”Not exactly,” Kit said dryly. “I’ll get with you in a minute.”
Malcolm only grinned at the threat in his voice. Sven Bailey chuckled and popped a handful of peanuts into his mouth, washing them down with a sweating beer. Ann Mulhaney and, oh God, Rachel Eisenstein, leaned expectantly on their elbows, grinning in his direction. Rachel’s eyes twinkled. Kit knew one helluva ribbing was coming, for sure-Rachel was the one person in La-La land whose wit he could never top. Granville Baxter grinned and lifted his beer in a silent salute.
Kit stepped behind the bar and borrowed the phone.
A voice at the other end said, “Time Tripper, may I help you?”
”Yeah, Orva, this is Kit. What can you tell me about the girl who’s been asking for me?”
Kit was tempted to hold the receiver away from his ear as Orva vented considerable irritation. She was just starting to say, “I have no idea why…” when the subject of their conversation stalked through the Down Time’s door and dropped her suitcase with a bang. Kit held back a groan and tried to blend in with the wall. Sven grinned like the evil gnome he was. Rachel hid her eyes and shook with silent laughter. The redheaded wonder of the hour glared at Malcolm, who shrugged and nodded toward Kit.
Thanks, buddy, Kit thought sourly. I owe you.
Malcolm was grinning expectantly.
”Uh, gotta go,” Kit muttered
The line clicked dead. The outrageous little redhead cornered Kit behind the bar. “Mr. Carson? Kit Carson?”
She was standing directly in the center of the only narrow egress from this end of the bar, arms akimbo, hands on her hips, eyes flashing with barely suppressed irritation. Kit didn’t think he’d ever seen a sight quite like her. She stood glaring up at him like an enraged scarlet parakeet.