A Gambling Man (Archer #2)(56)

“Wow, Archer, this looks official and everything.”

“Hey, if I needed you to vouch for me, sign a document saying I was okay in your book, would you do that?”

She handed the license back to him. “Why do you need me to do that?”

“Apparently, it’s part of being an honest-to-God PI in California.”

“But I thought you were already licensed. Isn’t that what the card said?”

He slipped it back into his jacket. “It’s sort of complicated, Liberty.”

“Everything with you is sort of complicated.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it. Then maybe you can put in a good word for me with Warner Brothers,” she quipped. “Now, let’s go eat. I’m starving.”

They walked arm in arm into the dining area, where they were met by the hostess, who was draped in a silky white number that fell off one shoulder and was barely clinging to the other. Her cleavage was so prominently revealed that even Callahan looked taken aback. The shimmery hostess glided through the sea of tables like a siren to a floundering ship as she led them to a private corner alcove with a built-in banquette seat. She positioned them side by side and looking out at their fellow diners.

She bent down and placed the menus in front of them, giving Archer another peek at her bosom. She whispered in a working-class British accent, “You look to me like a gent that doesn’t like having his back exposed. Am I right, guv?”

Archer thanked her with a nod and she sashayed off for her next victims.

Archer eyed the drinks section of the menu and glanced at Callahan. She was dressed in a pale blue polyester skirt and jacket with black trimmings with a white blouse underneath and dress gloves. A hat with a short veil tacked up to the rim and black four-inch heels over sheer stockings completed her outfit. Every man in the room had given her the eye, even those there with other women seated across from them.

“What’s your poison?” asked Archer.

“Champagne cocktail, for starters.”

“Remember, we have to work tonight.”

“You think a champagne cocktail is going to put me under the table, Archer? Where have you been since we met?”

The waitress came over, and Archer ordered the champagne cocktail for Callahan and a martini for himself.

“Bring the onions and hold the olives,” he tacked on.

They pulled out their cigarettes and lit up, dropping ash into the bowl provided on their table.

“How’d you find this place?” she asked.

“Just looked west of Sawyer Avenue and there it was. Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“You talking code or something?”

“Or something.”

Their drinks came and they toasted Archer’s new job.

“So how did this afternoon go?” she asked. “Have you solved the case yet?”

“Not exactly. When I do you’ll be the second to know, right after Willie Dash, unless he gets there first.”

“So how’s it going with him? You think you’re going to learn a lot?”

“The guy’s good, knows the town and the people in it. For the most part.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means for the most part.” He picked up the menu. “What looks good?”

“You order for me, Archer.”

He shot a glance. “Really? Why’s that?”

“I’m not used to nice places like this. In Reno, we just had crap, really.”

“And you think I’m used to them?”

“No, I mean, I don’t know. But you can tell the people in here are somebody. They have class. The men probably all went to college for an education, and the women probably all went to college to find a husband.”

Archer eyed the woman closely because this was the first real hint of insecurity he had seen in her.

He tapped her hand. “You’re as good as all of these people, Liberty, and don’t think you’re not.”

“Sure, sure, Archer, and I’m the queen of England, too.”

“Where is this coming from?” he asked. “Until we walked in here I never would have thought you had an ounce of self-doubt or gave a damn what anybody thought about you.”

“Shows how good an observer you are.”

“I guess,” he said.

They both ended up with the trout, which was moist and tender. And rice pilaf and a green vegetable that was not readily identifiable to either of them. But it was good if oversalted. Their cocktails were followed by a bottle of wine, recommended by a short man wearing a bow tie and holding a cork opener on a chain. It cost three dollars, which almost gave Callahan a fit and amused Archer.

Archer examined the bottle’s label. It had the silhouette of a woman on it that looked familiar to Archer. The wine was called the BK. On the back he read off the name of the vineyard that had produced it. “Kemper Enterprises. BK must stand for Beth Kemper.”

Archer explained who she was and what they were investigating. “Her hubby has a vineyard and he named the wine after her.”

“Well, wasn’t that sweet? I guess the louse figures he owes her after cheating on her.”

“Could be, yeah. Although I probably shouldn’t have told you that, so keep it to yourself.”