It’s the second day of the Forever Poi promo. Hi there. It’s Linda today.
I’m going to keep it short and sweet, and provide an excerpt which I hope piques your interest.
For 99 cents, you can get a copy of our third case as private eyes from the Triple Threat Investigation Agency. Someone torched two art galleries and left two bodies in the ashes. It proves complex with many twists and turns, and suspects . . . and bodies. Just when we’re sure we have it figured out, something unexpected happens!
“Why do you suppose he’s not returned calls?” Rey asked as we followed the Jag along Kapiolani, five cars behind. “Guilt? Sadness? A combination of?”
“Only he can answer that.”
“Who’s the woman looking very Audrey Hepburn?”
“The same one I’ve seen twice already.”
“But who is she?”
“Your guess is—”
“As good as mine, yeah.”
“Xavier mentioned a half sister. Maybe that’s her.”
“From what little I’ve seen, there’s absolutely no resemblance. James-Henri has a dumpling nose and a donut-round face.”
“And he has hazel eyes while hers are powder-blue,” I added. “I did say ‘maybe’.”
“She’s certainly very attractive. And that designer red lipstick is awesome.”
The sporty car pulled into one of three empty spaces before a row of unexceptional townhouse-condos near Ward and Prospect. Most had once been dusty pink and were now just plain dusty. I maneuvered into a parking spot on the street.
Rey scanned stores and checked her cell. “That’s Carlos’ place.”
“Really?” I looked at her, surprised. “How do you know?”
“Gail emailed just before you picked me up. She told me she’d be researching the two as soon as she got home, but had done some preliminary stuff and came across this address. Given his background and everything, she found it weird.” She appeared perturbed. “Not what you’d expect a successful gallery owner-slash-consultant to live in, is it?”
“He did have financial issues according to Ald.”
She gestured the duo. “They don’t appear to want to do much but yak and watch.”
“Maybe they know we’re back here.”
“Then why stop?”
“You got me,” I replied with a fleeting smile, keeping a vigilant eye on the two lest they shot off again.
“He must have a key.”
I concurred.
“It’s odd that Carlos lived here and James-Henri there. I mean, they were lovers, at least until recently. I can’t imagine one allowing the other to live in such a . . . a blah place.”
“Blah?” I grinned.
“Ugly. Cheap. It’s not in keeping with the lifestyle or persona he was projecting.”
“You mean successful gallery owner?” I asked dryly, noting that neither sportscar occupant appeared anxious or concerned.
Rey grunted into her cell when taiko drumming announced a call. “We got James-Henri and an Audrey Hepburn wannabe in sight. What’s up? You at the office?” She glanced at me and shrugged. After a few uh-huhs, she disconnected. “Lindy-Loo wants us to head home when we’re able.”
“Is she all right?”
“She’s something, that’s for sure,” my cousin replied flatly and gestured. “Our prey aren’t doing much.”
“Either are we,” I said regretfully.
“To hell with that.” With Reynalda Fonne-Werde melodramatic (reckless) flair, my cousin sprang from the Jeep and strode purposefully to the Jag.
If you’d like to learn how we [eventually] wrap up the case, please check us out at:
The Writer's Grab-Bag 