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“How do you tell the difference?”
“You can’t. That’s part of what makes it fun. You seem a little crazy yourself; don’t be afraid to use that number for personal reasons, if the desire strikes you.”
“It won’t. Thanks, Harry.”
“You’re welcome.”
“One more thing, do you remember what she was wearing?”
“Phoebe?”
“Yeah.”
Harry seemed to think about it for a second before he said, “Red lingerie.”
“How about before that?”
“Honestly, I don’t remember. Phoebe in red lingerie is memorable. What she took off to get to that point? Not so much.”
“How about what she put on afterward?”
“She wasn’t wearing anything when I left.”
Margot nodded. Even if he could testify she was wearing something different than the black cocktail dress covered in her husband's blood, he probably wouldn’t. Plus, there had been plenty of time for her to change and then change back if the timeline he gave was correct.
Margot kept the gun in her hand as she put two twenties on the bar. “Get my friends a drink.”
“You don’t have to do that, Margot,” Harry said.
“It’ll give you something to do because if I see you walking out before I leave the parking lot, someone is getting shot.”
“You know, I’m really starting to like you.”
Margot ignored him and walked to the front desk.
“You owe me twenty dollars, Theo.”
“It’s Theodore.”
“My twenty dollars or I break your thumb.”
Theodore reached in his pocket and came up with the twenty she had given him earlier.
Margot took it and asked, “How about you? Do you remember what Phoebe was wearing?”
Theo shrugged. “I don’t know, a short dress of some sort. That’s what she usually wore.”
“Color?”
“I don’t know, black?”
“I wasn’t there, Theo. Was it black or not?”
“I don’t know, it was usually black, but it might not have been.”
“Thanks for nothing, Theo.”
“It’s Theodore.”
