I said, “Linda, please, come in.”
She was wearing a beautiful khaki-colored trench coat and high heels.
She said, “Do you have any white wine?”
I said, “You know, I think I do.”
I uncorked a bottle and poured her a nice cold, crisp glass.
She took a sip and looked me in the eye and said, “I helped you a lot on this case.”
“Yeah, you did,” I said.
She undid the belt on her trench coat and it dropped to the floor. She was wearing a bra that barely contained her enhanced chest and a tiny, and I mean tiny, thong. She looked amazing.
“I think I helped you so much that I’m entitled to a demand or two,” she said.
I nodded and replied, “What did you have in mind?”
She said, “Do me.”
I walked over to her and kissed her on the lips. It felt good, better than expected. Then I did a deep knee bend so that my face was right in line with the front of her minuscule thong. I wrapped my arms around her ankles, grabbed her trench coat that was on the floor behind her, and stood up.
I was now essentially hugging her, her coat in my hands behind her. I wrapped it back around her and tied it in the front.
“It seems like we’re going backward.”
“Linda, I can’t do this. Not now anyway. I’d like to. I’d really like to. And maybe someday we’ll get our chance. But I met somebody special during this case. And I’m going to see her soon. And if you were her, you wouldn’t want me to sleep with another beautiful woman right before I saw you. Right as I was just getting something started with you. Right?”
“Dammit, Darvelle. I wanted you to squeeze my tits and slap my ass. Not appeal to my heart.”
I laughed.
“But you’re right. I wouldn’t want you to sleep with someone as beautiful as me, right before you saw me.”
I thought: That line actually makes sense. Sort of.
Linda said, “Call me if it doesn’t work out. The second it doesn’t work out.”
She threw back her wine and left.
And the second story happened just today. I was sitting at my desk. The big slider was open. The sun was coming in, the breeze, with a just a hint of chill. Just a hint of colder weather on the way. It was perfect—a beautiful golden Los Angeles afternoon. I picked up my phone and called Nancy Alvarez.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Remember me?” I said. “You made me promise to never forget you. But can you say the same? Have you forgotten me?”
“Hmm. I see your name here on my phone but it’s not ringing a bell.”
“Can I take you to dinner tonight, gorgeous?”
“You got lucky when you beat me in Ping-Pong.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
And then her voice softened and she said, “I’ll be ready.”
Now. The story’s almost over, but not just yet. There’s a few more things I want to tell you. There’s one last chapter before I let you go.
41
I sat at my desk after hanging up with Nancy. I was feeling good, excited to see her, excited for my date. And then I just sat there thinking. My feet up on the desk. My eyes looking out the slider. The golden light fading. The golden light going to gray. I was thinking about the case I’d just closed. About the journey I’d been on. About how so often you don’t know something for sure until you really, really look. But the thing was, now that my investigation had come to a close, I did know some things for sure. And that was a good feeling. And, sitting there, I realized I knew other things for sure too. Yes, I do know that there are some other things in life that I believe to be absolutely true. I want to tell you about a few of them. So here goes.
If you ever almost die you will realize how much you want to live.
You have no control over what physical or intellectual gifts you are given. But you have total control over how hard you fight.
When you’re one hundred percent sure of something, there is a possibility, a great possibility, that you are wrong.
When you take off in an airplane at dusk and you can just start to see the twinkle of the lights in the city below you, and the plane is rocketing skyward, and the horizon line is going from a blue-purple to a dark blue, no matter where you are headed, there is a sense of promise.
I’ll take John, John Paul, Robert, and Jimmy over John, Paul, George, and Ringo any day.
If you ever find yourself standing outside a crowded restaurant in the hot sun on the weekend waiting to be seated for brunch, it may be time to rethink things.
When professional Ping-Pong players stopped using thin, dimpled hard paddles and started using thick, slick soft paddles, the sport gained some rubber, but lost some soul.
If you can learn to keep a secret you will be among a very small select group of people.
When you go see your favorite band live and they do the acoustic version sung a cappella of your favorite song to try and make it special, it isn’t special. It’s a bummer.
And lastly, the hunt. The Hunt. The Hunt to solve The Problem. When you are on the hunt, when your mind is locked into a search for the answer, it can be anything, a math problem, where your lost wallet is, where your destination is, trying to determine the first thing you need to do, trying to get the final touches just right, trying to figure out who, just exactly who, killed a beautiful young girl in Santa Monica, when you are on the hunt, you are in a different and special place. When you are on the hunt, your mind and your body and your consciousness are engaged. And that is good. When you are on the hunt to solve the problem, that special place is in fact a higher place. My friend, you are connected to a powerful and empowering force. And the things that trouble you, or fill you with anxiety, or stress you out, go away. They disappear because you have killed them with your absorption. When you are not on the hunt, you are the one who is dying. You are not unleashing your focus on the world. So false and phony and pedestrian troubles enter your mind and try to confuse and weaken you. But when you are on the hunt, that never happens. Because you are dialed in. Locked in. Living. Yes. You are alive. The hunt is connection and commitment. It is energy and power. It is passion and love. Yes, the hunt. The Hunt. When you are on the hunt, you are happy.
THE END
Acknowledgments
On the professional front:
A big thank-you to Michael Signorelli, a top-shelf editor and a believer from the beginning. And another big thank-you to Erica Spellman-Silverman, an agent who knows what she’s doing and calls it like she sees it.
Also, thank you to Tara Carberry, Hannah Wood, and Amanda Ainsworth.
On the personal front:
Thanks to my mom, my sister, Priscilla, and my brother, Rich. I’m lucky to have you as my family.
About the Author
MICHAEL CRAVEN is an award-winning advertising writer and creative director, and is the author of a previous mystery, Body Copy. He grew up in Jacksonville, Florida, lived for many years in Los Angeles, and now lives and works in New York City.
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Copyright
Cover design by Jarrod Taylor
Cover photograph © Bruce Davidson/Magnum Photos
THE DETECTIVE & THE PIPE GIRL. Copyright © 2014 by Michael Craven. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
Photograph on pp. ii-iii © by Trevor Smith
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-06-230559-6
EPUB Edition JUNE 2014 ISBN 9780062305602
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The Detective & The Pipe Girl: A Mystery Page 24