They sat and took off their hats, and the housekeeper went on her way.
Armstrong poured three glasses and handed them out. “Nothing like a little Spanish honey in the afternoon,” he said, taking off his sunglasses and slipping them into a vest pocket.
Archer looked at Kemper. “But not for you?”
She wouldn’t meet his eye. “Sangria gives me migraines. My father insists that I learn to love it, but so far it just hasn’t worked.”
“Love the migraines or the sangria?” asked Archer.
Armstrong interjected, “I think we can move on from the chitchat.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Dash as he took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He took a puff and said, “You rang, Armstrong. We’re here. But before we get going.” He pointed to Archer. “Your boys didn’t have to put the hurt on my associate here. That didn’t show class.”
Archer glanced at Kemper, but she displayed no reaction.
To him, the woman was like a flower in full bloom that had wilted to nothing because someone had thrown something toxic on it.
Armstrong nodded. “Yes, Willie, I agree with that. And I’ve had a talk with them both.”
“Good, good. Now, Archer also told me that you want to hire us. Is that why we’re here?”
“In part, yes,” said Armstrong after taking a sip of sangria. “But it’s more than that, too. There was a girl killed up at my place, Midnight Moods.”
“Pickett himself is on the case, which I take to mean that you called him personally. Otherwise, he’d rather be back in his office banging that honey of a secretary.” Dash glanced at Kemper. “Sorry, Mrs. Kemper, that just slipped out.”
She smiled, briefly, then lowered her gaze.
“You don’t have a high opinion of Carl, do you?” said Armstrong.
“I like competence and honesty, and you can throw integrity in there, too, if you want. Carl fails on all three counts in my book. And I’m sure he feels the same way about me, only he’d be wrong and I’d be right. I’m not telling you anything I haven’t told him.”
“I see,” said Armstrong in a noncommittal tone.
“Now, we are looking into Ruby Fraser’s death,” added Dash. “We’d already talked to her because the case we’re handling for your son-in-law involved her.”
“You mean that they were ‘seeing’ each other? As I told Archer, it’s something that my daughter here can ably handle. Though I doubt Beth much cares what Douglas does with his time.”
Archer once more looked at Kemper. She finally lifted her gaze to his and said, “I believe I made my position on that very clear to these gentlemen.”
Her father patted her on the arm. “And it’s your right to do so, of course, Beth. If you remember, I told you to strongly consider not marrying the man, but you inherited your mother’s stubbornness and you went ahead and did it anyway. And now look at where you are.”
Archer watched as the pink rose in the woman’s cheeks, and not in a good way. She looked angry but said nothing.
Dash said, “Regardless, someone was clearly trying to blackmail Kemper into dropping out of the race and using Fraser to do it. Now she’s dead.”
Armstrong sat up a little straighter and finished his glass of sangria. “I hope you’re not implying that Douglas had anything to do with this girl’s murder. I can’t say that I like the man all that much, particularly after the way he’s treated my daughter. But murder? That’s preposterous.”
Archer shot Kemper another glance. There was no expression on the woman’s features. Archer could not reconcile the vivacious, quick-witted woman in the diner with this dull apparition.
“I’m not implying anything,” said Dash. “I’m just saying that he had an obvious motive to get rid of her. And he didn’t have to do the deed himself. There are guys who would do it for him for the right price.” He glanced at Kemper. “Again, I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be here, but these are things we have to discuss. If you want to leave, this might be a good time.”
Archer saw the indecision on the woman’s face until Armstrong put a big hand on her shoulder. “Beth is strong. She can deal with this, Willie. Isn’t that right, my dear?”
Kemper glanced at Archer before saying, “I’m fine, Mr. Dash, please carry on.”
“All right, ma’am, if you’re sure.”
Armstrong said, “I don’t agree with that theory at all, Willie. Because now that she’s dead, people will assume that Douglas did have something to do with it. And while adultery is not a good look for a politician, murder is far worse. So don’t you see that this is an attempt to push the election to Alfred Drake?”
“So you really think Drake had her murdered?” said Dash, each word draped in more sarcasm than its predecessor.
“No, but politicians have backers. And Drake has his.”
“And who are Drake’s backers?”
Armstrong sat forward, looking pointedly animated now. “You should nose around about money men from Vegas, and mob types from New York who want to set up shop in Bay Town, Santa Barbara, Frisco, LA, and San Diego. There is a narcotics trade, Willie, that is very lucrative for the mob, and a lot of it comes over the border and over the water. These folks are invading this country, and nothing is stopping them so far.”
“Yeah, did you happen to mention that to Carl Pickett? Because he doesn’t even have a single police boat on the water. Maybe he likes the stuff coming in. Maybe he gets something from it. Maybe that’s how he can buy big-ass Chryslers and toothpicks by the bushel on a policeman’s salary.”
Armstrong sat back, looking surprised. “Are you accusing the chief of police of taking bribes?”
“Not at all. I think he slipped and fell on the street and a bunch of money ended up in his pocket. But if you tell him I said so, I’ll deny it.”
Armstrong waved this comment away. “I don’t care about Pickett at the moment. I care about this election, and I don’t want to see my son-in-law’s chances go down the tubes because someone is trying to frame him.”
“The son-in-law you don’t much care for?” said Archer.
Armstrong leveled his gaze at him. “I don’t have to like the man to like his politics. Douglas will be a good mayor, and, more to the point, he is the man we need at the moment. And I consider Alfred Drake to be certainly a socialist and perhaps a communist. He would be a disaster for this town.”
“You mentioned to Archer here that you wanted us to find the truth, no matter where it went. It didn’t sound like you had a dog in the hunt, Armstrong, but now it sounds like you do. So which is it? I’d like to know before deciding on your offer of engagement.”
Armstrong smiled and looked at his daughter. “I forgot how good Willie is at chess, Beth. I think he might have captured one of my pawns and one of my knights, and he’s now bearing down on my queen.”
“Is there an answer in there somewhere?” noted Dash.
“Look for the truth, Willie. And I do have a dog in the hunt, yes. But I’m confident of where the trail will lead you. How’s that for an answer?”
“I guess it’ll have to do, because I doubt another one will be coming along.” Dash took a sip of the sangria and wrinkled his nose.
“You don’t care for it?” asked Armstrong.
“I’m not much of a punch man. You introduce sweetness into alcohol, you’ve pretty much lost me. Liquor should burn, make a man feel alive. Otherwise, you’re just drinking something so you can piss it away an hour later. So, you had a look at the list we got from Kemper. Anyone on it look promising?”
“I’m not a detective.”
“Just your gut, then.”
“I think the list is pretty much worthless.”
“Interesting.” Dash rose and put on his hat. Archer did likewise. “So when did you and your boys leave Midnight Moods last night?”