Chapters (46)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Also by Linwood Barcalay
- Copyright Page
“She knows how to take care of herself. If she thinks there’s a real problem, she’ll tell you.”
“Maybe,” I said, not with much conviction.
“Listen, she’ll be okay. How’s Paul? Still gardening?”
“Not quite as much as before we moved. He still gets his hands dirty now and then, but he spends a lot of time in front of the computer now. And he’s working on getting his driver’s license.”
“Next time you’re out this way, let me know. We’ll get caught up.”
“I’m actually headed out that way today, around lunch, with my detective friend, to go to a government auction.”
“Lunch today won’t work. My first client’s coming around then. Which reminds me, I’ve got to iron my Girl Scout troop leader outfit, and dig out my matching stilettos.”
“Girl Scout leaders wear stilettos?”
“This one’s going to be. Oh shit, that reminds me, I hope I still have some of their cookies around. I put a box in the freezer… .” She was on the cordless and I could hear her walking around the house. “Here we go, yeah, I’ve got them. Gotta give them time to defrost.”
“Your client likes to eat Girl Scout cookies?”
“Well, let’s just say they help complete the scene for him.”
“I should let you go,” I said. “Thanks for listening.”
I puttered around the house for the next three hours, until I heard a car pull into the driveway. I stepped out onto the front porch and saw a blue four-door Jaguar sedan. Lawrence was easing himself out the front door.
“The Buick’s in the shop, getting a new rear window,” he explained. I locked up the house, got into the Jag, buckled up, and ran my hand over the leather upholstery, the walnut inlays in the dash.
“Nice,” I said.
“Used to belong to a Jamaican guy ran the drug trade in the north end. Agents busted him, seized pretty much everything he owned, and I got it when they auctioned it off. You looking for a Jag?”
“I don’t know that I’m looking for anything, but if I were it wouldn’t be a Jag. Head office says we can’t afford one at the moment.”
“Head office?”
“Sarah.”
“Okay.”
“I didn’t even bring my checkbook, in case I get tempted.”
“Yeah, well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’ve got mine, you could pay me back after.”
“I don’t know. Sarah was sort of weakening toward the end there, talking about a convertible, but I think she was briefly delusional. She really doesn’t want me to spend the money.”
“This is one of those times when it pays to be gay. I don’t get pussy-whipped,” Lawrence said.
“No significant other?” I asked.