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a blabbermouth,” I said.
    “What are friends for?” Rita said. “She’s a pretty smart cupcake.”
    “Smart as you?” I said.
    “Of course not,” Rita said. “Not as hot, either.”
    “Who is?” I said.
    “How would you know,” Rita said.
    “I am a skilled observer,” I said.
    “You’re not ready to cheat on Susan, are you?” Rita said.
    “When I am, you’ll be the first to know,” I said.
    “How encouraging,” Rita said.
    “I assume Lloyd charges a lot for his services,” I said.
    “A lot,” Rita said.
    “Ashton Prince, the guy that got blown up, claims that Lloyd was his attorney.”
    “On a professor’s salary?” Rita said.
    “Maybe pro bono?” I said.
    “Mort doesn’t do pro bono,” Rita said. “You going to talk to him?”
    “I suspect that he wouldn’t tell me which way east was, if I went in.”
    “I suspect you’re right,” Rita said. “You want me to talk with him?”
    “Yes.”
    “What do you want to know?”
    “Anything he’ll tell you. Did he have a professional relationship with Ashton Prince? If he did, what for? How was Prince planning to pay his fee? Stuff like that.”
    “No problem,” Rita said. “Mort’s always lusted for me.”
    “And you for him?”
    “No,” Rita said. “But he doesn’t know that.”
    “Is it ethical to use sex as a tool of exploitation?”
    “ ‘Tool’ may be an unfortunate choice of words,” Rita said. “But the nice thing about Mort is you don’t have to sweat ethics or morality with him.”
    “Makes it easier,” I said.
    “Do you want your name mentioned?”
    “Not unless you think you need to, and I can’t see why you would.”
    “Me, either,” Rita said. “I assume this is pro bono.”
    “Not at all,” I said. “I plan to reward you with a long lunch at Locke’s.”
    “I accept,” Rita said. “And afterward?”
    “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”
    “Damn,” she said.

15
    S usan and Pearl were spending the weekend. Pearl was sprawled on the couch with her head hanging off, snoring faintly. I was making some green-apple fritters. Susan stood at the living-room window, looking down toward the Public Garden.
    “When I took her down there this morning,” Susan said, “Pearl kept snuffing around, and stopping and looking at me, and then snuffing around some more. I think she was looking for Otto.”
    “Love alters not when it alteration finds,” I said.
    “I’ve noticed that,” Susan said. “Especially when Rita Fiore is around.”
    “I’m not sure that’s love,” I said. “And I’m not sure I’m its exclusive object.”
    “Probably not,” Susan said. “Have you seen her lately?”
    “Talked to her today on the phone.”
    “About the art-theft murder?”
    I was peeling an apple.
    “Yep. She’s going to find some stuff out from a lawyer she knows,” I said, “whom she says lusts after her.”
    “I’m sure he does,” Susan said. “She’s very attractive.”
    “She is,” I said.
    “Great hair,” Susan said. “You don’t always see a redhead with hair that good.”
    “That’s probably not why Morton Lloyd lusts after her,” I said.
    Susan continued to look down toward the Public Garden.
    “I’m going to take her to lunch at Locke’s,” I said. “As a payoff.”
    Susan turned and looked at me.
    “I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time,” she said.
    “I’m sure I will,” I said. “Rita’s a lot of fun.”
    “And she’s so good-looking,” Susan said.
    “She is,” I said.
    Susan was quiet. I peeled my apples. Pearl snored.
    “Do you think she’s better-looking than moi ?” Susan said.
    What kind of idiot wouldn’t know the right answer to that? But in fact I did think she was better-looking than Rita, though the gap was maybe not as wide as I would imply.
    “No,” I said.
    “Do you think I’m better-looking than she?” Susan said.
    “Absolutely,” I said.
    “Would you care to elaborate a bit?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    I tossed my sliced apples in a