The Boss is enduring another meltdown, so you have Linda today. I’m going to keep it quick and light, and let you know that our fourth case (fifth book)—HA-HA-HA-HA—is almost completed.
We’re so happy, we’re ha-ha-ha-haing. How can we not be pleased? It’s been a long, complicated case that fell into our lap courtesy of a nutbar serial killer.
Here’s an excerpt to [hopefully] whet your whistle (unlike the beer that Rey is sucking back at this moment) . . .
The two detectives had arrived fifteen minutes after we’d called Ald to tell him about the rose and message. Both men had been wearing 50s-style polyester black-and-red bowling shirts. Funny, who’d have guessed either HPD homicide detective was a bowler? As Rey would say, ya truly do learn something new every day.
Pets on our heels, it was fifteen minutes after midnight when we finally locked up and trooped upstairs.
Leaning into the far wall, Linda frowned and appeared pensive. “GRP’s becoming close and personal. I wonder whose blood he used.”
I parked my butt on the edge of Rey’s queen-size upholstered storage bed and wearily said, “I suspect we’ll learn soon enough.”
“Do you think they’ll find anything incriminating?”
“That dude won’t have left any evidence or DNA,” Rey responded, removing a folded oversized T-shirt from one of two marquetry-motif nightstands. She started undressing. “Guess we can open an official case file, starting with the photos we took earlier.”
“And the details Ald said he’d provide tomorrow,” Linda added.
“Limited details,” I emphasized. “He’s not going to share all.”
“There should be enough for us to begin some serious private-eyeing.”
“Think we should get a security system, like Hives suggested?” my cousin asked, tossing a crimson lace bra across the room. It landed at the base of an “awesome mega-sale piece”, a variegated solid-marble and brushed-brass floor mirror.
“Given our line of work, yes.” I flopped back and stared at a ceiling in dire need of paint. Bonzo landed beside me, his face—whiskers twitching wildly—inches from mine. “Let’s do it first thing.”
Linda glanced at her ice-pink Coach watch. “I’m bed-bound. Nighty-night ladies.”
“Who can sleep?” Rey asked drily, slipping the T-shirt advertising a local rib joint over her head.
“Count sheep.”
“More like corpses,” she said with a cynical smile.
Aloha Saturday everyone—enjoy your weekend!
The Writer's Grab-Bag 