The door is opened by a man whose shoulders fill the whole frame; Ray must have taken on some more security. The man blinks stone-faced at Margot, then flinches as Duke licks his hand with a wet tongue.
“Ah, ah, ah!”
Margot leans to the side and sees, behind the guard’s huge bulk, Ray Roberts seated at a cramped table, waggling his finger at her.
“Get that horse out of here, Margot. He’ll eat all my stock.”
She glances down at the dog. “He’s a Great Dane,” she calls weakly, as if that’s the answer to anything.
“He’ll tolerate being tied up outside, thank you very much,Margot.” Ray places exaggerated horn-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose and bends over the table. He’s weighing powders and pills, a pile of brown paper packages stacked up by his elbow.
She sighs, then retreats down the steps, searching for something that will take Duke’s strength. She settles for a fence post, hopes for the best and loops the leash around the base several times.
“Now, that’s better.” Ray smiles when she returns. “We’re not a zoo in here.” He turns back to the pills and begins diligently portioning out a new pile. “Just a social visit?” He doesn’t look up.
The guard has stepped away and sits thumbing his way throughPlayboy. The air smells bitter. “I’ll Never Smile Again” by Doris Day is playing on the radio.
“I broke a heel,” she says. “The Hélène Arpels. Taupe.”
It is not just pills and powders that Ray Roberts deals in. He also does a fine line in rare designer shoes. Margot had heard rumors a while back that the studio stylists sometimes went to him if they wanted something special for one of their pictures at short notice. Marilyn had even worn a pair of his Ferragamo pumps once. Margot had had to check him out for herself.
“Okay, so we know you’re not here for the Hélène Arpels.”
Margot begins to protest.
Ray interrupts her with a raised finger stacked with rings. “You’re a terrible liar.” He removes his glasses and watches her from beneath his brow. “Try harder.”
“The heel did break.” Technically, it did.
“What is it that you really want, Margot? I’m busy here.”
She holds his gaze, considers, momentarily, trying to lie. “Did you know Diane Howard Murray?” she asks outright.
Ray almost recoils, shakes his head in surprise. “Why is someone like you asking about a girl like that?”
“What do you mean,someone like me?”
“Well, Margot, forgive me for being blunt, but Diane wasn’t someone who someone likeyouis normally concerned with.”
“Didn’t she want to be a model? I’m into fashion.”
Ray raises a skeptical eyebrow.
She lets him. She is being glib.
“Girls are being harmed.” Margot steps closer to the table.
The guard glances up from his magazine, then at Ray, who keeps him in place with a shake of the head.
“They’re being killed. Diane was not the first, and at this rate she won’t be the last. I know she lived in Golden Point. I’m just trying to find out a bit more about her, okay?”
“So…what?” He allows his glasses to drop to his chest on their chain. “You’re working for the cops?”
She feels the energy in the room change instantly.
“No, Ray, I’m not working for the cops.”
He scans her face, and she knows he sees the real meaning there, that she is workingin spiteofthe cops.
