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‘you can go but the girl stays here.’ He went to poke Conner in the chest and before you could blink Conner had him pinned against the doorframe, his wrist bent behind his back. This guy’s friend, the big guy, jumps in and hits Conner in the side of the face. Conner doesn’t flinch. He twisted the wrist in his one hand, smashed the guy’s face into the doorframe, elbowed the bigger guy in the nose, and then kicked out his knee. Then he grabbed my hand and walked through the door as if nothing happened.”
    Dan smiled again and reached into his pocket. “I’m going to be poking around on a few things. Here’s my card. If you think of anything that may be helpful, let me know. If the police come to see you, I would be interested in what they ask. But that’s up to you if you want to share or not.”
    â€œSure, Ok.”
    â€œThere is a service the day after tomorrow. St. Michaels. Ten o’clock. Burial at King David. Bring some tissues for me.”

Chapter 7
    â€”

    Dan pushed the door open to the art gallery and jostled for position around four men in overalls. He dodged left as a massive slab of rock swung from an arrangement of pulleys, ropes and dollies. Neither the rock nor the men at work made any concessions for Dan interrupting the installation of what could best be described as a missing piece of Stonehenge.
    The art gallery took up residence on the first floor of the only building on the small block, directly beneath Dan’s sprawling, barren office. By default, the resident artist of the gallery downstairs was the only neighbor Dan had.
    Dan peeked around the construction in progress and called out his neighbor’s name. Lucia yelled from the back of the gallery and appeared a moment later, moving across the floor with a combination of grace and natural buoyancy. Mid-thirties, with a voluptuous body usually draped in a paint-covered smock, Lucia was the ideal neighbor. Cheerful and sweet. Helpful, without being nosy. She greeted Dan with a hug and a kiss on each cheek, her brown hair leaving a subtle trace of deliciousness on his shoulder as the embrace ended.
    â€œHow are you holding up?”
    â€œAs good as can be expected. Thanks for the flowers. Thanks for the food, too.”
    â€œI am sorry I missed the service. I was in San Francisco.”
    â€œI know. It’s fine. The food was more than an adequate gesture.”
    â€œI didn’t make it, but I knew where to deliver it. My family is still trying to come to grips with the reality that I don’t cook. I guess when I’m fifty, single, and living an artist’s lifestyle, maybe they’ll take me seriously.”
    Dan changed the subject, nodding in the direction of the swinging slab of rock. “What are they making?”
    â€œA desk. Italian marble.”
    â€œGood thing there isn’t a basement, the desk might go through the floor.”
    â€œI was looking for something substantial. To make a statement.”
    â€œBusiness must be good.”
    â€œI can’t complain. You want to see the latest and greatest?”
    â€œSure,” Dan replied as Levi, an aging chocolate lab with thinning fur on his hindquarters, appeared from the back of the gallery. What his hips lacked in movement, his tail made up for with high-speed reckless abandon.
    â€œThere’s my boy,” Dan said, dropping to one knee so the dog could lick his face.
    Behind the re-pointed brick wall of the main gallery, Dan took a tour of the artwork-in-progress in the studio. He stood under the lights and admired the oil on canvass, formulating his best guess as to the subject matter. “Two men climbing a mountain,” Dan surmised.
    â€œNo,” replied Lucia. “It’s a woman on a beach.”
    â€œSo there is, at least, a mountain or two.”
    Lucia shook her head.
    Dan moved to the next work of art, a black and white rendering of what Dan could only guess to be