Read Online Edited to Death by Linda Lee Peterson - Free Book Online Page A

anywhere. I can’t—couldn’t—keep up with his ever-so-clever
     friends. I’d wear something wrong, a Hawaiian shirt or something.” He stopped suddenly.
     “Listen to me, I sound like a whiny mistress. Besides, it’s all past tense now, anyway.”
     I considered Stuart. His face, which usually seemed boyish and even younger than his
     thirty-something years, looked tired and drawn.
    “So you two had a fight and you stomped out and went where?”
    Stuart shrugged. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Are you Inspector Moon’s
     little helper?”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I just feel awful, and responsible, and impatient.”
    “Impatient?”
    “Oh, you know. The sooner we—the cops figure this out, the sooner we can put it behind
     us and get life back to normal.”
    Stuart snorted. “Normal? What’s that, Maggie? I don’t have a little nest to run back
     to, remember? Quentin was it.”
    Keep going, Maggie, I said to myself. You can’t make it much worse than this.
    “Stuart, I’m just bumbling around. What I mean is, there’s some nut out there who
     killed Quentin.”
    “Or,” Stuart gestured toward the living room, “out there.”
    “Right,” I said grimly. “Right out there in the living room. What’s a little murder
     among friends? Isn’t that a pleasant thought?”
    Stuart picked up a napkin and carefully re-folded it. “Okay, so what did you want
     to know? Oh, where I went when I left here.” He sighed. “I don’t even know. I had
     on running clothes, so I put Nuke on the leash and I just ran. Somehow I ended up
     at the Golden Gate Bridge. I ran across and back, walked up the hill on Fillmore to
     cool off, and came home. When I got here, the place was crawling with cops. Moon told
     me that you and Calvin Bright had just left.”
    “I’m sorry we missed you,” I said. I patted Stuart’s shoulder ineffectually.
    Stuart slammed his hand flat on the counter, so hard the silver tray jumped. “That’s
     another thing that pissed me off,” he said.
    “What?” I was bewildered.
    “That photographer. I think Quent had a little thing for him.”
    “That was his tough luck,” I said wryly. “From my short acquaintance with Calvin,
     I’d say he’s hopelessly straight.”
    “No, listen, Maggie. Quentin was on the phone all day the day before he died, asking
     everybody nosy questions about Calvin. Who were his friends? Did he do drugs? Why
     hadn’t he left town yet? This guy is getting work from all the major consumer magazines.
     The agencies have him booked all the time. But he sticks around San Francisco. Why?”
    “I don’t know, Stuart. Maybe he’s got a sweetie here? Maybe he likes the sourdough?
     Why do you stick around?”
    He gave me a level look. “Because I loved Quentin.”
    I reached up and put my hand to Stuart’s cheek. “Then he was probably a very lucky
     man.”
    He squeezed my hand. “Thanks, Maggie. Not many people understood our relationship.
     I didn’t understand it very well, myself. I’m not smart or famous or good at very
     much. But I took care of Quentin. And Nuke. Who has, by the way, gone off to live
     with Glen Fox and all those kids of his.”
    “That should be a change for Nuke,” I said. “You did take good care of them,” I said.
     “But I’ll tell you something, Stuart. You’re really a lousy detective. Those questions
     Quentin was asking about Calvin? Those aren’t the kinds of questions you ask when
     you’re doing a background check on a prospective lover. He was looking for dirt on
     Calvin.” I mused a moment. “I wonder if he found any.”
    “I don’t think so,” said Stuart. “At dinner he seemed very, very cheerful. You know
     what Quentin’s like when he’s hatching some plan. He just loved to stir things up.
     He said, ‘Bright’s my boy. He’s smart, he’s clean, he knows his way around.’” Stuart
     stopped.
    “What else? What else did he say?”
    “Well, that’s what’s odd.