Part 28 (2/2)
Your crime-fighting,
Daddy
Chapter 24.
I almost choked on a cinnamon raisin bagel the next morning when I read about Daddy's mortifying encounter with Lester Pinkus's punching bag. It's at times like this that I'm very grateful for the three thousand miles separating L.A. and Tampa Vistas.
My heart went out to Mom, but I simply couldn't spend time worrying about the Great Punching Bag Fiasco. Not while I still had that pesky murder to solve.
I had scads of suspects but not a shred of evidence linking any of them to the crime.
Then I flashed on Ca.s.sie, Joy's beleaguered personal a.s.sistant. It was hard to picture her as a killer, but maybe she'd seen something the night of the murder that would help me solve the crime.
I found her number on Travis's contact list and rang her up.
”Hi, Jaine,” she said when she came on the line. ”I've been expecting your call.”
”You have?”
”Travis told me you've been snooping around, asking questions about the murder.”
”Guilty as charged. I was hoping you and I could have a little talk.”
”Honestly, Jaine, I don't think I'm going to be much help.”
”Can I stop by to see you anyway? It won't take long. I promise.”
Who knew? Maybe with a little prompting, I could get her to remember a vital clue.
”Well, okay,” she said, ”but you're wasting your time.”
She agreed to meet me at her bungalow in Venice later that afternoon.
I was just heading to the bathroom for a quick shower when there was a knock on my door.
I opened it to find Detective Adam's Apple.
Oh, groan. I'd e-mailed him his dating profile days ago. What did he want me to write now? His grocery list?
”Oh, hi,” I said with a faint smile. ”Can I help you?”
”Yes, you can,” he replied rather sternly. ”You can stop pretending to be a reporter for the L.A. Times.”
Oopsie.
”Apparently you've been running around telling people you're writing an expose on Joy Amoroso.”
”Just trying to get information to clear my name. When last I checked, I was one of your suspects.”
”Leave the detecting to the professionals, okay? I may be clueless about dating, but I'm fairly competent at tracking down killers.”
”Just as long as you don't wind up arresting me. Ha ha.”
I waited for a laugh. Or a smile. A flash of that dimple in his left cheek. But he remained stony-faced. Which did not boost my confidence. Not one iota.
”So how's the search coming along for Ms. Right?” I asked in a desperate attempt to change the subject.
”Actually I met a woman I really like.”
So he found his pet.i.te blonde.
Life isn't fair, is it? Women wait for years to meet their Prince Charming. Or even a decent frog. And men go online and get hooked up practically minutes after they click the SEARCH b.u.t.ton.
”We've chatted a few times,” he was saying. ”And she's got some special qualities that really appeal to me.”
Whaddaya bet they both fit into a 34C?
”I want to ask her out, but I don't have the nerve to do it on the phone, so I wrote her a note.”
He took a small piece of paper from his pocket.
”I was wondering if you'd mind looking it over just to make sure it's okay,” he said, handing it to me.
His missive was short and to the point:
Hi, there!
<script>