BooksBarbecue
Back W Is for Wasted
Chapters (42)
  1. Also by Sue Grafton
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Prologue
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. Epilogue
  42. Author’s Note

The tips of Willard’s ears turned a brighter shade of pink. “The problem is my wife pays the bills and reconciles the checking account. I don’t want her asking who you are or what this is about.”

“Cash, then.”

“That’s just it. I don’t keep cash like that on hand. I have five hundred. The rest I can reimburse you. I swear I’m good for it.”

“Mr. Bryce . . . Willard. Forgive my impertinence, but I run a business here. I don’t mind a few out-of-pocket expenses, but we’re talking round-trip airfare right off the bat. I may have to make two trips depending on what comes up. Hotel and meals. On top of that, I may have to grease a few palms, if you get what I mean. Trust me, you don’t want me leaving a paper trail. Something comes to light and that sweet wife of yours will be all over you, thinking you have no confidence in her.”

“I have money in a separate account. I could have it for you this afternoon, I suppose.”

“Give me a call and I’ll be happy to swing back by.” Pete got up, thinking they were done.

Uncomfortably, Willard said, “Can I ask you something?”

“What’s that?”

“You carry a gun?”

Pete blinked. “Do you have need of one?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’m working on three panels where a gangster pulls a gun on Joe Jupiter and I’ve never handled one. If I show a close-up, I want to get the details right.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Pete said. He removed the semiautomatic from his shoulder holster, released the magazine, and checked to make sure there wasn’t a round in the chamber before he offered it to Willard butt first.

Willard took the gun and hefted it in his hand. “Wow. What is this?”

“Pocket pistol. Smith and Wesson Escort. I have a Glock 17 that I carry on occasion, but that little gun’s my baby.”

Pete spent a few minutes explaining the features while Willard checked it from all angles, turning it this way and that. He placed it on the arm of the chair and picked up his drawing pad. He folded the cover back and made a few quick pencil sketches, his eyes moving from the gun to the page and back. Pete was impressed with the rapidity with which he captured the weapon in a few simple strokes.

Willard set the sketch pad to one side. “You have a permit?”