“What was the date?”
“This year. But what month this year, or what day of what month this year, sales slipshoweth not. The carbon slipped or something and the date was smudged.”
“Well, didn’t she remember what the purchaser looked like? That might tell us something.”
“It wasn’t my babe’s customer, because the initials of the salesgirl on the slip were of someone else.”
“Who? Didn’t you find out?”
“Sure I found out.”
“Then why didn’t you speak to her? Or were you too wrapped up in Miss Falsies?”
“Miss who? Say, I thought those were too good to be true. 1 couldn’t speak to the other gal. The other gal quit last week.”
“Didn’t you get her name and address?”
“I got her name, Lavis La Grange, but my babe says it wasn’t Lavis’s real name and she doesn’t know what Lavis’s real name is. Certainly not Lavis or La Grange. Her address is obsolete, because she decided she’d had enough of the glamorous Hollywood life and went back home. But when I asked my babe where Lavis’s home is, she couldn’t say. For all she knows it could be Labrador. And anyway, even if we could locate Lavis, my babe says she probably wouldn’t remember. My babe says Lavis has the brain of a barley seed.”