A taste of Dovey, that's what.
* * *
The bartender groaned when he looked up and saw Lucky straddling one of the barstools. "I'd just as soon you take your business somewhere else tonight, Lucky, and give the place a rest."
"Shut up and draw me a beer. I'm not looking for trouble."
"As I recall," the bartender drawled, "that's what you said yesterday." He slid the beer in front of his customer.
Lucky sipped. "I'm in a jam."
"So I hear. It's all over town that you need an alibi for last night."
"Jeez, the grapevine around here is faster and more accurate than a fax machine."
The bartender's face split into a wide grin. "If you don't like the gossip, you shouldn't keep such a—what do they call it?—a high profile. Plain folks are fascinated by the activities of local celebrities."
Lucky cursed and took another sip of his drink. "You remember anything about that woman?"
"Not as much as you do, I'd bet," he chortled. His sappy grin faded beneath Lucky's warning glare. "Uh, well, let's see, natural redhead, wasn't she? And I don't mean anything lewd about that," he added hastily.
"Dark auburn hair, yeah."
"'Bout so tall." He marked a spot near his shoulder, holding his hand parallel to the ground.
"I don't need a physical description," Lucky said impatiently. "Do you remember anything significant about her?"
"Significant?"
"Did you see her pull into the parking lot?"
The bartender searched his memory. "I think so. Came from the south, I believe."
"The south." Lucky assimilated that. "If you saw which direction she came from, you must've noticed her car."
"Sure did."
"What kind was it?"
"Red," he announced proudly, glad to be of service.
"I know it was red," Lucky growled. "But what kind?"
"Foreign, I think."
"Make?" The bartender shook his head. "Model?" Again Lucky received a negative answer.
"Great," he muttered, his highball glass at his lips.
"Well, you followed her, Lucky. If you didn't notice, how could you expect me to?"
"Don't worry about it. I just thought you might've. You know I don't recognize the make and model of any car manufactured after 1970. Like you, I just remember hers being compact and red. Maybe under hypnosis I could remember the license number, but I've been racking my brain all day, and can't come up with a single digit or letter of it."
"Uh-oh."
"What?" Lucky swiveled around on the stool, following the direction of the bartender's worried gaze. Coming through the door were Little Alvin and Jack Ed. They paused momentarily when they spotted Lucky. An expectant hush fell over the bar. Then the duo ambled toward a corner booth and sat down.
"Two beers each. Right now," Little Alvin bellowed to the bartender.