Chapter 7
IT WAS ONE of those vast and pretentious apartment hotels which lie adjacent to Wilshire Boulevard’s Miracle Mile. Cooperatively owned, it had been built for people with money and looked it. He went into the chaste lobby and asked for the number of the Mercedes apartment.
The lady who opened the door had green eyes, like a cat’s, and a casque of blue-black hair and a lot of other things McCloud could have admired if he’d had time to go into them. She was in a green-and-silver evening gown and her skin was like Guernsey cream, rich, warm-looking. She just stood there a moment, as though surprised that he wasn’t someone else.
McCloud took off his hat. “Pardon me, I’m looking for a K. Mercedes— Mrs. Felipe Mercedes.”
“Yes?” Her voice was full, deep-throated, assured. She had lov
