TRANSVESTIA

"She stopped right here," said Poole, pointing at Lincoln's car. "And she still had her stage make-up on."

"Stage make-up?" asked Lincoln doubtfully.

"Sure," the gatekeeper smile, spreading his hands wide. "I went right over to her, and she asked me if it was all right to go out. Yessir, I looked right into that car. She was just wearing a little thing like a slip. Boy, you should see those legs, and her shoulders ain't bad, either." He laughed at his own witticism.

"She was wearing a little mini-dress?" Lincoln asked again with. doubt in his voice. "But how about her hair?"

"All over the place. She's got a real mane," the old, black man laughed coarsely. "Just the kind I likes."

"We all do," said Lincoln with a smile.

"Yeah, I remember the lady," said the motel owner. "Couldn't really forget her. Looked just like Angie Saunders, you know? Something wrong with her?"

Lincoln shook his head. "Not her, the car," he said. "The red Cor- vette. Her husband is being held on a hit-and-run charge up in 'Frisco. Supposed to have been that car. My boss wants him out as soon as we can. So, I got to get to her."

"Well," the motel owner shrugged. "She signed in as Rodriguez, see?" He turned the register to Lincoln. "She was pretty upset, you know."

"What?" asked Lincoln quickly.

"She'd been crying. Her eyes were puffy and red, you know. Still, she looked gorgeous."

"

"What was she wearing?" asked the detecitve.

"Oh boy!" the motel owner slapped the desk and grinned. "She had

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