Chapter 11

“Where’s Maggie?” asked Bruno, startled.

“Eating breakfast.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“It’s actually a preparation similar to steak tartare, but without the sauce. I wasn’t sure that’d be good for her,” Peaches explained.

“I’m impressed.” Bruno tried to get up.

Peaches prevented him by planting a forearm in his chest. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get my notepad. I need to write down my dream before I forget it.”

Peaches waved the latte near Bruno’s cheek, threatening to spill it.

“OK. I guess I’ll just commit it to memory.”

Peaches eased her elbow away from his sternum, but didn’t back off with the latte.

“I didn’t know you were so domestic,” Bruno quipped. “Next you’ll probably be telling me about how you used to be a cheerleader in high school?”

“Now I’m impressed,” Peaches returned with smooth sarcasm. “You’re pretty good. You must be psychic. I did some research on you too.” She paused for effect. “Joey. Kaplan. Kicked out of Princeton for cheating …”

Her knowledge of Bruno’s real name was supposed to unsettle him, but he took it in stride. “Couldn’t be helped. All the right answers seemed to pop into my head during exams. I didn’t realize I was ‘listening in’ on Robert Darling, the star student.”

“Then you went to New York and took a job in advertising. Same thing. A client accused you of falsifying focus group research.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Bruno protested. “I ‘interviewed’ nearly a hundred people—who happened to be taking the day off on a beach near the city. They all seemed to be having fantasies about the Marlboro Man. I thought the brand was golden. But then we found out the population in general saw things quite differently …”

“Then your marriage to Sharon Cohen broke up the same way. You caught her cheating on a trip to California—without ever leaving New York.”

“It was awful. One moment I was looking at her photograph. Next thing I knew, I was seeing everything, just like I was there,” Bruno recalled ruefully. “Say, you trying to steam clean the upholstery or you going to let me drink that coffee?”

Peaches ignored him. “Then you drifted around the West, got kicked out of Vegas and even the rinky-dink tribal casinos.”

“That’s where I perfected my Yiddish. You run into a lot of members of the lost tribe in those out-of-the-way casinos.”

Peaches raised her eyebrows. “Drink the coffee. You’re going to need it.”

“What do you mean? And what are you doing here anyway?”

“I followed you.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“What did you do? Lurk around in the bushes all night? That’s why Maggie was barking.” He called Maggie and she came running. She ignored Bruno and ran right to Peaches, sniffing at her oversized handbag.

“Nice doggie.” Peaches patted the dog uncomfortably. “As you can see, she’s quite fond of my steak tartare recipe.”

“Maggie, off. Get away from her,” commanded Bruno. Then, to Peaches, “You just got lucky. It’s dangerous out here. A trigger-happy Piney might have found you …”

“I went home and came back this morning.”

“You’ve been wasting a lot of gas. And hamburger. What I want to know is why are you doing this? If you wanted to talk to me, why not just call me on the phone? I gave the Chief my number. I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to keep my name and address private. Getting beat up or killed by bad guys is no fun.”

“Well, I need something to write about,” Peaches said, moving closer again. “You weren’t exactly cooperative the other day. Interviewing people off the record is a waste of my time. On the other hand …” she acted like she was flirting, placing a hand on his knee and moving it along his thigh, “… exposing your ‘credentials’ would make good copy.”

“You were the one who recommended that the Chief hire a psychic.”

“I didn’t suggest he hire a fake and a loser.”

“I’m not a fake,” Bruno retorted.

“Well then prove it … loser. Give me something I can write about instead.”