follows a basic formula: always keep a low profile. That's the main thing, besides heeding the bottom line, I've learned."
"Fine, I'll do it. Right now I'll grab my power mower and head on home."
"Ditch it. You've moved up in the world. I'll hire a spic to tend to my yard work. It's time for you to wrap your mind around the new lofty challenges awaiting you."
I grinned in relief. "I sure do like the way you think and talk, Mr. Ogg."
That's how I took up my present vocation. Grave doubts had crept in as the long shadows do at the day's end, and I sensed that scary, exhilarating changes were stirring to alter my middle-aged life.
Chapter 9
"Y our list is a skimpy one, sweetheart."
I redirected the map light and took back the yellow legal pad from Esquire. My short list of possible suspects who knew Gwen Ogg and killed her shook out like this:
Watson Ogg (uncle)
Rita Ogg (sister)
Boyce Randall (boyfriend?)
"Boyce Randall, what about him?" asked Esquire.
"I never met or saw the dude. Mr. Ogg mentioned him in the same breath as Gwen once, and I believe he could be her boyfriend."
"Were Gwen and he madly in love, or did they fight tooth and nail?"
"I don't know. Right now I've just got the name to go on."
We rode, me at the helm, in the coupé through Old Yvor City 's murky backstreets. I had to avoid colliding with the dark suits in Mr. Ogg's outfit that he'd paid to do a piece of work on me. Prior to tonight, I'd always played the hunter, and inverting the roles to play the quarry griped me.
"I'd say Boyce Randall did it," said Esquire. "Affairs of the heart fire the dark emotions to boil over in murderous rage."
"Gwen wasn't killed in an act of passion. Shot assassination-style is a premeditated move."
"Randall still gets my vote."
"All right, we'll go after him first."
"Of course the older sister Rita looks good for it, too. Sibling rivalry fuels lots of hate and rancor. Did they quarrel?"
"Beats me. I never saw them together."
"Did either say catty things about the other?"
"They're high-strung ladies, Esquire. Enough said."
"Then again there's Mr. Ogg. Even you said he has the inside track."
I lifted my eyes to the coupé's roof liner. "You're a big help to me."
"Call me your sounding board. How do you plan to hand over Gwen’s killer to the police?"
My headshake dismissed his question outright. "No cops. I settle this my own way. What did you tell young Hermes about tonight?"
Esquire hefted his bullish shoulders. "I texted him that I had to help a straight friend. He should do okay on his own." The large Esquire squirmed in the coupé's seat. "This upholstery blows chunks. It feels like I'm sitting on a patch of steel wool. Bring your coupé by the shop for the day, and I'll put you in primo sheepskin that feels plusher than wearing your favorite jeans."
"These seats will do me fine."
"You're almost hopeless."
"Then I'd make for a lousy trainee upholstering car seats, wouldn't I?"
"Notice that I said almost . When I get done with you, you'll be a champion trimmer."
"How's the pay?"
"Money isn't everything. There's lots to be said for taking pride in your craftsmanship."
"So the pay isn't so great. Maybe I can live with that."
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.
"Capital idea. Match me up, too."
"Where is your dashboard lighter?"
"It was broken when I bought the coupé. Use my lighter."
We lit up our Blue Castles, and the mood fell solemn before he threw me a curveball.
"Do they ever shriek out in your dreams, sweetheart?"
I played dumb. "They…?"
"They—the targets you go after out there."
"Oh. Them." My head wagged in the negative. "Very seldom."
"How do you kill them?"
"Trade secret."
"Can the crap, sweetheart. I'm being serious here."
The big man was toe-the-line business, and I gave him as much as I felt comfortable with sharing. "I usually rig the death scene as a hold up or a drug buy gone south. The police aren't so stupid to think there's so much violence, but they
"Fine, I'll do it. Right now I'll grab my power mower and head on home."
"Ditch it. You've moved up in the world. I'll hire a spic to tend to my yard work. It's time for you to wrap your mind around the new lofty challenges awaiting you."
I grinned in relief. "I sure do like the way you think and talk, Mr. Ogg."
That's how I took up my present vocation. Grave doubts had crept in as the long shadows do at the day's end, and I sensed that scary, exhilarating changes were stirring to alter my middle-aged life.
Chapter 9
"Y our list is a skimpy one, sweetheart."
I redirected the map light and took back the yellow legal pad from Esquire. My short list of possible suspects who knew Gwen Ogg and killed her shook out like this:
Watson Ogg (uncle)
Rita Ogg (sister)
Boyce Randall (boyfriend?)
"Boyce Randall, what about him?" asked Esquire.
"I never met or saw the dude. Mr. Ogg mentioned him in the same breath as Gwen once, and I believe he could be her boyfriend."
"Were Gwen and he madly in love, or did they fight tooth and nail?"
"I don't know. Right now I've just got the name to go on."
We rode, me at the helm, in the coupé through Old Yvor City 's murky backstreets. I had to avoid colliding with the dark suits in Mr. Ogg's outfit that he'd paid to do a piece of work on me. Prior to tonight, I'd always played the hunter, and inverting the roles to play the quarry griped me.
"I'd say Boyce Randall did it," said Esquire. "Affairs of the heart fire the dark emotions to boil over in murderous rage."
"Gwen wasn't killed in an act of passion. Shot assassination-style is a premeditated move."
"Randall still gets my vote."
"All right, we'll go after him first."
"Of course the older sister Rita looks good for it, too. Sibling rivalry fuels lots of hate and rancor. Did they quarrel?"
"Beats me. I never saw them together."
"Did either say catty things about the other?"
"They're high-strung ladies, Esquire. Enough said."
"Then again there's Mr. Ogg. Even you said he has the inside track."
I lifted my eyes to the coupé's roof liner. "You're a big help to me."
"Call me your sounding board. How do you plan to hand over Gwen’s killer to the police?"
My headshake dismissed his question outright. "No cops. I settle this my own way. What did you tell young Hermes about tonight?"
Esquire hefted his bullish shoulders. "I texted him that I had to help a straight friend. He should do okay on his own." The large Esquire squirmed in the coupé's seat. "This upholstery blows chunks. It feels like I'm sitting on a patch of steel wool. Bring your coupé by the shop for the day, and I'll put you in primo sheepskin that feels plusher than wearing your favorite jeans."
"These seats will do me fine."
"You're almost hopeless."
"Then I'd make for a lousy trainee upholstering car seats, wouldn't I?"
"Notice that I said almost . When I get done with you, you'll be a champion trimmer."
"How's the pay?"
"Money isn't everything. There's lots to be said for taking pride in your craftsmanship."
"So the pay isn't so great. Maybe I can live with that."
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked.
"Capital idea. Match me up, too."
"Where is your dashboard lighter?"
"It was broken when I bought the coupé. Use my lighter."
We lit up our Blue Castles, and the mood fell solemn before he threw me a curveball.
"Do they ever shriek out in your dreams, sweetheart?"
I played dumb. "They…?"
"They—the targets you go after out there."
"Oh. Them." My head wagged in the negative. "Very seldom."
"How do you kill them?"
"Trade secret."
"Can the crap, sweetheart. I'm being serious here."
The big man was toe-the-line business, and I gave him as much as I felt comfortable with sharing. "I usually rig the death scene as a hold up or a drug buy gone south. The police aren't so stupid to think there's so much violence, but they
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