Wondering what the man was doing here, why he was wearing that wide-brimmed, old-fashioned hat, the bum took another sip of liquor and set the bottle down. It made a clink.

The man whirled around quickly.

“Got a quarter?” the bum asked.

“You scared me. I didn't know anybody was there.”

“Got a quarter?”

The man fished in his pocket. “Sure. Are you going to spend it on booze?”

“Probably,” the bum said. Sometimes he'd hustle the crowds at the commuter stations by saying, “Help the blind, help the blind... I want to get blind drunk.” And people gave him more money because he'd made them laugh.

“Well, I appreciate honesty. Here you go.” The man reached down with a coin.

As the bum began to take it he felt his wrist gripped hard by the man's left hand.

“Wait!”

But the man didn't wait. Then there was a slight stinging feeling on the bum's neck. Then another, on the other side. The man let go of his wrists and the bum touched his throat, feeling two flaps of skin dangling loose. Then saw the razor knife in the man's hand, the bloody blade retracting.

The bum tried to shout for help. But the blood was gushing fast from the two wounds and his vision was going black. He tried to stand but fell hard to the cobblestones. The last thing he saw was the man reaching into his Lord & Taylor shopping bag, pulling out a red wind-breaker and pulling it on. Then stepping out of the alley quickly as if he were, in fact, late for his commuter train home.

Death of a Blue Movie Star

CHAPTER THREE

The next morning Rune was lying in bed — well, a bunk — listening to the sounds of the river. There was a knock on her front door.

She pulled on her jeans and a red silk kimono, then walked to the front of the boat. She opened the door and found she was looking at Shelly Lowe's back. The actress was examining the water lapping under her feet as she stood on a small gangway painted egg-yolk yellow. She turned and shook her head. Rune nodded at the familiar reaction.

“It's a houseboat. You live on a houseboat.”

Rune said, “I used to make wisecracks about having water in the basement. But the material's limited. There aren't a lot of houseboat jokes.”

“You don't get seasick?”

“The Hudson River isn't exactly Cape Horn.” Rune stepped back to let Shelly into the narrow entryway. In the distance, along the roof of the pier to the north, a flash of color. Red. It reminded her of something disturbing. She couldn't remember what.

She followed Shelly into the boat.

“Give me a tour.”

The style: nautical suburban ranch, mid-fifties. Downstairs were the living room, kitchen and bath. Up a narrow staircase were two small rooms: the pilot house and bedroom. Outside, a railing and deck circled the living quarters.