The Spellbinder by Iris Johansen

up a rollaway bed and put it in the sitting room.”
    “I am being a great bother.” She cast him a worried glance. “Perhaps I should not let you do all this for—”
    “Hello, Barry.” Brody smiled at the thin sandy-haired man waiting outside the stage door. “Everything okay?”
    The young man nodded. “No sign of trouble, Mr. Devlin.”
    “Sacha, this is Barry Levine from Randal Security.”
    “How do you do,” Sacha said. “Have you been standing out here all evening just waiting for us?”
    Levine looked surprised. “Well … yes, ma’am.”
    A flicker of concern crossed Sacha’s face before she smiled brightly. “I’ve always wanted to meet a private investigator. You must do a great many more interesting things than wait in alleys for people like Brody and me. Why don’t you come to dinner with us and tell us all about your job? I think Brody wants Mexican food. Perhaps you don’t like it?”
    The young man looked slightly dazed. “I love Mexican food but—”
    “Fine. Then it’s settled, you will join us for dinner. Do you have your own car or will you go with us? Harris is parked over there.” She gestured at the Lincoln and then turned to Brody. “Do you suppose Harris would like to join us too? It must be very lonely for him just sitting in the car.”
    Brody’s lips were twitching. “We can only ask.”
    “My partner and I have our own car,” Barry Levine said. “But I really don’t think—”
    “Then you will follow us, and tell your partner he must come too.” Sacha started toward the Lincoln parked a few yards down the alley. “We will see you at the restaurant. I will tell Harris to go slow so that you can follow us and not get lost.”
    “Mr. Devlin …” Levine looked at him helplessly.
    Brody nodded solemnly. “Yes, Barry, be sure you don’t get lost.” He fell into step with Sacha, feeling Levine’s bewildered gaze on them as they walked down the alley. He suddenly began to chuckle.
    “Why are you laughing?” Sacha asked.
    “I was thinking about what Randal is going to say when he hears that his man had dinner with the client. He prides himself on his men’s discreet, self-effacing image.”
    “This Randal sounds very stuffy. Why shouldn’t that poor young man have dinner with us?”
    “Poor?”
    “Well, can’t you imagine how depressed he must get just standing around waiting for somethingbad to happen? And look how thin he is. I’m sure he doesn’t eat properly. We must make sure he has a good meal tonight, at least.”
    “By all means. Now let’s see, tonight we take care of Harris’s boredom and Levine’s nutrition problem. Do you think we should pick up the cop on the beat and see what we can do for him?”
    “Stop laughing.” Uncertain, she looked up at him. “You don’t really mind, do you?”
    His laughter faded but the warmth lingered in his eyes. “No, I don’t mind,” he said gently. “We may have an interesting evening.” He opened the passenger door of the limousine for her. “I’m sure it won’t be boring.”
    She got into the limousine and settled herself comfortably on the maroon velvet seat. “Then you invite Harris,” she whispered. “I think he would like it better.”
    He nodded. “Wait until we get to the restaurant. I don’t want to rattle him while he’s driving.” He got into the car and shut the door. “Harris has an even greater sense of place than Randal.” He leaned forward. “Mexican, Harris.”
    The red-haired driver nodded. “Right, Mr. Devlin. There’s a restaurant two blocks away that’s supposed to be pretty good.” He put the car in gear, cruising slowly down the alley toward the brightly lit street. “As good as anything can be in California. The people out here don’t know how to do much of anything.” The long limousine emerged from the alley, and Harris stopped, waiting for an opportunity to turn into traffic. “Remember thatMexican restaurant on Broadway? Way uptown?