BESTSELLERS & BEST FRIENDS
My book publishing blog, with murder mysteries woven through it.
If this is your first visit, be sure to start with “1. Let’s do it!”
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Police Chief Jim was surprised to hear that I had a license plate number for the mysterious person-jacking. He wasn’t pushy about how I got it. I think he was sort of getting into this one. He promised to track down the car’s owner and call me back.
It was time to find out who had it out for Freeman—a still pissed-off and crazed miner, or a killer cop who hung around with a corrupt coroner?
I slipped into the bathroom where Sally couldn’t see me and tried on my old letterman’s jacket. Snug, real snug. Yet it was somehow wonderfully amazing that I was wearing it again after three decades.
It cracks me up how letterman jackets use leather to sort of puff up the arm sleeves, as if all lettermen have muscles under there. I felt the leather section of the left sleeve. Is it just air that puffs it up, or is some sort of stuffing used? I felt it again. Hmm, that’s weird. I took off the jacket.
There was something in the sleeve. I got out a razor—geez, after decades I finally have the jacket back for five minutes and here I am slicing it open. I opened the seams a bit and pulled out an envelope.
The envelope was addressed to Freeman, from me. It was the envelope I sent to Freeman with the handful of fur from Robert Parker’s dog, Pearl (Blog 18). The fur was still in there. Along with a sheet of paper.
On the paper was typed a nonsensical little story with the title, “The Happy Mechanic,” the same title of that piece Freeman wrote back in college (Blog 3). The one that had three things going on at once: one, a story about an auto mechanic at work when narrative and dialog were included; two, a couple having sex when the narrative was removed; and three, a hidden sentence when the second letter of each sentence were run together. I sat at my desk with the piece of paper and a note pad.
I tried removing the narrative. No sex. Nothing.
I wrote down the second word in each sentence. Nothing.
I mixed a martini. That’s something.
I tried the first letter of each sentence. Nothing.
Then the last letter of each sentence. Bingo!
N A M E O F A C E S O N
“Name of aces on?”
No, no, that makes no sense.
I try it again. And there it is! “Name of Ace son.” Ace? What are the odds? That can’t be coincidental. You remember Ace. Freshman year. His girlfriend got pregnant. Blog 2.
Ok, let’s see. Ace’s real name was Theodore Valentine. His wife’s first name was Kathy. Their kid was born in Pittsburgh. Ace graduated from Pitt. I started to Google.
I found it. Ace’s son’s name is Anthony “Tony” Valentine.
Then I found Tony’s name in the news.
Holy shit!
I mixed another martini.
I needed it.
Tomorrow: The Steelers license plate
