and cutoff denim shorts and sandals and was lounging in Harve’s dining room chair, drinking an iced version of Dottie’s famous, magnificent toddy. She’d concocted it for Harve when his muscles tightened up, and it took away my headaches and relaxed me more than anything else I’d ever tried. My mood picked up the minute Harve rolled into the room in his motorized wheelchair and gave me a big smile.
At fifty-one, he was as strong as a bull in the upper torso from fanatically lifting weights and hoisting himself in and out of his wheelchair. Although he’d had no use of his body from the waist down for years now, I’d never heard him utter one complaint. He was handsome, rugged looking. His eyes and hair were the same color, iron gray. Always positive, he actually kept my spirits up. He was my best friend in the world. “Havin’ one of those fun days, are you?” Harve rolled into place at the head of the table.
“You got that right.” I set the silverware around the table, and that made me think of Sylvie, too, so I picked up the salad tongs and tossed Dottie’s secret recipe, her homemade Parmesan dressing, into fresh salad greens. She made the best salad dressing this side of New York City, and I popped a cucumber slice in my mouth. My stomach fussed at me for not eating all day. Sometimes my stomach hated my guts.
Harve said, “I heard you pull out a little before dawn. That’s never a good sign.”
Harve got up early, sometimes by four o’clock. He liked the quiet morning hours to work on his Internet business. He constructed Web sites and was damn good at it. In fact, he was a computer genius.
“How’d you find out about the murder?”
“Dottie heard it from Suze, and it was on the police band this morning.” That Jacqee. She’s, like, a big mouth, you know?
“It’s real ugly, and Nicholas Black’s shaping up as the primary suspect.”
Harve whistled softly, but his eyes lit up with the old fire. Nobody loved a murder investigation more than Harve, and he was pretty good at solving them, too. He’d been my mentor at the LAPD.
I confided in him without worry. He was the one friend I kept no secrets from.
“Who got killed?”
“Ever heard of Sylvie Border, the soap opera star?”
“Oh, my God,” Dottie cried from the kitchen. She held a piping hot nine-by-twelve pan of lasagna. She wore yellow oven mitts with red smiley faces on them. Her T-shirt matched the mitts. That pretty much summed up Dot. “That’s Amelia on A Place in Time ! How could anyone kill her? She’s one of the good ones.”
Harve made a sheepish shrug. “Dottie and I watch that show. It comes on when we’re havin’ lunch out on the porch.”
“You and everyone else, it seems. This perp’s a psychopath, Harve. We’ve gotta catch him quick.” I told them the bare facts, and Dottie sank into a chair, still holding the lasagna. Her blue eyes were wide and shocked.
“Oh, my God.” She breathed heavily, looking a little sick.
I said, “Sorry. I should’ve waited until after we ate.”
Harve said, “No, that’s okay. Do you really believe Black’s that much of a sicko? He doesn’t seem the type.”
I shrugged. “We’ll see. Supposedly, he was in flight to New York when the murder went down. I get a stab at him first thing tomorrow morning. How about doing a quick rundown on Black for me?”
In addition to Web site building, Harve used his computer savvy to track down people on the lam for individuals and law enforcement agencies. He prepared dossiers on anyone who was anyone and made twice as much money at it than he had as an LAPD detective lieutenant.
“I’ve already got a good-size file I put together on Black when he stirred up that big stink buying up the land around Cedar Bend Point. I’ll pull it up after dinner. Tell you one thing, though, he’s got a hell of a lot of interests other than psychiatry. He’s big in real estate. He likes hotels, buys up resorts, and makes them
At fifty-one, he was as strong as a bull in the upper torso from fanatically lifting weights and hoisting himself in and out of his wheelchair. Although he’d had no use of his body from the waist down for years now, I’d never heard him utter one complaint. He was handsome, rugged looking. His eyes and hair were the same color, iron gray. Always positive, he actually kept my spirits up. He was my best friend in the world. “Havin’ one of those fun days, are you?” Harve rolled into place at the head of the table.
“You got that right.” I set the silverware around the table, and that made me think of Sylvie, too, so I picked up the salad tongs and tossed Dottie’s secret recipe, her homemade Parmesan dressing, into fresh salad greens. She made the best salad dressing this side of New York City, and I popped a cucumber slice in my mouth. My stomach fussed at me for not eating all day. Sometimes my stomach hated my guts.
Harve said, “I heard you pull out a little before dawn. That’s never a good sign.”
Harve got up early, sometimes by four o’clock. He liked the quiet morning hours to work on his Internet business. He constructed Web sites and was damn good at it. In fact, he was a computer genius.
“How’d you find out about the murder?”
“Dottie heard it from Suze, and it was on the police band this morning.” That Jacqee. She’s, like, a big mouth, you know?
“It’s real ugly, and Nicholas Black’s shaping up as the primary suspect.”
Harve whistled softly, but his eyes lit up with the old fire. Nobody loved a murder investigation more than Harve, and he was pretty good at solving them, too. He’d been my mentor at the LAPD.
I confided in him without worry. He was the one friend I kept no secrets from.
“Who got killed?”
“Ever heard of Sylvie Border, the soap opera star?”
“Oh, my God,” Dottie cried from the kitchen. She held a piping hot nine-by-twelve pan of lasagna. She wore yellow oven mitts with red smiley faces on them. Her T-shirt matched the mitts. That pretty much summed up Dot. “That’s Amelia on A Place in Time ! How could anyone kill her? She’s one of the good ones.”
Harve made a sheepish shrug. “Dottie and I watch that show. It comes on when we’re havin’ lunch out on the porch.”
“You and everyone else, it seems. This perp’s a psychopath, Harve. We’ve gotta catch him quick.” I told them the bare facts, and Dottie sank into a chair, still holding the lasagna. Her blue eyes were wide and shocked.
“Oh, my God.” She breathed heavily, looking a little sick.
I said, “Sorry. I should’ve waited until after we ate.”
Harve said, “No, that’s okay. Do you really believe Black’s that much of a sicko? He doesn’t seem the type.”
I shrugged. “We’ll see. Supposedly, he was in flight to New York when the murder went down. I get a stab at him first thing tomorrow morning. How about doing a quick rundown on Black for me?”
In addition to Web site building, Harve used his computer savvy to track down people on the lam for individuals and law enforcement agencies. He prepared dossiers on anyone who was anyone and made twice as much money at it than he had as an LAPD detective lieutenant.
“I’ve already got a good-size file I put together on Black when he stirred up that big stink buying up the land around Cedar Bend Point. I’ll pull it up after dinner. Tell you one thing, though, he’s got a hell of a lot of interests other than psychiatry. He’s big in real estate. He likes hotels, buys up resorts, and makes them
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