The car that was stopped ahead of him on the narrow dirt road looked familiar. He thought he remembered seeing it a couple of times in the past few weeks; it wasn’t easy to miss. Most people in the area drove big American cars. This was a Toyota. Blue. Sparkling in the late afternoon sun. He stop...
"Is the answer to that question germane to your investigation?" she shot back. Smalley shrugged, grinned. "Sure, it's germane." "I don't see how." "Can't you simply give me a straight answer?" "Yes, certainly." "Can I assume, then, that he is not a blood relative?" "You ma...
Bullshit! you say? You may be right, but I think you're wrong. I, and Larry-of-the-smashed-head, and Detective Kennedy Whelan, still looking through the ether for murder, and Phyllis Pellaprat, who sheds her clothes and her skin with equal enthusiasm and effect, and my teasingly seductive cousin,...
He said when I called that he could hear the tension in my voice, and although it was a long drive for him, he agreed at once to go to the house. He came to my room at Dansville Memorial Hospital early on my fourth evening there. He was dressed in jeans, a white, long-sleeved shirt, a denim jacke...
Then, "You're saying that he's not alive, but that you've made contact with him." It was a statement, not a question. "I'm saying that I've had contact with him. We've spoken. I've seen him, after a fashion." "You're being very cryptic, Mr. Biergarten." "Of necessity. You made it clear how you fe...