“I know that he’s loaded more than he’s sober. I know that he’s always hitting up the guys who work here for pills, powders, whatever will turn his brain to mush. He doesn’t always have cash handy, either. Likes to buy on credit, then develops a case of Swiss-cheese memory when it comes time to remembering what he owes to who.”

“So he’s got a drug problem,” Charlie said. “I’d think you’d be sympathetic.”

“Me sympathize with that snot-nosed poor little rich boy? Now why would you think a crazy thing like that?”

“You’re an addict, too.” She pointed to his cigarette. “Nicotine is a narcotic.”

He snorted. “A legal narcotic. And I’m not addicted. It’s been a long night, is all.”

She shrugged.

“I know he’s bad news in other ways, too.”

Charlie sensed she didn’t want to know the answer to the question she was about to ask, but she asked it anyway: “Bad in which ways?”

“For one thing, he’s sleeping with that blond chick that’s so hung up on him, the one I always see you running around with.”

Trying to keep her voice cool, free of emotion, Charlie said, “How do you know that? Are you going to his house at night with a pair of binoculars?”

Stan made a scoffing sound.

“Then how?” she pressed.

He paused, watching Charlie, and Charlie could see he was trying to make up his mind about something. He dropped his eyes to the ground. When he raised them, their expression had changed, as if he’d thought it over and come to a decision. “You know about those rooms upstairs at the clubhouse, the ones for husbands in the doghouse, guests who’ve had one too many, need to sleep it off before they hit the road?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, his father pays extra to keep one on hold. Needs a place to stash his girlfriends when he’s in town, I guess. But Mr. Devlin, as you’ve probably noticed, is not in town too much, so that room’s free a lot. Not as free maybe as it should be, since his boy Jude gets plenty of use out of it. He and blondie stay there at least once a week. Have been doing it all summer.”