He shifted his nonexistent weight, cleared his throat, and tried again. “More v-voluptuous.”

“I have curves,” I said through a clenched jaw. “Have you seen my ass?”

“Heavier!” he blurted out.

“I weigh – Oh, you mean he likes bigger women.”

“E-exactly, while I on the other hand —”

Duff’s words faded into the background like elevator music. So Marv liked big women. A new plan formed in the darkest, most corrupt corners of Barbara. My brain.

Cookie, otherwise known as my receptionist during regular business hours and my best friend 24/7, was perfect. She was large and in charge. Or, well, large and kind of bossy. I picked up my cell phone and called her.

“This better be good,” she said.

“It is. I need your assistance.”

“I’m watching the first season of Prison Break.”

“Cookie, you’re my assistant. I need assistance. With a case. You know those things we take on to make money?”

“Prison. Break. It’s about these brothers who —”

“I know what Prison Break is.”

“Then have you ever actually seen these boys? If you had, you would not expect me to abandon them in their time of need. I think there’s a shower scene coming up.”

“Do these brothers sign your paycheck?”

“No, but technically neither do you.”

Damn. She was right. It was much easier to just have her forge my name.

“I need you to come flirt with my mark.”

“Oh, okay. I can do that.”

Nice. The F-word always worked with her. I filled her in and told her the deal with Tidwell, then ordered her to hurry over.

“And dress sexy,” I said right before hanging up. But I regretted the sexy part instantly. The last time I told Cookie to dress sexy for a much-needed girls’ night out on the town, she wore a lace-up corset, fishnet stockings, and a feather boa. She looked like a dominatrix. I’d never been the same.

“S-so, she’s coming?” Duff asked.

“Possibly. She’s watching hot guys on TV. It all depends if her daughter is there or not. Either way, she should be here soon.”

He nodded.

As I sat waiting for my BFF, I took note of all the women in the bar that night. Calamity’s was kind of a cop hangout. Women certainly came in, just not by the droves. But this place was packed and noisy, and at least 75 percent of the patrons were women. Which was odd.

I’d been coming to the bar for years, mostly because my dad owned it, but partly because my investigations office was on the second floor, and in all that time, I’d never seen the place so disproportioned in favor of the feminine mystique except that one time I talked Dad into bringing in a male revue. He’d agreed for two reasons. One: I’d batted my lashes. Two: He thought a male revue was a guy who came in, tried the food, then did a review in the paper. I may or may not have encouraged that line of thinking. Dad would probably have taken it better if I’d been over eighteen when I suggested it. He wanted to know how many male revues I’d been to.

“Counting this one?” was apparently not an appropriate reply.

Someone put a plate of food in front of me.

“Compliments of the chef.”

I glanced up at Teri, my dad’s best bartender. She knew I was working an infidelity case and probably guessed that I’d struck out, thus the comfort food. The heavenly aroma hit me so fast, I had to force myself not to drool.

“Thanks.” I took a slice off the plate and sank my teeth into the best chicken quesadilla I’d ever had. “Wow,” I said, sucking in cool air as I chewed, “Sammy really outdid himself.”

“What?” she said over the crowd.

I waved her on and continued to eat, letting my eyes roll back in ecstasy. I’d been enjoying Sammy’s concoctions for years, and while they were always mouthwateringly good, this was incredible. I scooped equal parts guacamole, salsa, and sour cream onto the next bite, then went in for another trip to heaven.

Duff watched me eat while standing wedged between the back of my barstool and the guy standing next to it. His left half was inside Duff’s right. The guy looked up, searched the ceiling for air vents, turned to his left, his right, then… three… two… one…

He shivered and stepped away.

Happened every time. The departed were cold and when people stood inside one, the hairs on the backs of their necks rose, goose bumps shot across their skin, and a shiver ran down their spines.

But Duff wasn’t paying attention to the guy. While he pretended to center his attention on me, he kept a weather eye on the door to the kitchen, glancing over every few seconds, chewing on a nail.

Maybe the door to the kitchen was really a portal to heaven and if he stepped through it, he would cross to the other side. No, wait.

As I sat there stuffing my face, I began to wonder about something. I’d checked out Mrs. Tidwell’s Friendbook page while researching Mr. Tidwell for more pictures. I liked to take every precaution when approaching a mark to make certain I could recognize him or her when necessary. I got the wrong guy one time. It ended badly.

I dug my phone out of my jeans again, found Mrs. Tidwell’s profile, and clicked through her photo history. Sure enough, when they got married a little over a year earlier, Mrs. Tidwell had been much heavier. She’d clearly lost a lot of weight, and she’d kept a log on her page with her progress, losing over one hundred pounds over the past year. While I cheered her dedication, I began to wonder if Mr. Tidwell would share my enthusiasm or if he’d liked his wife better before.