Dress Her in Indigo by John D. MacDonald

slurred Spanish. She spoke in tones of protest. He spoke again. She smiled and flushed and walked swiftly out.
    "That one." he explained, "that Rosita, she had the unhoppy love affair and now she has the long face. I told her I wanted to see if there was any feeling left in the back side. She told me I should have more respect. Then I said something it doesn't translate. But it made her face hot and it made the smile, no? Hey, anything you want, just say what it is. Okay?"
    I briefed him on the situation, and on what we were trying to do, and showed him Bix's photo.
    He caught on quickly. He understood the father's need to have all the blanks filled in.
    He looked in the phone book and gave his switchboard a number to call. In a few moments his desk phone rang. He picked it up and, after a few minutes wait, got through to somebody he called Roberto. I could make out a word here, a phrase there. He asked some questions and then thanked the man and hung up.
    "The sergeant who did the investigation has no English at all. Nada. Here is how it will go. At two o'clock today he will come over to the Marques del Valle. We close this place at noon today. I will come over in my car. You and your friend and the sergeant, we will go up into the mountains and he will show us the place and I will tell you what he says."
    "I don't want to put you to-"
    "Silencio, gringo! How do you know it doesn't give me the chance to get out of something I didn't want to do, eh?"
    "Okay. Next problem. How do I get to talk to Mrs. Eva Vitrier?"
    "That one is one rich lady. I remember it was maybe eight, nine years ago, that place was sold.
    Nearly two million pesos. And then a lot more to fix it up. All the other ricos out in the Colonia, they can't wait to find out who the owner is. They think there will be entertaining. They want to see how the house has been fixed. All of a sudden they find out the owner is there, this Frenchwoman. They go calling. She will not see them. They leave cards. Nothing. Oh, she has guests come in sometimes, very few, from far away. Sometimes she is seen in the city. She shops, and has servants with her to carry packages to the car, and a man to drive the car. People say crazy things. Maybe she is the mistress of a king. Maybe she is a political refugee. Maybe it is Page 44

    stolen money. I think it is easy, man. I think the lady wants to be left the hell alone."
    "What does she look like? Have you seen her?"
    He leaned back eyes half closed, a gentle smile on his lips. "She has no age. She could be thirty.
    She could be fifty. No difference. She looks like that queen of Egypt, you know. The one with the nose."
    "Nefertiti?"
    "That one. Very proud. Head high. Very hot eye. One day, three or four years past, I walked behind her from one jewelry store to her car. Black hair. Cool day. Had on a dark red wool dress. She walked slow, like music, man. Long narrow back, narrow little shoulders. Not much in front, but one truly fantastic ass. Firm, round, heavy but not too heavy. Wide but not too wide. It moved just right when she walked. Nothing under that dress, man. She had some great kind of perfume. It came floating back. You know; she got in that car and it drove away, and what I wanted to do, I wanted to lean against a building and pant like a dog. Hell, I tried to meet her. She was worth a good try. Twenty good tries. I never got to first base. First base! I never found the road to the ball park. I tell you, one long look at her, and that Miranda bird of Ron's looks like somebody's brother."
    "So there's no friend of hers here who could put me in direct touch?"
    "She has some friends, I think. I don't know exactly. Those friends would not be my friends.
    People I think who tuck their lives behind walls here, like she does. Because here they are left alone, and it is a freedom for them. I know that Gaona won't help you. That is one tough old man. Long ago there was an election when there were strong feelings. He wanted to be a