Crime Seen Read Free Page A

hopefully the case would eventually be solved through good solid detective work, not dependent on whether or not my radar was having a good day.
    ‘‘Okay,’’ I said grimly. ‘‘I’ll help, but only on the condition that you continue to investigate the case outside of my impressions. Don’t rely solely on me to get it right.’’
    Dutch smiled and extended his hand. ‘‘Deal,’’ he said, and we shook on it.
    ‘‘By the way,’’ I added, ‘‘you really need a haircut.’’
    Dutch grinned and ran his hand through his unruly hair. ‘‘I know, I know,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ve been swamped and haven’t had time for it.’’
    ‘‘You should make time,’’ I said.
    ‘‘Glad to know you’re keeping me aesthetically on track,’’ he shot back.
    ‘‘I’m your girlfriend,’’ I said, getting up. ‘‘It’s my job to keep you socially acceptable. I mean, at least try some gel or something until you can get to the salon.’’
    Dutch gave me a withering look. ‘‘I don’t go to the salon —I go to the barber. And does it really look that bad?’’
    I softened at Dutch’s suddenly self-conscious expression. ‘‘No, babe,’’ I said and came around to stand in front of him. ‘‘You could look like Cousin Itt and still do it for me,’’ I murmured, leaning in to kiss him just as Virgil jumped in his lap and slapped his shaggy tail in my face. ‘‘Plah!’’ I said and backed away.
    ‘‘Oops,’’ Dutch said as he set Virgil on the ground. ‘‘Now, you were about to kiss me?’’
    I rolled my eyes. ‘‘Sorry, cowboy. The moment has passed.’’
    ‘‘Aw, come on, Abs. Don’t be like that.’’
    I walked toward the door. ‘‘Try me later,’’ I said, cranky about the cat again.
    ‘‘I’ll go get my hair cut!’’ Dutch called as I left the room.
    ‘‘Promises, promises,’’ I replied over my shoulder, knowing full well that the stack of work on Dutch’s desk was preventing him from doing any of his errands. ‘‘Ah, well,’’ I said as I took my seat on the couch and snuggled up to Eggy. ‘‘Where were we?’’ I added, closing my eyes for one heck of a good power nap.
     
Later that evening, while we were eating dinner, there was a knock on Dutch’s door. ‘‘Expecting company?’’ I asked.
    ‘‘It’s probably Milo,’’ Dutch said. He got up from the table and headed to the front door.
    Sure enough, when he returned, he had his best friend and former partner in tow. ‘‘Hey there, Abs,’’ Milo said jovially.
    I smiled broadly in greeting. Milo was one of my favorite people. Tall and elegant, with mocha skin and an easy smile, he was a handsome, stylish man. He and Dutch worked the local detective beat together before Dutch landed at the FBI. ‘‘Hey there,’’ I said and waved him to an empty chair at the table. ‘‘Want some food?’’
    Milo took in the delicious scent of pork tenderloin filling the kitchen. ‘‘Who cooked, you or Dutch?’’ he asked.
    I gave him a dirty look. ‘‘Dutch,’’ I said.
    ‘‘I’m in,’’ he answered and headed over to the cabinet to extract a plate.
    Dutch chuckled and returned to his seat. ‘‘The man knows what’s good,’’ he said, giving me a wink.
    ‘‘That’s it,’’ I said, tossing my napkin at him. ‘‘I’m taking a cooking class.’’
    Both Milo and Dutch burst into gales of laughter. ‘‘What?’’ I demanded. ‘‘What’s so funny?’’
    Milo wheezed his funny laugh a few times before saying, ‘‘I don’t know who we should feel more sorry for, the instructor or the fire department!’’
    ‘‘So I’ve filled the kitchen with smoke a few times,’’ I said defensively. ‘‘Dutch’s oven runs hot.’’
    Dutch sputtered several more times, trying to regain his composure. ‘‘Maybe you should just stick to the crystal ball thing, Edgar, and leave the cooking to me.’’
    ‘‘Speaking of which,’’ Milo said as he took his seat at the table,