sure,” Julie said, “I was hoping you’d ask.”
    The bartender came over and looked questioningly at Julie. “I’ll have a Scotch sour on the rocks,” she said.
    Rachel said, “I’ll have another martini. Spenser, another beer?”
    I nodded. The bartender moved away. Julie looked at me. I smiled at her. “We’re on tour,” I said. “Rachel plays the hand organ, and I go around with a little