The waitress sported the nametag “IQ,” which she told them stood for Irene Quillen. IQ blew out a huge bubble of gum as she studied the picture of Cailan that Sarg was holding. The bubble collapsed into a concave membrane of purple goo, which matched the color of her hair. Or at least half. The other half was a natural-looking red.
“That’s her. She came here a lot with this guy during my shifts. He was kinda cute, if you like older men and geeks.” She was answering Drayco, but kept looking at Sarg and smiling. “I like older men.”
“Describe the guy.” Sarg slipped the photo into his wallet.
“Like I said, kinda cute.” She scanned Drayco’s body. “Not near as tall as you.”
Sarg tried again. “Can you give us a few more details about Cute Guy?”
“Curly hair. Soulful face. Had a little mole on
