terrace.
At last Alvin returned, accompanied by a man Liza found vaguely familiar. “This is Josh Marsh, a driver for SB Taxi,” he announced, then asked the man, “Is your passenger from last night in here?”
Liza hadn’t remembered the driver’s face, but the nasal voice he used in his response was instantly recognizable. “Sure. It’s the lady over there.” He pointed at Liza.
“Do you recall when you picked her up?”
Marsh nodded. “I checked my logbook. It was 9:37, at a fancy place up in the mountains.”
“Was the lady alone when you picked her up?” Alvin asked.
“Nah. A girl opened the door, and a guy came out to wave good-bye while this lady got in my car.”
“Did you recognize the man?”
“Yeah, he was that hot-shi—” The driver glanced over at Liza. “That hotshot actor who used to be on the spy show. My wife is crazy about him. She was all over me this morning when I mentioned it, because I didn’t try to get his autograph.”
The only thing missing from Alvin’s self-satisfied smile was the Elmer Fudd “huh-huh-huh” laugh. “I believe this establishes that everyone in the house was alive and well when my client departed,” he said. “If you have nothing further . . . ?”
“Ms. Kelly, you can go,” Vasquez ground out through gritted teeth.
“But what about—?” Liza began.
Vasquez cut her off. “Go,” he said.
The female detective was more diplomatic. “We have your information and can get in touch with you if needed.”
“My client will make herself available,” Alvin promised.
“Right. Great.” Vasquez made shooing motions. Liza might make herself available, but he obviously wasn’t going to be sitting by the phone.
Alvin hadn’t just spent his time digging up a witness. He’d also gotten Liza a seat on a plane to Portland. “Pretty confident, weren’t you?” she said in his car around a mouthful of corn muffin.
“Reasonably assured.” The lawyer to the stars looked pained at the sight of crumbs on his upholstery, then turned apprehensive eyes to Liza. “You’ll tell Michelle I did my best for you?”
“Of course, Alvin,” she replied, a little mystified. “I promise.”
“Good, good.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed Liza her ticket. “I’m afraid you missed the direct flight. This is the next one out.”
A moment later, Liza realized she’d been the victim of a little legal maneuver. Alvin had extracted her promise before she looked at the tickets.
“Santa Barbara to Portland—by way of Phoenix, Arizona? You didn’t accidentally book me for Portland, Maine, did you?”
Unfortunately, Alvin hadn’t. So a journey that should have taken a couple of hours wound up costing Liza six hours and change—and that didn’t count the drive from Portland southwest to Maiden’s Bay.
Liza had tried to fill some of her plane time making notes on Will’s puzzle for her column. Remembering how she’d planned to do this with Derrick left her too heartsick—and tired—to go on. After barely a page of notes, she knocked off with a feeling of frustration. Some of the most basic techniques wouldn’t even work with this puzzle. Wait a minute. I’ve got the nincompoop’s version—ahem, the entry round version—too , she thought ruefully.
It had been full dark for almost an hour by the time Liza pulled up in front of her house. She’d gotten some sleep on the various planes, but came out of it disoriented, dehydrated, and just plain frazzled.
“Thank God I made it,” Liza muttered as she slipped her key into the front door lock. It was pulled out of her hand as the door suddenly swung open, revealing a large male figure silhouetted against the living-room lamplight.
Flinging her bag aside, Liza jumped back, bringing her arms up. What do to? Scream or run?
“Liza?” the figure said, stepping aside to pick up her carry-on. “Are you okay?”
Now standing in the light from the door, the menacing form
At last Alvin returned, accompanied by a man Liza found vaguely familiar. “This is Josh Marsh, a driver for SB Taxi,” he announced, then asked the man, “Is your passenger from last night in here?”
Liza hadn’t remembered the driver’s face, but the nasal voice he used in his response was instantly recognizable. “Sure. It’s the lady over there.” He pointed at Liza.
“Do you recall when you picked her up?”
Marsh nodded. “I checked my logbook. It was 9:37, at a fancy place up in the mountains.”
“Was the lady alone when you picked her up?” Alvin asked.
“Nah. A girl opened the door, and a guy came out to wave good-bye while this lady got in my car.”
“Did you recognize the man?”
“Yeah, he was that hot-shi—” The driver glanced over at Liza. “That hotshot actor who used to be on the spy show. My wife is crazy about him. She was all over me this morning when I mentioned it, because I didn’t try to get his autograph.”
The only thing missing from Alvin’s self-satisfied smile was the Elmer Fudd “huh-huh-huh” laugh. “I believe this establishes that everyone in the house was alive and well when my client departed,” he said. “If you have nothing further . . . ?”
“Ms. Kelly, you can go,” Vasquez ground out through gritted teeth.
“But what about—?” Liza began.
Vasquez cut her off. “Go,” he said.
The female detective was more diplomatic. “We have your information and can get in touch with you if needed.”
“My client will make herself available,” Alvin promised.
“Right. Great.” Vasquez made shooing motions. Liza might make herself available, but he obviously wasn’t going to be sitting by the phone.
Alvin hadn’t just spent his time digging up a witness. He’d also gotten Liza a seat on a plane to Portland. “Pretty confident, weren’t you?” she said in his car around a mouthful of corn muffin.
“Reasonably assured.” The lawyer to the stars looked pained at the sight of crumbs on his upholstery, then turned apprehensive eyes to Liza. “You’ll tell Michelle I did my best for you?”
“Of course, Alvin,” she replied, a little mystified. “I promise.”
“Good, good.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and handed Liza her ticket. “I’m afraid you missed the direct flight. This is the next one out.”
A moment later, Liza realized she’d been the victim of a little legal maneuver. Alvin had extracted her promise before she looked at the tickets.
“Santa Barbara to Portland—by way of Phoenix, Arizona? You didn’t accidentally book me for Portland, Maine, did you?”
Unfortunately, Alvin hadn’t. So a journey that should have taken a couple of hours wound up costing Liza six hours and change—and that didn’t count the drive from Portland southwest to Maiden’s Bay.
Liza had tried to fill some of her plane time making notes on Will’s puzzle for her column. Remembering how she’d planned to do this with Derrick left her too heartsick—and tired—to go on. After barely a page of notes, she knocked off with a feeling of frustration. Some of the most basic techniques wouldn’t even work with this puzzle. Wait a minute. I’ve got the nincompoop’s version—ahem, the entry round version—too , she thought ruefully.
It had been full dark for almost an hour by the time Liza pulled up in front of her house. She’d gotten some sleep on the various planes, but came out of it disoriented, dehydrated, and just plain frazzled.
“Thank God I made it,” Liza muttered as she slipped her key into the front door lock. It was pulled out of her hand as the door suddenly swung open, revealing a large male figure silhouetted against the living-room lamplight.
Flinging her bag aside, Liza jumped back, bringing her arms up. What do to? Scream or run?
“Liza?” the figure said, stepping aside to pick up her carry-on. “Are you okay?”
Now standing in the light from the door, the menacing form
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