Chapter Thirty-SevenCLARA’S HOUSE, BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA,
October 31, 1930
“You need to get rid of her, Clara. She’s stealing your money.”
It was Rex.
I sat straight up, still groggy, and thought I was hearing things for a minute. The light had disappeared from the windows, so I knew it was evening. The slap of the cards was aggressive. Clara was dealing.
“Daisy? Don’t be silly,” she said.
My ears perked up when I heard my name. They didn’t see the car outside. They think I’m out.
“I’m telling you the truth.”
Clara sighed. “Look, Rex. She’s my friend. I’m tired of you two snipin’. If ya wanna fire her, you’ll hafta do it yourself, ’cause I ain’t gonna. Daisy ’n’ me have been through a lot.” Her voice was already slurred. I looked at my watch. It was barely six.
“You bet I will
