I ran a check on Jarmon's cell phone for a list of recent calls. A contact I was thinking twice about keeping, charged me an outrageous amount; Richard Diamond never had that problem. One of the numbers that occurred most frequently was to a Karen Winsett. Ms. Winsett, I found, held a position at a business named, Bravo Consulting. Imagine that! Could this be the lithe, well toned, size six?

Rory's warning about Bravo rang in my ear. I tried Jarmon's number and was told the user was not connected at this time. The desk clerk at the hotel fluffed me off again as well. Karen Winsett, you are next it would seem.

The crush of early morning subway riders exited in huge clumps at successive stops. I hoped I wouldn't be too late to catch her in the office. The last group, all trendy clothes, haircuts and crackling technology, exited with me. By the time I reached my destination, some people were beginning their mid-morning break.

Young, leafy trees in ornamental cement planters, lined the street in front of buildings along the block. Bravo Consulting sported a black marble name plaque with silver lettering, set into the black painted door frame of a grey, cut stone building.

Neatly trimmed yews, with bright, perky geraniums at their feet, dotted a narrow planter across the front, next to a short stairway. I opened the heavy door and pushed my way into a stark, cool foyer filled with borderless, black and white photographs of recognizable, high profile movers and shakers. No doubt Bravo Consulting's impressive client list.

A young, obvious Cosmopolitan magazine devotee, glanced up from her computer screen, a designer nail fingered the hair behind one ear, and she asked how she could help. The smile was almost genuine.

"Karen Winsett, doll." I leaned on the counter and gave her my sleepy-eyed, Robert Mitchum look.

"Are you expected?"

"To do what?"

"Excuse me?"

"Am I expected to do what?" I held her puzzled features with a straight face.

The smile faded. "Does Ms. Winsett expect you?"

I just shook my head.

"If you'll give me your name and take a seat, I'll see if Ms. Winsett can see you."

A few moments later, the office door behind Ms. Cosmopolitan popped open, along with my eyes - it had to be the lithe, well toned, size six from the Avocado Grotto. Her expression said that she recognized trouble.

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Coffees arrived smoothly to the table and I nodded thanks to the pleasant waitress, pulling mine over in front of me, and pushing the bowl of creamers toward Karen, which she waved away. Getting her to join me had been easier than I expected, and I felt I should make the most of the opportunity, sharing time with a babe.

She watched me with a disgusted frown as I filled my mug with cream and stirred in a packet of sugar.

"I'm not a health food nut," I said.

"What do you want?"

"To ask you a few questions... about Jarmon Wyatt. Do you know him well?"

"Who says I know him at all?"

I gave her my James Coburn eyebrow lift. "Avocado Grotto?"

She picked up her cup and tried a sip, setting it down and pushing it away. Her mouth pinched at her flub, "Alright I know him. What do you want?"

"Are you and he having an affair?" The subtle approach. My coffee went down hot and tasty.

"Uppphh!" Her gasp drew the attention of a few other patrons, and I drank some more of my coffee, letting her recover gracefully. "As if that's any business of yours. Just who the hell are you anyway?" She was coming to a boil.

My company had certainly lost its lustre quickly, so before I lost her, I cut to the chase. "I'm making some inquiries on behalf of Mrs. Wyatt."

Her look was one of stunned, sudden comprehension.

"This conversation is over." She slid out of the booth and I grabbed her wrist before she could walk away.

"She hired me to look into it, sweetheart. I don't think Mrs. Wyatt is someone to fool with."

She yanked her arm free but stayed by the table. "Perhaps you should think about who you're fooling with before pushing this any further."

I started to smirk until I realized she wasn't referring to herself; something in her eyes reflected a mix of confidence supported by fear.

"Who am I fooling with?" I took her wrist again.

"You don't want to find out." She started to move away.

I gave her the you'd better think this over look, I had pretty much used up my repertoire. She said nothing. I tried, the poor guy just trying to do his job.

"Karen, you might want to listen to my offer, it's not as bad as it seems."

She stared down at me with hesitant, glittering eyes, and I got the impression she was mulling the information.

"So, what do you say?"

"You're the detective, figure it out." She jerked her wrist free and paused. "And the hat looks stupid." Some of the patrons laughed, as she stalked out of the restaurant.

What was wrong with my hat? I checked it out in the window; seemed okay to me. That had not gone well but I was now pretty sure that Karen was the other woman. The threat puzzled me. It was almost as if she was afraid personally. I filed that tidbit away.

Somebody had to know where Jarmon was, since he still didn't answer his phone. I decided to give old Sigourney another shot, see if she could help with my new questions. If Jarmon and his friends were regulars, she might put me on to a few more.

●○●○●○●○●

When I arrived by cab, the Grotto was gearing up for the lunch crowd. Fresh bowls of peanuts and pretzels adorned the bar, and a sheet of paper taped to the wall announced the daily special: Mount Etna Chili, with bread and celery sticks. A truly cordon bleu menu.

A few of the booths were already filled with early birds, a couple I recognized from my previous visit, and several of the bar stools held what I considered, the diet free gang, meaning lunch wasn't something they chewed.

Sigourney paused in front of the beer tap, holding a glass toward me, her expression as flat and bored as ever.

"What if I wanted a shot instead?"

"Be happy to oblige," she smirked, raising a languid fist.

I showed surrender, nodded and smiled. "Your information helped a lot, thanks. I'm glad we sort of hit it off."

"Don't flatter yourself." She slid the glass over to me, followed by a bowl of peanuts.

"At least tell me there's still a chance. Don't tease me with this on again off again stuff." The look was dismissive to say the least. I dropped a twenty on the bar, and she dragged off to make change. When she returned I smiled again, and offered her a peanut.

"May I ask you something?" The head dropped to one side and the arms crossed, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh. "You said that Jarmon Wyatt was a regular. Did he ever come in with guys? Somebody maybe you knew?"

"You some kinda cop?"

"Kinda. A private one." I shifted my shoulders in a really cool imitation of nonchalance. "Can you help me out, doll?" I slid the change from the twenty toward her.

She looked at it, at me, and sneered through half-mast eyes as she scooped up the money. "Reg Devers is the only one I know." The change vanished into her apron with a metallic chink, and she sauntered away.

"Thanks. And I still love you," I called after her. The back of her hand came up and she actually waved once. I called Wyatt's office and got nothing again; does the guy even work?