Marge said, “She didn’t have any booze in her system. We were told she was only touching the soft stuff because she had to go to work.”

“That could be. I wasn’t paying attention. But whatever it was, Crystal was comping both Adrianna and that hunky guy that Adrianna was talking to. I’m sure he was drinking.”

“What was he drinking?”

“Beer. After he’d gone through a couple of refills, I finally told Crystal to quit it or I’d tell the boss.” A pause. “She got pissed at me. But it didn’t matter anyway. Adrianna left. And then about a half hour later, the hunk left.”

“What time was that?” Marge asked.

“Around nine-thirty.”

“Did they look like they were enjoying each other’s company?”

“They were talking. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell you.”

Oliver said, “Did the hunk have a name?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t catch it.”

“Does the name Farley sound familiar?”

“Farley?”

“Crystal remembered the hunk being called Farley,” Oliver said.

When Yvette’s response was a confused shrug, Marge said, “Or maybe it was Charley?”

“Beats me,” Yvette said.

“What did he look like?”

“Beefy. Big chest, big arms…like he worked out a lot. You put him in a gay bar, he’d fit right in. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but he was wearing a jacket.”

“What kind of a jacket?”

“Like a blazer. Black jacket, black T-shirt and jeans. He wore sandals on his feet.”

“Sounds more Hollywood than lawyer or stockbroker,” Oliver said.

“Good call. He did seem Hollywood. Or pretend Hollywood.”

“Do you think you could identify his face?” Marge asked.

“I got a decent look at him. He had a square jaw, masculine features. Dark eyes.”

“Could you come down to the station house tomorrow and work with a police artist?” Oliver suggested.

“I suppose.”

“That would be great,” Marge said. “Thanks so much. You’ve been very helpful. Do you have a number where we could reach you?”

Yvette rooted through her pocket and gave them a card.

THE YVETTE JACKSON BAND

SPECIALIZING IN JAZZ, ROCK, AND THE OLD STANDARDS

LIVEN UP YOUR NEXT COCKTAIL PARTY WITH THE REAL DEAL

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There was a cell phone and an e-mail address. Marge said, “You’re a singer?”

“Singer, dancer, musician. I studied at the Western Conservatory School of Music for five years. I majored in classical guitar, but I’m done with that. No one wakes up in the morning and decides to become a cocktail waitress. But the pay is pretty good if you suppress the ego and do the job. I’ve got a nice smile and big boobs. So far, most of the patrons remember my attributes when it’s tip time.”

“Thanks for the card,” Marge said. “Maybe I’ll hire you one day. I happen to love classical guitar.”