Her heavy lids were halfway closed. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Block Man echoed.

Marge took out her badge. “We need a little privacy. Give us a couple of minutes and we’re out of your hair.”

“S’right,” Crystal said. “I’m tired anyway.” She tossed on a black sweater and slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m outta here.”

She slid off her bar stool and tripped. Oliver caught her before she hit the ground. “How about we take a little walk?”

“I don’ need a walk…” She fished out her keys.

Marge gently took them away. No resistance. “I really think you need a walk first.”

She stared at Marge, blinking several times. “Who’re you?”

“We’re the police,” Marge said. “We need to talk to you about Adrianna Blanc. You remember her. She’s one of your best friends.”

Immediately, Crystal burst into tears.

Marge put her arm around her and Crystal leaned her head against her chest and sobbed. “I know, honey. It hurts.”

“It hurts so bad!” Crystal wailed.

A sleek, dark Latino bartender looked up. “Can you get her out of here, please?”

Oliver took one arm and Marge took the other. Together, they led Crystal out of the restaurant, crossed over the asphalt parking lot, took her down a half-dozen steps until they reached the board-walk. It was an overcast night and the sporadic streetlamps emitted muted yellow light haloed by fog. They schlepped her along the rickety wooden esplanade, passing boat slip after boat slip after boat slip, the spaces holding everything from medium-size motor cruisers to mega-size yachts with antennas and satellites. There was a gentle saline breeze coming off the ocean.

In her wedgies, Crystal was having trouble standing erect. “Why, why, why!”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Oliver said. “And you can help us, Crystal. But you’ve got to focus.”

“I don’ wanna focus.” She wiped her eyes on her arm, tattooing the skin with a black ribbon of mascara. “I wanna go home. I wanna sleep!” She sniffed and began rooting through her purse for her keys.

“Where do you live?” Marge already knew the answer. She and Oliver had gone by the place earlier in the evening.

“In the Valley.”

“How convenient! I live there, too. Why don’t I take you home and Detective Oliver will drive your car for you.”

“I’m…okay.”

“I know, honey, but this way you can rest.” Marge was already steering her back to the parking lot. “Where’s your car, honey?”

She squinted. “I think…” She tottered and stopped.

Marge said, “What car do you drive?”

“A Prius. Gotta be like…econonological.”

There were a number of them in the lot. “What color?”

“Blue.”

“I see it.” Marge tossed Oliver the keys. “See you later.”

“Good luck.”