“First fruits of the peace conference, plucked by Whisper Thaler,” I told her. “Where’s the gin?”

“Reno talking, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. He thought I’d like to hear about Poisonville being all out of police chiefs.”

“You mean⁠—?”

“Noonan went down tonight, according to Reno. Haven’t you got any gin? Or do you like making me ask for it?”

“You know where it is. Been up to some of your cute tricks?”

I went back into the kitchen, opened the top of the refrigerator, and attacked the ice with an ice pick that had a six-inch awl-sharp blade set in a round blue and white handle. The girl stood in the doorway and asked questions. I didn’t answer them while I put ice, gin, lemon juice and seltzer together in two glasses.