The Ghost and the Femme Fatale by Alice Kimberly Read Free Book Online Page B

wall—not order a drink from another century!”
    “Cut me a break, okay? James Bond was invented in the twentieth century. I was only off by a few years.”
    The bartender returned with Jack’s Scotch and my stirred , gin martini in a martini glass . He dropped two napkins and placed the drinks on top, shaking his head as he set mine down.
    “So, ma’am, I’m curious,” said the bartender. “What’s a ‘Cold War,’ anyway? Another type of cocktail?”
    Jack tossed the man a large bill. “Keep it,” he said. “We won’t be needing refills anytime soon. We’d just like our privacy . Got it?”
    “Of course, sir.” The bartender nodded. “Privacy is what the Porterhouse is all about.”
    Jack knocked back some scotch and closed his eyes. I sipped my martini and waited. When the PI opened his eyes again, he began casually scanning the room.
    “Are you going to enlighten me anytime soon?” I whispered.
    “There’s a booth at your three o’clock,” Jack said, holding the scotch glass up to his mouth. “Now do exactly what I say. Cross your legs and as you cross them, slowly turn your bar stool halfway around. Keep taking sips of your cocktail as you take a casual look around the room.”
    I did what Jack told me. As I crossed my legs, the slit in my gown showed a flash of stocking- clad thigh. Jack’s eyes found it, and he stopped speaking for a full minute.
    “Jack?”
    “See the painting of Seabiscuit?” he whispered, his eyes still on my legs.
    “Seabiscuit? Excuse me? Why am I looking at a picture of a race horse?”
    “Not the horse, doll, the booth underneath it. See the paunchy man sitting there, the one with the thinning brown hair and pale face. Seated across from him is—”
    “A very young woman in a silver gown,” I whispered back. “Yes, I see them both.”
    “They’re it, doll. They were my meal ticket back here in ’48.”
    “What’s the name of the case? I still have your files in my stockroom. They’re a total mess, all out of order, but I can try to find the file.”
    “Don’t bother, baby. You won’t find it.”
    “Why not?”
    “Let’s stick to the business at hand.”
    “Fine,” I said. “I was going to tell you anyway. I noticed that young woman on our way in. She looks familiar to me for some reason. I’m sure I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place her face.”
    “She looks familiar to you?” Jack finally moved his gaze off my gams. He sipped at his Scotch a moment, obviously considering my words. “But you weren’t even born yet, doll. So how could you have seen her before ?”
    “I don’t know . . . who’s the creep she’s with?”
    “That’s Nathan Burwell, the district attorney,” Jack said. “His wife’s the one who hired me. That’s why I was here to night. I was tailing Burwell, documenting his little trysts with Miss Innocent over there. In case you haven’t noticed, this place is full of cheating Charlies. That maître d’ is as good as an army sentry. If you’d showed up without me, a dame alone, you would have been turned away.”
    “But that’s discriminatory!”
    “That maître d’ wouldn’t have taken the chance that you were a wife, snooping up on the old hubby. Anyway, Mrs. Burwell wants a divorce and she wants her money, which means the DA’s got to go away quietly—so she hired me to gather the dirt.”
    “And how exactly are you gathering it?”
    “Detailed notes on where, when, and how long. Witnesses when I can get them. Photographs when I can set the pair up without their noticing.”
    “But I still don’t understand, Jack. What does Burwell and his disturbingly young mistress have to do with Hedda Geist? Other than the girl’s gown.”
    Jack frowned. “What do you mean the girl’s gown?” What’s with the girl’s gown?”
    “It’s the same outfit Hedda wore in Wron g Turn . Don’t you see it? The plunging neckline, the bow at the bodice, the way the shimmering silver satin is cut?