Poodle Springs

19

"Clayton Blackstone is a very dignified man," Linda said. "I do not believe all that stuff that Muffy's husband told you."

We were having breakfast by the pool in the already solid heat of the desert morning. There was a scent of bougainvillaea on the air and the sound of birds, foraging in the morning before the heat got too bad.

"It's a question of law whether he's her husband," I said. "I think the first marriage precludes those that follow." I sipped my coffee, some sort of Kona roast that Tino had shipped to him. "On the other hand, I'm not up on my bigamy law."

"Clayton Blackstone is a friend of Daddy's," Linda said. She was wearing a pale blue silk thing that concealed enough of her to be legal, but only that.

"I don't know where Daddy got his money," I said, "but if you have enough of it some of it has to be dirty."

"You think my father has been dishonest?"

"It's not that simple," I said.

"Well, what do you think?"

"I think he probably at least allowed a little dishonesty."

"Oh pooh," Linda said.

Tino came and took away the empty juice glasses.

"Obviously Les, or Larry, or whatever he calls himself, is a compulsive gambler. Obviously he's a fortune hunter. Obviously he's dishonest. Why are you protecting him? Why not simply turn him in to the police?" Linda said. "Report to Mr. Lipshultz where he is, and get to spend some afternoons with me, drinking gimlets, and holding hands, and, um… whatever."

"He doesn't understand it, either," I said.

"Les? I should think he wouldn't, the worm, what kind of a man would get himself into this kind of a mess." Linda's eyes were bright with distaste.

"He's addicted," I said.

"To drugs?"

"To risk. He's probably a compulsive gambler, and he has to turn everything into a gamble."

"Why on earth would a man want to do that? Why does someone feel that way about gambling?"

"It's not gambling," I said. "It's risk, the danger of losing, that gets the juices going."

"He likes to lose?" Linda said. The angry glint was gone from her eyes and she was frowning slightly so that the lovely little line appeared horizontally between her perfect eyebrows. She leaned toward me on the chaise, holding her little blue wisp of a garment together at the throat so that she could maintain the semblance of decency and, in the process, keep me from getting out of hand.

"No, but he likes the chance of losing," I said. "It excites him."

"So he gambles and commits bigamy and takes pornographic pictures and maybe murders someone?"

"Things get out of hand," I said. "Now there's too much danger. He's not getting a thrill out of it. Now he's scared. And I don't think he killed the woman in his office."

Linda leaned back against the chaise and chewed on the edge of her lower lip a little, looking at me sideways out of the corners of her eyes.

"You're thinking," I said.

"Umm."

"You're beautiful when you think," I said.

"You understand this man very well," Linda said.

"I'm a detective, lady. I meet a lot of people in trouble."

"Maybe you're a little like this one. Maybe you do the work you do because it's dangerous."

"Like Larry Victor? I get a thrill out of danger?"

"There must be some reason," Linda said, "why you don't stay home and help me spend ten million dollars."

"Maybe I could get a little gold ring grafted onto my neck," I said, "and you could wear me on your charm bracelet."

"You really are impossible, aren't you," Linda said. "Fortunately I find you scrumptious."

"I know that," I said.