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The next morning, Mason asked the concierge if he knew a place called Eddie’s. The man stopped smiling and looked surprised.

“Eddie’s is a very low-end place. I’m surprised you’ve even heard of it. Our clients rarely frequent that kind of establishment. It’s really just for locals, to be honest.”

“It’s a bar?”

“Yes, but it’s what you might call a dive. They’ve been pulled up many times for illegal gambling, there are frequently fights, that kind of thing.”

“Illegal gambling? In a casino town?”

“Oh yes.” The guy was clearly shocked they weren’t on top of this. “You need to have a license, of course. The gambling commission takes these things very seriously.” He handed them their bill. “There are very fine casinos in town, if gambling is what you’re in the mood for.”

“Actually”—Mason grinned at him—“Eddie’s sounds right up my alley, thanks.”

But when they arrived at Eddie’s, even Mason wasn’t sure they were at the right place. It looked as if it had been condemned many years before, and completely ignored since then. Graffiti covered the outside, the roof was patched and listing slightly, and the doors were heavily chained and padlocked.

They climbed out of the car and went closer.

“Excellent curb appeal,” Julia said dryly. “It just screams hospitality, doesn’t it?”

Mason held up a finger. “I can hear music.”

Julia frowned, and they both stepped up to the doors. Yes, definitely music, and a low buzz of voices. Then, as they stood there, a couple of elderly lovers appeared around the corner of the building and wove off down the street. Mason and Julia walked around the building, following the music and now unmistakable smell of pot smoke and spilled alcohol.

They found the back door, which was slightly ajar. Mason paused and put her hand on Julia’s arm.

“Wait, is this going to bother you, going into a bar?”

Julia shook her head. “At ten a.m.? No, I was never a morning drinker. I always woke up determined never to drink again. It wore off every single day around two p.m., but still.” She paused. “Thanks, though. What about you?”

“I don’t love a bar, but I’m not going in alone,” replied Mason, pulling open the door. “Hopefully, we’ll keep each other sober long enough to ask some questions.”

Eddie’s was actually exactly the kind of place Mason used to like to drink in. It was dim, which was in its favor, because it was also a complete mess. Mismatched tables and chairs, a floor that probably hadn’t seen a mop since the seventies, and the kind of atmosphere that hit the sweet spot between frat house and the Star Wars cantina. It was completely full, which was impressive given the earliness of the hour. Looking around, Mason realized she was the youngest patron there. By about forty years.

Everyone turned around as they opened the door, and conversation stopped completely.

“This is a private party,” yelled the barman. “Come back later.”

Mason stood her ground. “We’re looking for anyone who knew Jack Simon. He used to come here a lot.”

The barman laughed. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.” He put two more glasses on the bar and waved them over. “This is his wake.”

It turned out Jack Simon was anything but lonely. Over the course of the next two hours, Julia and Mason met three women who claimed to have been his girlfriend, two guys who said they’d been his boyfriend, and about half a dozen people who said they would have given him a kidney. Considering their age, that was a pledge that actually meant something.

“The thing about Jack was his kindness,” one of the women said. “He was a very gentle soul who also loved to party hard and sleep around. But never in a mean way; in more of a hippie way, right? He was a child of the seventies, as many of us are in here, and he never sold out.” She wiped her eyes. “He was a flower child with a MedicAlert bracelet, and I loved him dearly.”

Another friend was more reserved. “Look, Jack had a temper, and sometimes he could be an asshole, but hey. Mostly he liked to chase fresh flesh and drink a lot and talk about the old days in the acting game. He made quite a few movies, you know.” He learned forward. “He knew Julia Mann, did you know that?” Mason and Julia feigned surprise. “Yeah, and I mean knew in the biblical sense…” The old man chuckled. “Oh man, in her day she was quite the looker. She’s probably dead now.”

“At least partially,” murmured Mason.

The man continued. “He was never married, but I think he had one long-term side piece. He occasionally got drunk and mentioned his ‘main boo’…but generally he never liked anyone more than six months.” He took a long drink of his beer. “He loved his dog, he loved movies, that was about it.”

“This main boo…someone here?” Julia was interested.

“Nah,” said the guy, “I think someone from the city. He never brought them here.”

“Was he angry at anyone? What made him commit suicide? Was he depressed?” Julia asked.

The man shook his head and echoed what several other people had said. “There is no way Jack Simon killed himself. That man was happy to his core, you know what I mean? He lived within his means, he had a nice place, he had good friends and tail for days.”

“Then you think someone killed him?” Mason asked.

The old man shrugged and called for another round. “Must have. Why, I couldn’t tell you. He didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

“Well, apparently at least one,” said Mason, and the old man nodded sadly.

The crowd started thinning out eventually, and Mason and Julia got in the car for the drive back to Los Angeles. It was another crystal clear sunny day in Southern California, but Mason wasn’t paying attention to the weather. She couldn’t shake the feeling she was missing something and said as much to Julia.

Julia just leaned back in her seat and let the wind blow her hair through the open window. Suddenly, she sat up in her seat and pointed. “Holy fuck, check it out.”

They were passing the golf club where Jack Simon had lived, and as Mason turned to see what Julia was pointing at, she saw Lorre the dog streaking along beside the street, a man in city uniform chasing after him with a loop on a long pole.

“Wow, that dog can really go,” Julia commented. “There is no way in hell that guy is going to catch him.”

Mason jammed on the brakes as Lorre suddenly swerved in front of them, and Julia threw open her door and called the dog, who, hearing the beloved voice of the Lady with Food of the previous night, spun on a single rear leg and rocketed back toward the car. Mason looked in the mirror.

“He’s catching up. Hurry.” The guy with the pole looked pretty pissed off and started yelling. Mason took her foot off the brake. “Julia, seriously, he’s really close.”

The dog leapt a good six feet into Julia’s lap and she yanked the door closed. “Floor it,” she said, hugging Lorre. “Go, Mason. Burn rubber.”

As the dogcatcher faded behind them, waving his pole in rage, Mason looked over at Julia and the World’s Ugliest and now Luckiest Dog. “You two are nuts,” she said.

Julia snuggled the dog. “We’re in love. We can’t help it.” She smiled at Mason. “Thanks, though, for supporting my sudden impulse to steal a dog. I knew you were a softy, under all that hard-ass.” Lorre licked her chin, devoted for life.

Mason said nothing, but as they passed the windmills again on their way north, noticed what a beautiful day it was.