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Authors: Cassie Page
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him in running shorts, singlet and race bib, holding a gold medal. She read the news clippings, astonished to learn that Detective Butel had come in third in his age group in the LA Marathon the year before, and first place three years earlier. No mention if he got a handicap for his girth. Tuesday sat down.
Well, she scolded herself, so much for profiling people. Imagine the shock a burglar received when he took off with the family silver thinking he could outrun the fat bozo coming after him steering that stomach around the corner. Go Butel.
Tuesday looked down the line of seats to get a sense of her neighbors and saw Justin Timberlake walk through the door. He was deep in conversation with one of the officers she remembered passing on the way in. She squinted to get a better look. Well, if Justin Timberlake wore motorcycle leathers, that is, and hooked his sun glasses in the corner of his mouth. No, not Justin Timberlake exactly. More like Steve McQueen after he married the Love Story actress. Nope, not him either. A young Vin Diesel with a sense of humor. That’s it. That’s who he looked like. She cataloged the goods he had that she liked.
S mooth, shaved head? Sleek as a billiard ball. Check
Discreet boy bling? A small diamond stud in one ear. Check
Bit of an edge? Motorcycle leathers. Che ck
Looked good coming and going? She couldn’t see his rear but from the front, fig ured it was a no brainer. Check But what sealed the deal? Sense of humor. He radiated laughter. Check, check and check!
Whoever this guy was, crook or cop, Tuesday vowed to meet him.
But then Detective Jameson came through a set of double doors and strode over to Tuesday, blocking her view of Mr. Gorgeous. Jameson had removed her padded suit jacket and displayed her weapon and handcuffs at her waist. She had a lush, feminine figure in contrast to her dominating husky voice. “Miss Tuesday, sorry to keep you waiting. Come with me.”
Tuesday stood up to follow her, annoyance propelling her out of her seat. She turned her head and got another look at the guy. He was coming towards her now. In answer to her prayers, he stopped in front of her, seeming for all the world like he was going to chat her up. Tuesday was primed to give him any opening he needed, but Detective Jameson said, “We have to make this quick. This way. Now, please.”
Tuesday snapped, apropos of nothing, “Why did you make me come all the way over to this precinct? Do you know how long it took me to get here?”
She noticed Mr. G. shooting a grin in her direction.
Jameson snapped back, “If you don’t like traffic, don’t live in LA.”
Tuesday looked Jameson in the eye and said, “That was helpful.”
The guy walked past them and disappeared down a corridor.
Heartbreak at 10 o’clock. S he didn’t even know his name.
Chapter Nine: Did The Earth Move For You, Too?
Tuesday turned this way and that in the middle of her living room until a compass she once picked up at a garage sale for a dime told her she faced true north, the ideal orientation to query her pendulum. The location put her smack dab in front of her little used stationary bike, which she continued to ignore. She could not go another minute without finding out if she would ever see MG from the police station again. Mr. Gorgeous.
After a forty-five second meditation to center herself, she stood very still and gripped the pendulum between her thumb and forefinger. She’d found the cloisonné ornament caught on a storm drain in Burbank the previous winter. Something told her it possessed divining powers, so she wrestled it out of the grid and gave it a home. Now it swung freely from an imitation gold chain missing a clasp, but that didn’t matter. For a quick yes or no answer to the thorny problems of every day life, it couldn’t be beat.
Olivia had referred to the pendulum as a meatball because of its size and a patch of rust near the top. That hurt Tuesday’s feelings and she’d hidden it in
Well, she scolded herself, so much for profiling people. Imagine the shock a burglar received when he took off with the family silver thinking he could outrun the fat bozo coming after him steering that stomach around the corner. Go Butel.
Tuesday looked down the line of seats to get a sense of her neighbors and saw Justin Timberlake walk through the door. He was deep in conversation with one of the officers she remembered passing on the way in. She squinted to get a better look. Well, if Justin Timberlake wore motorcycle leathers, that is, and hooked his sun glasses in the corner of his mouth. No, not Justin Timberlake exactly. More like Steve McQueen after he married the Love Story actress. Nope, not him either. A young Vin Diesel with a sense of humor. That’s it. That’s who he looked like. She cataloged the goods he had that she liked.
S mooth, shaved head? Sleek as a billiard ball. Check
Discreet boy bling? A small diamond stud in one ear. Check
Bit of an edge? Motorcycle leathers. Che ck
Looked good coming and going? She couldn’t see his rear but from the front, fig ured it was a no brainer. Check But what sealed the deal? Sense of humor. He radiated laughter. Check, check and check!
Whoever this guy was, crook or cop, Tuesday vowed to meet him.
But then Detective Jameson came through a set of double doors and strode over to Tuesday, blocking her view of Mr. Gorgeous. Jameson had removed her padded suit jacket and displayed her weapon and handcuffs at her waist. She had a lush, feminine figure in contrast to her dominating husky voice. “Miss Tuesday, sorry to keep you waiting. Come with me.”
Tuesday stood up to follow her, annoyance propelling her out of her seat. She turned her head and got another look at the guy. He was coming towards her now. In answer to her prayers, he stopped in front of her, seeming for all the world like he was going to chat her up. Tuesday was primed to give him any opening he needed, but Detective Jameson said, “We have to make this quick. This way. Now, please.”
Tuesday snapped, apropos of nothing, “Why did you make me come all the way over to this precinct? Do you know how long it took me to get here?”
She noticed Mr. G. shooting a grin in her direction.
Jameson snapped back, “If you don’t like traffic, don’t live in LA.”
Tuesday looked Jameson in the eye and said, “That was helpful.”
The guy walked past them and disappeared down a corridor.
Heartbreak at 10 o’clock. S he didn’t even know his name.
Chapter Nine: Did The Earth Move For You, Too?
Tuesday turned this way and that in the middle of her living room until a compass she once picked up at a garage sale for a dime told her she faced true north, the ideal orientation to query her pendulum. The location put her smack dab in front of her little used stationary bike, which she continued to ignore. She could not go another minute without finding out if she would ever see MG from the police station again. Mr. Gorgeous.
After a forty-five second meditation to center herself, she stood very still and gripped the pendulum between her thumb and forefinger. She’d found the cloisonné ornament caught on a storm drain in Burbank the previous winter. Something told her it possessed divining powers, so she wrestled it out of the grid and gave it a home. Now it swung freely from an imitation gold chain missing a clasp, but that didn’t matter. For a quick yes or no answer to the thorny problems of every day life, it couldn’t be beat.
Olivia had referred to the pendulum as a meatball because of its size and a patch of rust near the top. That hurt Tuesday’s feelings and she’d hidden it in
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