Title:To Collar a Killer
Author(s): Lee Charles Kelley
Publisher(s): Avon Books
Pages: 304
Year: 2004
Format: EPUB
Language: English
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Then Frankie and Hooch and I went back up to the kitchen, where I put down their morning’s provender, in two separate bowls in two separate parts of the room (they try to steal each other’s food if I don’t do this). Then I washed and dried my hands and began making breakfast.
First I put the coffee on. Then, since it was Sunday, I made lox and bagels, with cream cheese and vine-ripened tomato and Bermuda onion slices. (It’s a New York thing.) I also made oatmeal with blueberries and walnuts—all heart-healthy items (except the cream cheese). Jamie came downstairs in her bathrobe just as I was setting the table.
“Mmmm, the coffee smells great,” she said, sitting down.
After breakfast it was just the two of us. Kelso was sleeping it off, and Leon, being a teenager, was sleeping in (he does that a lot). So Jamie and I sat in the living room and had a long conversation, most of which is not applicable to the case at hand. There was one thing she said, though, which, I have to admit, was kind of disquieting to me. She said that she thought Kelso and I were like brothers, and that he, being nearly ten years older, was the big brother and that I looked up to him in some way. I hated to admit it but she was kind of right. Then she said something else that I didn’t quite get at first. She said that Kelso—and remember, she’d been spending a lot of time with him during the last twenty-four hours—in a way, looked up to me as being smarter than he is.
“Well, that makes no sense. I mean he’s brilliant.”
“No, it does.”
We were drinking what was left of the coffee. Frankie and Hooch were sleeping by the hearth, Hooch snoring loudly, as usual. It was a little before nine, and we were waiting for the footage of Buttons jumping on me to come on again at the top of the hour. (They play these things to death.)
“You see you, Jack, my darling, are a natural born genius.”
“Oh, please.”
“You are. While Kelso—and he admitted this to me yesterday—is someone who has simply worked hard all his life to make himself seem smarter than other people by memorizing words out of the dictionary, for instance, or knowing the names of old-time songwriters. Plus—and again, this is coming from him—you have been genius enough to fall in love with me, which is what keeps you from becoming, in his words, a complete loser like he is.”
“Well, that’s true,” I said, then shook my head. “I can’t believe he said all of this to you. I can barely get a complete sentence out of the guy—just wisecracks.”
“Sounds like someone else I know,” she said, then picked up the remote and started clicking around, pretending to look for something to watch, but it was all an act.
“I see. You’ve been reading between the lines again.”
“I have not.”
“It’s okay. I know it’s just your nature. You want to peer into the darkness of my soul and discover some magic secrets about me that will—”
“Oh, shut up.” She handed me the remote.
I flipped back to my station, and the Buttons footage came on and we watched it for a few seconds, then I turned off the TV and did the dishes while Jamie took a shower.
When she was done and all dressed and smelling fresh and clean, I tried to get a little something going, but she wasn’t in the mood. She was too busy, she said. She had to go to her new apartment in Rockport and do some unpacking, then to the hospital, and then back up to Augusta for her Web consult with Dr. Liu.
I told her, “It’s Sunday. Visiting hours for Jill probably won’t start until noon. Let’s lie down for a while.” I pointed to the bed, which was now occupied by Frankie and Hooch.
“I can’t. I have too much to do. And so should you. Isn’t there some detecting you should be doing, Columbo?”
“There’s no point doing anything until we know more about how this fellow actually died, is there? Have the tissue sections been examined yet?”
“No.”
“Has the DNA report come back yet?”
“Of course not.”
“How about the toxicology report?”
“Nope.”
“The blood gas?”
“All due in on Monday at the earliest,” she sighed.
“See? And by the way, if you’re going to keep calling me Columbo, or Sherlock, both of which you’ve been doing for about six months now, I think I’ll start calling you Quincy. How does that grab you?”
She nearly doubled over. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”
Chagrined, I said, “About six months. It doesn’t quite work, does it?”
“No, not quite.” She began looking around the room.
“It’s downstairs,” I said.
“What is?”
“Your purse.”
“How did you know…?” She came over and kissed me. “That’s exactly what I was looking for.”
We went to the door and began going down the stairs. The two dogs jumped off the bed, shook themselves in unison and followed us. “I guess,” I said, “I could look into Beeson’s background.”
“Funny you should mention it. His fingerprints aren’t in the system.”
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