Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“I fear you’ve missed your calling as an anti-hunting lobbyist.”
Another smirk, then, “On the other hand, until the majority of American citizens decide hunting is abhorrent, it’s a lawful activity, so even though that’s my opinion, and I don’t understand why someone hunts, they might not understand why I occasionally enjoy a joint. They keep out of my business, I keep out of theirs, we both carry on in a lawful manner, it’s got nothing to do with me. Unless you do it on my land. That’s where my law comes in.”
“I like your law. Can it be Doc Riggs’s law to trap humans who trespass on your land?”
His body moved with laughter, but it wasn’t audible, though his one word shook with it.
“No.”
“Pity.”
He kept laughing a beat before he got serious. “I got a lot of acreage to cover, but neither Harry nor me liked those tracks. We couldn’t get a lock on why they were there, though it seemed like they were looking for something. And they definitely made sure their car wasn’t visible on the main road, which is suspicious. This means, gotta spend some time doing some wandering and having a look around to see if it’s just someone fucking around, or if I got an issue.”
“I can walk with you,” I offered.
“That’d be good,” he said.
“Can we make out now?” I asked.
His smile to that was wide. “Not yet. Got something to tell you that Harry shared with me.”
I leaned into him and begged, “Please tell me you buried the lead, and they found the wine burglar.”
“No. That’s still an open case. And he’s talked with Bubbles three times, and the asshole is sticking with the I-took-a-trip-to-Sonoma story when it comes to what he’s sharing with Harry. So no movement on that.”
“Bluh,” I uttered, sitting back.
“Remember I told you he was going to have a look at the Whitaker case file?”
I leaned back into him and made my eyes big.
Another smile and, “He also called the station in Seattle that handled the finding and processing of Lincoln Whitaker’s body.”
This was unexpected.
“And?”
“And, when Harry got the detective on the line who was called to that scene, and Harry told him why he was calling, the man’s first words were, ‘Finally, someone is lookin’ into this shit.’”
I slapped a hand lightly on his chest. “What?”
He nodded.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because this Seattle cop has always thought something was hinky with that. He’s of the mind, to this day, that Lincoln Whitaker was murdered.”
Oh.
My.
God.
TWENTY-SIX
Oboe
Nadia
By the time we hit a very crowded Double D, I could sense Riggs’s mood had taken a huge hit, mainly because he wasn’t hiding it.
This was because we had to park five blocks away, off the main drag, in the residential section of MP that fed back from it.
It was also because we had to wade through a plethora of Charles-Haden Savages, Olivers, Mabels, Cindas, Howards, Bunnys, Tim Konos and tie-dye hoodies to get to the Double D.
I’d never seen so much fake orange fur in my life, and the weather was back in the low seventies.
I felt bad Riggs was in a shitty mood, but I thought it was hysterical.
It didn’t get better when we had to fight our way through the residents of the Arconia even to get in the door of the Double D, and within seconds, a passing waitress shared, “Wait’s at least half an hour. Probably longer. We got a list going. Write your name on it, and we’ll shout it out when we got a table ready. You don’t come at first call, we give it to the next name.”
She then swung her fully loaded arms to a clipboard sitting on the counter at the curve of the horseshoe bar and scurried away.
“Whose idea was this?” Riggs grumbled.
I wasn’t about to remind him it was his.
“Yo, Doc!” we heard shouted.
I looked right just as Ledger yelled, “Jace! Jess!” and raced through the crowded space to the huge, circular corner booth that…oh my God…had Delphine Larue sitting in it.
I noted she had a very good-looking man of the Riggs variety at her side, except he was older, and had a more Outdoors Guy feel than a Good-Time Guy.
With them were two other men who were clearly of his loins.
And they were identical twins.
Riggs put his hand to the small of my back and began to lead us that way, as I said under my breath, “Is that Delphine Larue?”
“Yup.”
“Star of the seminal sitcom Those Years?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Author of one of the greatest books of our time, We Pluck the Cord?”
There was now humor in his, “Yeah.”
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
“Hey, Doc,” the man beside Delphine greeted when we got to their table. “Sit with us. We got room.”
And I’ll repeat.
Oh my God!
I was going to have breakfast with Delphine Larue!
One of the twins got out so Ledger could sit between them, and all the others scooched in so I was sitting next to Delphine Larue’s man, and Riggs slid in beside me.