Cat Scratch Cleaver

from where we’re standing we can see both.
Juni lets out an egregious moan. “Look at all these hot chicks,” she spits it out as if it were the worst news in the world. And knowing Juni’s M.O. usually involves garnering the attention of every man in the room, I can see why she’s not so thrilled.
Juni is a younger version of Georgie. Her mostly caramel-colored hair is doing its best to catch up in the gray department. She’s got less wrinkles by half at least, but she shares the same wily gleam in her sparkling blue eyes, same happy-go-lucky—some might say insane—disposition in life. And much like her mother, Juni has a very specific style when it comes to clothing. She’s less of a kaftan lover and more of a biker chick gone wild.
This afternoon she’s treating us to a pleather number, short skirt, with what looks to be a metal studded bra that she’s chosen to wear on the outside of her tight black T-shirt.
Of course, Georgie has gone with the standard fare, a white kaftan with pastel dots printed all over it. There’s a slight circus appeal to it, and with Georgie in general, that’s par for the course. I’m still stuck in the same pink sundress I wore to work this morning.
“Look at all these women.” Juni wags a polished red fingernail, at least two inches long, at the crowd. “How’s a girl supposed to nab a man when every girl in here has already cast her fishnets?”
“Hey”—I lean to get a better look at the crowd at hand—“you’re right. Half these women really do have fishnets on. And the other half looks as if they’re about to go to prom. It’s still the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, right? I wonder what gives?”
“Bizzy, Bizzy.” Georgie tucks her fists to her hips and rolls her eyes. “Not everyone needs a weekend to have a good time. Some of us like to be in bed by seven. You gotta get your good time in while the getting’s hot.” She claps her hands and rubs them together as if she were relishing what lies ahead. “Now let’s get in there and rumble.” The enthusiasm on her face suddenly wanes. “Aw, shucks. I just remembered Darby is meeting me here for drinks. Leave it to me to ruin a potential hot spot for meeting new men by dragging a date to the scene.”
I look to Juni. “Speaking of dates, don’t you have a boyfriend?”
Juni snorts. “Spike and I like to keep our options open. When you’re my age, seen as much as I’ve seen, been married as much as I have, dated and mated as many prison guards as I’ve been lucky to, you learn to play fast and loose with the rules of love.”
Juni has spent a majority of her life playing fast and loose with a lot of things.
A waitress comes by wearing short shorts that redefine the word short and a sparkling sequin top that’s blue with white stars. I have a feeling a lot of people leave here seeing stars. I’m taking her choice of accouterments as a harbinger of sorts.
“I’m Stacy.” She flashes a winning smile. She seems nice enough, older than me by about ten years, blonde hair that’s partially blue around the front, the same hue as her blouse, and I’m betting that was no accident. Her skin is deeply tanned with a touch of pink on her nose as if she were striving hard to soak in the summer sun and achieving her sunburnt goals. And her pants—well, I’m not sure she’s wearing any. “Just three today?”
“Four,” Georgie grunts while tossing her hands up. It’s obvious she’s still in deep regret over the fact she’s invited her Hawaiian shirt wearing friend from last night.
A thought hits me. Darby, the Hawaiian shirt wearing friend in question, was there at the café. He might have seen something. This is perfect. Not only will I hopefully get a chance to question Peter Olsen this afternoon, but I’ll get to pick Darby’s brain, too. It’s a two-for-one deal an amateur sleuth like me can’t pass up. It looks as if Slick Willy’s is working out for me after all.
Stacy gathers four menus from behind the podium in the foyer and Juni leans her way, leering at the woman’s body with the slight look of judgment.
“Those are some hot pants,” Juni muses. “Where’d you get ’em?”
“Down the street at a place called Hot Mamas. They’re running a two-for-one deal on everything in the store.”
Juni leans back. “Hear that?” she says through the side of her mouth, doing her best impression of a ventriloquist. “It looks like we’re going to do a little hot-to-trot shopping right after lunch.”
“Ooh.” Georgie elbows me. “Remember to keep an eye out for a wedding dress.”
“I highly doubt I’ll be buying my wedding dress from a place called Hot Mamas.”
Georgie twitches her cheek. “You’re right. That’s more of a wedding night kind of a place. I’ll help you pick out a few pieces that will make the good detective howl like a werewolf in front of a full moon.”
Juni gasps. “Count me in on that howling good time. I’m not letting Hot Mamas hold out on me. Lord knows I live to make men howl at the moon. Usually it’s in pain, but I get just as big a kick out of it.”
Stacy’s eyes grow large with fright and I don’t have to be a mind reader to know she’s already thinking of calling security. But since I am a mind reader…
“Hey, Stacy? You wouldn’t happen to know if a man by the name of Peter Olsen is here, would you?”
“Oh?” The woman rocks back on her spiked stilettos. “You’re here for that.” Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged these women for trying to hitch a ride on the Peter Olsen Express. But then, this entire room is the gateway to the casting couch.
A breath hitches in my throat just hearing it.
GAH!
I