Clara walked into my office at half past six. My office was closed but that didn’t stop her from sweet-talking the doorman. She was the kind of girl who could sell ice to eskimos.
I poured a stiff drink for myself and another for myself. She took one of them.
“I assume you have them? The pictures of her and my husband?” she asked.
“You know what happens when we assume,” I said. “We make an ass out of you and me. He’s cheating on you, but not with Lydia.”
“Who, then?” Her cheeks flushed. She had lips that reminded you of a cherry tree in summer. They pursed a little as she lit a slender cigarette.
“Joyce?” she asked.
“You got another?”
I fanned out the coasters. They cost four for $25 on Coastermatic. Good stone coasters. Each one had a picture of her husband, the congressman, in congress with her sister, tastefully cropped. I took them with Instagram and used the Kelvin filter to make them look more interesting.
She put her drink down to block one out. I did the same.
“How much was shipping and handling for these?”
“Six dollars. You’ll get a bill for expenses.”
“I’ll bet I will. I always pick the wrong man, Detective.”
“Let me take you out for knishes,” I told her. “I’ll help you meet the right one.”