Hellbox (Nameless Detective) Read Free Page B

again on that saggy old mattress in there?”
    “Sweet thing. Oh, brother.”
    “Best offer you’ll get all day. Better take advantage.”
    “Are you sure you’ll be up to it again so soon?”
    “Double hah,” I said. “I’m Italian, remember?”
    “How could I forget?”
    I stood, stretched, waggled my eyebrows again, and held out my hand.
    “If this is the effect Green Valley is having on you,” Kerry said, “maybe we ought to rethink buying this place.” But she got right up and twined her fingers in mine and let me lead her off to the bedroom.
    *   *   *
    While Kerry took her turn showering and dressing, I headed out to the deck again. On the way, my cell phone cut loose with its burbling summons, barely audible inside my jacket where I’d hung it on the peg inside the door. I’d almost forgotten I had the thing with me; had definitely forgotten it was still turned on. Cell phones don’t always work in mountainous country, but this was not one of those satellite dead zones. I almost wished it was until I got the cell out and checked the caller’s name on the screen. Tamara. Oh, Lord, I thought, not some sort of emergency. But it wasn’t.
    “I didn’t think you’d pick up,” she said. “Just wanted to leave a callback message for you. Didn’t interrupt anything, did I?”
    “You might have if you’d called half an hour ago,” I said. “What’s up?”
    “Question on the Western Maritime fraud case you handled. I’m trying to get caught up on our billing.”
    “Haven’t you heard? Sunday’s supposed to be a day of rest.”
    “Yeah, sure. Like Saturday night’s supposed to be boogie time.”
    “Meaning yours wasn’t?”
    “Not hardly. Two glasses of wine, a bad rental flick, and in bed by eleven. All by my lonesome.”
    Not good, I thought. She was drifting back into the semi-reclusive, workaholic shell that she’d closed herself into after her longtime cellist boyfriend, Horace, moved back east and then dumped her for a second violinist in the Philadelphia Philharmonic. A brief hookup with a man who called himself Lucas Zeller had brought her out of it for a while, until he turned out to be a con man and worse; the none-too-pleasant events that followed had taught her some hard lessons. She still hadn’t quite recovered from the damage to her self-confidence and self-esteem. Still wasn’t ready to put her trust in anybody she didn’t already know and know well, particularly a member of the male sex. Caution and skepticism were healthy attitudes up to a point, but not if she let them make her a social outcast. She had a great deal to offer any man with the sense and sensitivity to treat her right. What she needed to do was put herself in a position to find him, and be willing to let him into her life when she did.
    She hadn’t asked for my advice, though, and I hadn’t volunteered it. Nor would I. We had a kind of de facto father-daughter relationship, in addition to our professional bond, but I had to be careful not to come on too strong with her. Her relationship with her own father was prickly, and now and then she carried it over to me. Best for both of us if I kept my mouth shut, let her work out her personal problems on her own.
    Fortunately, she changed the subject by asking, “So how’s your weekend been?”
    “Good. Very good. Looks like we’ve found our second home.”
    “All right! Where?”
    I gave her the relevant details. “We’re staying a few more days to make sure. Nothing urgent to drag me back sooner, I take it?”
    “Nope. Everything under control.”
    “What’s the problem with the insurance case?”
    It had to do with a foul-up on the expense account charges—my fault. When we got it straightened out, I asked, “Any new clients?” because I hadn’t spoken to her since Thursday.
    “Couple,” she said. “One routine; Alex is handling it. The other … well, Jake’s plate’s pretty full, and the new client’s black. So I rang up Deron