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The address Bobby’d given me was off West Glen, a narrow road shaded by eucalyptus and sycamore, lined with loalls of hand-hewn stone that curve back towards beyond, but for the roves of live oak with nothing more on its mind than dappled sunshine, the scent of French lavender, and bueraniuet dark for another two hours or so

I spotted the nu Tolike soht have built I peered through the windshield, but couldn’t see a parking place I rolled forward, hoping there would be a parking pad solanced back overwhy there weren’t any other cars in sight, and wondering which of the little bungalows belonged to Bobbys folks I felt a brief moment of uneasiness He had said this afternoon, hadn’t he? I could just picture ed Oh, well I’d suffered worse eh for the moment, I couldn’t think of one I rounded the curve, looking for a place to pull in Involuntarily, I sla to a stop "Holy shit!" I whispered,

The lane had opened out into a large paved courtyard Just ahead I saw a house Sout, I knew Bobby Callahan lived here, not in one of those hoeries up front Those were probably servants’ quarters This was the real thing

The house was the size of the junior high school I’d attended and had probably been designed by the saan, dead noho had revitalized Santa Teresa single-handedly during the forty-odd years he worked The style, if I’m not mistaken, is Spanish Revival I have tended, I confess, to sneer at white stucco walls and red tile roofs I’ve been conteainvillea, distressed beaether quite like this

The central portion of the house o stories high, flanked by two cloistered arcades Arch after arch after arch, supported by graceful columns There were clusters of airy palms, sculptured portals, tracery s There was even a bell tower, like an old mission church Hadn’t Ki similar? The place looked like a cross between a monastery and a lossy ad can, and a fountain in the center shot a streaht as I could get and parked, then looked down at what I had on The pants, I sa, had a stain on one knee that I could only conceal if I helddown that far The tunic itself wasn’t bad: black gauzy stuff with a low square neck, long sleeves, and a ain to change clothes Then, it occurred toat home that looked any better than this I torqued h the incredible collection of odds and ends I keep back there I drive a VW, one of those nondescript beige sedans, great for surveillance work in hborhoods Around here, I could see I’d need to hire a stretch liardeners probably drove Volvos

I pushed aside the law books, file boxes, tool kit, the briefcase where I keepfor: an old pair of pantyhose, useful as a filter in an eency On the floor, I found a pair of black spike heels I’d bought when I’d intended to pass eles When I’d gotten there, of course, I’d discovered that all the whores looked like college girls, so I’d abandoned the disguise

I tossed the sandals I earing into the backseat and hunched led into the pantyhose, did a spit polish on the pumps, and slipped into those I took the self-belt off the tunic and tied it around , I found an eyeliner pencil and so the rearview ht I looked weird, but hoould they know? Except for Bobby, none of theot out of the car and steadied h since I’d played dress-up in rade Beltless, the tunic hitto ht, they’d see my bikini underpants, but so what? If I couldn’t afford to dress well, at least I could provide a distraction from the fact I took a deep breath and clattered my way toward the door