The Second Rule of Ten: A Tenzing Norbu Mystery (Dharma Detective: Tenzing Norbu Mystery) by Gay Hendricks Read Free Book Online

few bland and noncommittal fact morsels to the insatiable reporters.
    Heather and I stood. The lengthening silence felt awkward. My monastic training left me very unskilled at the art of prolonging a conversation with a woman of interest, especially without being obvious.
    “So you, um, you’re into forensics?” I felt my own fleshy pump of a heart speed up its tempo.
    “I’d better be,” she said. “I got my medical degree this September and just started a year-long residency at the county coroner’s office.” So she was just about the same age as me. Interesting. She looked younger. “Yesterday was my second day at work, and my first ride-along, and today’s my first assist, in case you didn’t notice my hands shaking in there. Talk about jumping into the deep end.”
    I was preparing to launch into a fascinating discourse on the number of high profile autopsies I, myself, Tenzing Norbu, had attended, when Heather looked at her watch and let out a little yelp.
    “I can’t be late,” she said, and scurried back into the building. I stared at the door as it closed behind her. It had been seven months, seven long months since Julie drove off, her car stuffed from floor to roof with her belongings, and a good part of my heart. For the first time since then, I felt the possibility of romantic regeneration.
    Bill rejoined me.
    “A beautiful blonde ME named Heather Magnuson. Who’d a thunk?” he asked.
    “Thunk what? That she’s a beautiful woman, or she’s interested in pathology? That’s borderline politically incorrect, my friend.”
    “That she’s a Heather. People who choose to spend all day cutting up dead bodies are not supposed to be tall and blonde and have names like Heather or Tiffany or Amber. If you’re a tall, blonde Heather, Tiffany, or Amber you’re supposed to shop all day.”
    “Dumb blonde jokes? Really, Bill?” My tone was sharper than I’d intended.
    “Hey, give me a break, Mr. Single Male Cat-owner. I’m the one who’s home life is overrun by females, and don’t think eighteen-month-old twins don’t count.” Bill’s look was shrewd. “Anyway, since when did you become the staunch defender of blondes?”
    Bill had a point. I’d only known Heather for a few minutes and already I was feeling protective. Warning sensations pricked. Duly noted.
    “Where to next?” I said.
    “I’m going over to interview the widow. I don’t know what kind of shape she’s in. Why don’t you come? I could use an extra shoulder for her to lean on. Yours seems to work particularly well in these situations.”
    “What, you mean next-of-kin situations?”
    “Nope. Needy women situations.”
    He jumped out of reach before I could swat him.

C HAPTER 5
    I followed Bill to the Rudolph house, enjoying the throaty snarl of my Mustang as I let her stretch her muscles a little on the surprisingly fluid freeways, since Friday traffic hadn’t started clogging all the drains yet. We took the Sunset exit off the 405, wound our way past the Bel Air byways, turned north on Beverly Glen, and after a few quick turns, onto Madrono Lane. The Rudolph house was a two-story, butter-yellow Mediterranean, surprisingly modest for a man of Marv’s means. It had a neat lawn and was set back from the sidewalk at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac.
    Bill climbed out of the unmarked Ford Taurus, gave his back a satisfying crack, and started up a narrow paved path to the front door. I had parked a half block away and was a few steps behind Bill. As I headed for the house, I noticed a black, four-door sedan, some sort of Chevy, an Impala maybe, parked across the street, engine idling. It sped off.
    Bill pressed the doorbell, and we heard a chime of bells inside.
    “You met Mrs. Rudolph before, right?” he said
    “No,” I said. “Just Marv and the daughter, Harper.”
    “Well, hell, what good are you, Norbu?”
    I ignored him as I studied a narrow antique brass object, rectangular in shape, tilted inward on the right