Читать книгу Everybody Loves Evie - Beth Ciotta - Страница 15

THE SUN WAS SHINING as I peeled rubber through the Inlet and parked in the semimuddy lot of the Chameleon Club. My mood was black. I’d tried calling Arch three times while I’d packed. I needed his advice and all I got was his voice mail. Instead of leaving a message, I’d hung up, disconnected from the man in more ways than one.

My pulse and brain raced in tandem as I scaled the steps and power walked toward the boardwalk entrance. No umbrella. No spiky heels. No mishaps. I breezed inside and glanced at the bar. Pops was engrossed in conversation with two barflies, neither being Tabasco. I scanned the club for Beckett. Not seeing him, I strode for the door marked Private.

“Not there.”

I forced a smile and faced the leathery bartender, dressed much as he’d been the day before, only his vest was red instead of black. “Is he around?” Again I thought of secret rooms for secret-agent plotting. “Somewhere?”

“He is.”

I motioned Pops to the opposite end of the bar, away from his friends’ big ears.

He approached me with wary eyes, palming that retro rolled-brim hat to the back of his silver head. He looked a little like Morgan Freeman, dressed a lot like Buster Keaton and sounded exactly like Barry White. “Aren’t you supposed to be home, recovering?”

I fidgeted under his stern expression. “I feel much better.” I pinched my nose and suppressed a sneeze.