Skin Deep by Timothy Hallinan

Author:Timothy Hallinan [Hallinan, Timothy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Murder, Mystery, detective, Los Angeles
ISBN: 9780525249788
Amazon: 0525249788
Publisher: Dutton Adult
Published: 1991-04-01T18:30:00+00:00

There isn't much of Hollywood left on Hollywood Boulevard, but Hollywood Boulevard was the only place Fan Fare could possibly have been. Fan Fare is the Smithsonian Institution of motion picture ephemera. Its proprietor, Wyl Will (born William Williams), is an aging, blue-haired gentleman who, had he had his druthers and been born a respectable middle-class lady, would have been the pride of any small-town library in America. Small towns in the fifties, however, were not a comfortable place for someone like Wyl, and he'd had the sense to head for California, where he became a librarian of a different kind. If anything's been written about Hollywood, Wyl knows where to find it.

Sunday is a big tourist day on Hollywood Boulevard. People from Ohio and Illinois rub sunburned shoulders with Japanese tourists, ogling the chewing gum that splatters the stars on the Walk of Fame and kicking the bags from McDonald's out of the way to force their big feet into Joan Crawford's tiny concrete footprints in the courtyard of what used to be Grauman's Chinese Theater.

Outside Fan Fare, a bunch of Hell's Angels from Central Casting straddled their bikes possessively and made derogatory remarks about the tourists. The dope of the day seemed to be downers mixed with French fries from Jack's Triple Burger. Jack's, long the BankAmerica of chemical ecstasy, had been taken over by Iranians. The Angels were still there, so I supposed the dope was, too.

When I opened the door to Fan Fare, an electronic doorbell played the first four bars of "Tara's Theme" from Gone With the Wind. The cotton fields that shimmered into my mind's eye were no match for the real vista of what seemed like miles of books and magazines, stacked neatly onto shelves and piled haphazardly onto tables, according to their worth. I knew Wyl made a tidy living from Fan Fare, but every time I went there I seemed to be the only customer in the world. With the exception of a pimpled youth in a long black cape who was transfixed by the section on Dracula, it was true that day as well.

"Wyl," I called out. "John Beresford Tipton has sent me to make you a millionaire."

"Again?" Wyl's voice floated from the back of the store. "I'll have to buy a king-size bed. My mattress is absolutely stuffed."

I headed for the main counter, but Wyl intercepted me. He can do that: he's the only man I ever met who can actually materialize. "Dear Simeon," he said. "How's Eleanor?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I'm having dinner with her tonight."

"But things are still . . ." He hesitated. "Fait accompli?" He gave his hand a small loose-wristed shake, a gesture that means "no way" all over the world.

"As far as she's concerned. I'm still working on it."

He patted my arm. "Faint heart ne'er won fair lady," he said.

"Yo," I said to aggravate him. "No guts, no glory. If you want it, go for it."

"You make her sound like a strike in bowling. Altogether too blue-collar.

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