I thought back to our first meeting, remembering the band of white on his wrist where he’d once worn his watch. It dawned on me then his car hadn’t been in the repair shop at all. By the time he came to me for help, he’d already sold it.

She looked at me anxiously. “I don’t suppose you could lend him the money. He’d pay you back.” She paused and then, in the interest of full disclosure, added, “Eventually.” She had the good grace to blush.

I was offended she’d try dinging me for the bucks, but it’s tough to convey outrage when you’re whispering. “He already owes me two hundred and twenty-five bucks, which is how he got your engagement ring out of hock.”

She squinted at me in disbelief. “He took two hundred dollars for a ring worth three grand?”

“Let’s not worry about that now. What makes the second set of pictures so valuable?”

“I’m not sure. I do know that cop wants to get his hands on ’em.”

“Tell me about it,” I said drily. “Where’s Pinky now?”

“He said it was better if I didn’t know. He said if you came around looking for him you’d figure it out.”

“Oh, great. Did he say anything else?”

“Not a word.”

I thought about it briefly but couldn’t think how else to quiz her on the subject of Pinky’s whereabouts. “I think it’d be smart if you laid low yourself. You have a place you can go?”

She fixed her big blue eyes on me. I thought she’d seriously overdone the mascara until I realized her lashes were false. “I’m completely on my own.”

“Oh, come on. There must be some place.”

She reduced her whisper to a point that only animals could hear.

I leaned close.

“What about your apartment?” she said. “No one would think to look for me there.”

I said, “Ah. Well, that’s a tricky proposition. Len’s already pissed off. He threatened to kill me less than an hour ago. I’m risking life and limb just talking to you. I put you up at my place, no telling what he’d do. You must have family or friends.”

She shook her head. “Pinky’s all I got. Anything happened to him, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

“What about me? What am I supposed to do?”

“Just don’t open the door. Someone knocks hard, call 9-1-1.”

“I’d rather come to your place. We wouldn’t be a bother.”

“‘We’?”

“Me and Cutie-pie, the cat. I can’t leave him here all by himself.”

I looked around but there was no sign of the beast. What was with these people? She was just like Pinky, trying to maneuver me into doing her a favor that would put me in the soup. Having said no once, however, I found this round easier. “Sorry, but it’s out of the question. I’d be happy to drop you at a motel.”

“Oh no, hon. Motel won’t take a cat like him. For one thing, he sprays, and if he gets mad, which he does about half the time, he pees in the middle of the bed. So I guess I’m stuck.”

“You’ll think of something,” I said, having no idea what.

As she walked me down the hall to the front of the house, she pointed at the television set in the living room. She did a charade of listening devices and a transmitter and a receiver. Or at least I think that’s what it amounted to. I nodded, and when we reached the door, she said, “Well, it was nice of you to stop by. If I ever hear from Pinky again, I’ll let you know.”

Her tone, while ostensibly normal, had a singsong quality that wouldn’t have fooled anyone with an ear to the wall.

“Thanks and good luck,” I said.

Whispering again, she said, “You sure we can’t stay with you?”

“Did I mention my allergies? Put me in a room with a cat and I blow up like a puffer fish. I had to be hospitalized just last month.”

“Too bad,” she said. “I could have done you a makeover. You could really use the help.”

Once back in my car, I cut over three blocks and turned right onto State Street, then pulled into a small parking lot where an Asian food market and an acupuncturist had set up shop side by side. I found an empty slot and sat there thinking about Pinky and where he might be. From what Dodie said, he was confident I’d figure it out. Which meant what? The only haunt of Pinky’s I knew about was the Santa Teresa Jewelry and Loan. Oh. I fired up the Mustang and drove into town. I reached lower State and cruised past the pawnshop, and when I turned at the corner, I saw Len Priddy’s dark green Chevrolet parked at the curb. Clearly, June had company and I’d have to postpone our conversation. I kept on going, a shiver of cold running up my spine.