“I don’t, either,” Edie snapped. “This wisehead claims Dow isn’t interested in — my arrangements.”
“Is that right?” Walch didn’t seem disturbed at the news. “How would you know, buster?”
Mickey brought two drinks. I reached for one, to slide it over to Edie.
“Thanks, Mickey.” I grinned across at him.
“Oh!” Edie screamed; the double Martini Ed so clumsily upset slopped across the bar into her lap.
I made a grab for the glass, bumping into her.
She lurched off her stool. The handbag bounced on the floor beside the bar.
I was after it before it hit. Somehow or other it busted open. Stuff all over hell and gone. Purse, mirror, compact, lipstick, pencil, loose coins, keys. And gloves.
The square brass tag had stamped in it: 21MM.
I got that key, first.