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original one. And look, we’re the only people here at
lunchtime. Can you believe that?”
    “It’s a…a crying
shame when favorite old places fall on hard times,” Hester commiserated.
    “It’s been so hard
on Mr. Gerbils, I tell you,” Pim said in a whisper, nodding toward their host,
who was returning from the kitchen.
    Darrow stopped wadding
up paper balls from a drinking-straw wrapper and looked up.
    “Did you say ‘Gerbils’?”
He turned and cast a sharp look at the restaurateur, now furiously dusting a
wall of framed black-and-white photos showing what appeared to be smiling
celebrities posing as they took bites from Wiener Dog hot dogs. (Was that
really John Wayne?) Recognition dawned in Darrow’s eyes.
    “I thought he
was a lawyer!” Darrow hissed, turning back to his dining companions.
    “Oh, he is!” Pim
beamed, happy for possessing a bit of knowledge that put the detective at a
disadvantage. She paused to sip some wine.
    “And – ? Why’s
he here shoveling bratwurst?” Darrow whispered with impatience.
    “Well,
Inspector, this was the Gerbils family’s first endeavor when they came to
America – it started with a mule-drawn lunch wagon that served hot dogs to the
shipyard workers who built all them WWII Liberty ships on the banks of the
Columbia,” Pim explained smugly. “The family got out of Krautland just ahead of
Hitler’s goosesteppers.”
    “Pim!” Hester
shushed her, turning pink at her co-worker’s plain language.
     “And the son
who has the business now did become a lawyer, in the same firm as Pieter van Dyke,
as you probably know,” Pim forged on. “But he only ever did that to pay the
bills. His first love is The Wiener Dog. I seen him here every time I’ve come.”
    Darrow’s mind
reeled as they ate their lunch. Had Gerbils overheard his less-than-discreet
comments about van Dyke’s murder? He didn’t want to seem insensitive. Nor, when
it came to it, did he need his captain hearing about this from an indignant
colleague of the victim.
    His musings were
interrupted only by “yums” and “mmms” as his companions chomped their hot dogs,
punctuated by Pim’s happy squeal as she took a big bite and her bratwurst
sprayed grease across her Aloha shirt, this one decorated with ukulele-playing
surfers riding waves at Waikiki.
    “You know they’re
good when that happens,” she crowed.
    Darrow insisted
on paying, and when the restaurateur returned his credit card with the slip to
sign, he again stopped and cleared his throat. Darrow looked up.
    “Excuse me for
interrupting, but – it is Detective Darrow, isn’t it? I thought I might have
recognized you from the news reports.”
    “Oh, yes, Mr.
Gerbils, hello. I didn’t recognize you at first…”
    “Of course. It
is a very different context from my law office, but the restaurant is my first
love.” Gerbils’ eyes, seemingly too small for his head, darted nervously as he
gave a soapy grin. “I hope your lunch pleased you?”
    Darrow smiled
and nodded. The rotund man hesitated, then continued in a serious vein.
    “If you’ll
forgive me, I just want to say that I hope the police remember that Pieter van Dyke
had a long and varied law career, as did his father and grandfather, and many
men went to prison or paid other prices when they were on the losing side
against the van Dykes. People make enemies in our profession.”
    He stood
silently, clicking his ballpoint pen, then concluded.
    “If you’re
thinking of ruling out the Rajneeshees, Mr. Darrow, I hope you’ll look at
anybody who has gotten out of prison recently – anybody who might have been
there because of Pieter van Dyke or his family!”

 
    Chapter 11
     
     
    As they stopped
to drop Pim at the bookmobile barn in Northeast Portland, Darrow groaned as he
unfolded his 6-foot-2 frame from the back seat of Hester’s well-traveled
two-door Civic. He had insisted that the “birthday girl” take the roomier front
seat, regretting it the moment Pim