“Yes.”
She smiled and kicked her feet out again. She was wearing white shorts. Her legs were thin and tan. They were also crisscrossed with scars. I didn’t ask her about the scars, but I suspected she had been beaten badly with a belt.
“So how long will you protect me?”
“As long as it takes,” I said. Mercifully, she had no children and, apparently, was on extended leave at her baking job, which I discovered was a donut shop. No wonder why Detective Sherbet liked her so much.
There was a knock on my hotel door. Three rapid knocks, a pause, and then a fourth. It was Chad, using the coded knock we had been trained to use.
“That’s my ex-partner,” I said. I sat forward and patted her knee again. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”
She smiled and popped her gum. “I believe you,” she said.
Chapter Fifteen
I was sitting with Stuart Young three floors up on his balcony, overlooking a sliver of Balboa Beach. Stuart didn’t quite have a water view from his balcony, but what I could see gleamed brightly under the waxing crescent moon.
Stuart offered me some wine, but my stomach was still upset from the wine I had earlier. I accepted some water instead, and now we sat together overlooking a mostly quiet street. The street ran between more condos. The condos all looked the same. Row after row, street after street, of identical condos. How I found Stuart’s condo was still a mystery, especially with my dismal sense of direction.
But I knew the answer. I sensed his building, and I sensed his apartment. My psychic abilities were gathering strength.
Anyway, Stuart looked like he had recently been crying. No surprise there. He also didn’t seem to care that he looked like he had been crying and made no apologies for it. His eyes were red and swollen. His nose was red and swollen. A light film of sweat coated his perfect bald head. The sweat could have been from the alcohol, since the weather is always perfect. Which is why, water view or no water view, this condo probably cost a small fortune.
Stuart was drinking light beer that he had poured into a frosted glass. Beer was the one thing I didn’t miss. Blech . Give me wine any day.
“How you holding up?” I asked.
“Couldn’t be worse,” he said, and actually smiled.
I sipped my water and leaned slightly to the right to get a better view of the tiny sliver of ocean.
“If you look hard enough, you’ll find it,” said Stuart. “Believe it or not, I paid for that tiny speck of ocean you can see. Probably cost me another fifty grand.”
“It’s a nice speck,” I said.
He chuckled and drank his beer. He seemed to be enjoying it. Go figure.
“I have it on good word,” I said without looking at him, “that, unofficially, your wife’s plane was sabotaged.”
He stopped drinking.
I went on, “And if it was sabotaged, which appears likely, then that means your wife, along with everyone else on board, was murdered.”
He sat back, stared down into his frosted mug. He didn’t have much of a reaction. Then again, I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know or suspect.
I continued, “We all know who stood to benefit from that plane going down. Jerry Blum has not only escaped prosecution, he is now a free man. With no witnesses and no case, all charges have been
She smiled and kicked her feet out again. She was wearing white shorts. Her legs were thin and tan. They were also crisscrossed with scars. I didn’t ask her about the scars, but I suspected she had been beaten badly with a belt.
“So how long will you protect me?”
“As long as it takes,” I said. Mercifully, she had no children and, apparently, was on extended leave at her baking job, which I discovered was a donut shop. No wonder why Detective Sherbet liked her so much.
There was a knock on my hotel door. Three rapid knocks, a pause, and then a fourth. It was Chad, using the coded knock we had been trained to use.
“That’s my ex-partner,” I said. I sat forward and patted her knee again. “You’re in good hands, I promise.”
She smiled and popped her gum. “I believe you,” she said.
Chapter Fifteen
I was sitting with Stuart Young three floors up on his balcony, overlooking a sliver of Balboa Beach. Stuart didn’t quite have a water view from his balcony, but what I could see gleamed brightly under the waxing crescent moon.
Stuart offered me some wine, but my stomach was still upset from the wine I had earlier. I accepted some water instead, and now we sat together overlooking a mostly quiet street. The street ran between more condos. The condos all looked the same. Row after row, street after street, of identical condos. How I found Stuart’s condo was still a mystery, especially with my dismal sense of direction.
But I knew the answer. I sensed his building, and I sensed his apartment. My psychic abilities were gathering strength.
Anyway, Stuart looked like he had recently been crying. No surprise there. He also didn’t seem to care that he looked like he had been crying and made no apologies for it. His eyes were red and swollen. His nose was red and swollen. A light film of sweat coated his perfect bald head. The sweat could have been from the alcohol, since the weather is always perfect. Which is why, water view or no water view, this condo probably cost a small fortune.
Stuart was drinking light beer that he had poured into a frosted glass. Beer was the one thing I didn’t miss. Blech . Give me wine any day.
“How you holding up?” I asked.
“Couldn’t be worse,” he said, and actually smiled.
I sipped my water and leaned slightly to the right to get a better view of the tiny sliver of ocean.
“If you look hard enough, you’ll find it,” said Stuart. “Believe it or not, I paid for that tiny speck of ocean you can see. Probably cost me another fifty grand.”
“It’s a nice speck,” I said.
He chuckled and drank his beer. He seemed to be enjoying it. Go figure.
“I have it on good word,” I said without looking at him, “that, unofficially, your wife’s plane was sabotaged.”
He stopped drinking.
I went on, “And if it was sabotaged, which appears likely, then that means your wife, along with everyone else on board, was murdered.”
He sat back, stared down into his frosted mug. He didn’t have much of a reaction. Then again, I wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know or suspect.
I continued, “We all know who stood to benefit from that plane going down. Jerry Blum has not only escaped prosecution, he is now a free man. With no witnesses and no case, all charges have been
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