Killing the Blues - Michael Brandman [1]
http://us.penguingroup.com
For Joanna . . .
. . . who makes everything possible . . .
. . . and for Bob
1
Coffee was the only thing on Jesse Stone’s mind when he entered the Paradise police station on a bright New England spring morning.
His first stop was usually the coffeemaker. But when he saw what was happening in front of Suitcase Simpson’s desk, which was located across the aisle from the kitchen area, he headed for his office.
A man and a woman, middle-aged, expensively dressed, and handsomely coiffed, were arguing loudly with Suitcase. The man was irate. His face was beet-red, and the woman was obviously concerned for him.
“Molly,” he said, “what’s going on?”
She followed him into his office.
“Tourists. Missing vehicle. They exited the turnpike at Paradise Road, looking for a place to have breakfast. They discovered Daisy’s. Sometime while they were eating, their car disappeared. Late-model Honda Civic.”
“What’s with the yelling,” Jesse said.
“They believe the car was towed.”
“And they think we towed it?”
“Yes. Because it was parked illegally.”
“You mean they didn’t park in Daisy’s lot?”
“Correct.”
“And did they say why they didn’t park in Daisy’s lot?”
“When they chose Daisy’s, they weren’t certain they were gonna like it. So they parked on the street. In a red zone. When they decided it was okay, they never went back to move the car.”
“And that’s why they think it was towed?”
“Yes.”
“Was it?”
“Rich is checking on that as we speak.”
Jesse sighed.
“Molly, can I ask you a question?”
“Since when do you need permission to ask me a question,” she said.
“May I have a cup of coffee, please?”
“You may. There’s some fresh.”
“I know. I can smell it.”
“Do you want me to wait here while you get it?”
“I want you to get it for me.”
“You want me to get coffee for you?”
“Yes.”
She gave him the look.
“I don’t want to have to deal with those people just yet,” Jesse said.
“Because?”
“Because I’m the decider, and I have decided that I don’t want to deal with those people just yet. Will you please get me a cup of coffee?”
“You’re gonna owe me for this, Jesse,” Molly said, as she left the office.
It’s never easy, Jesse thought.
Molly returned with the coffee, followed by Suitcase and the couple from the hall.
“They wanted to speak with you directly,” Molly said, as she handed Jesse the cup.
The couple pushed past Molly and stood directly in front of Jesse’s desk.
“What are you doing about our car,” the man said.
“Jesse Stone,” Jesse said. “I’m the chief of police here.”
“Norman Steinberg,” the man said. “My wife, Linda. We want to know what you’re doing about our car.”
“Suit,” Jesse said. “What have we learned from Bauer?”
“He’s at Smitty’s Towing now, Jesse,” Suitcase said.
“And?”
“He hasn’t located it.”
“You mean it’s not there?”
“Looks like it, Jesse.”
“Could it be possible that the car was stolen?” Jesse said.
The phone rang, and Molly answered it.
“It’s Bauer,” she said to Jesse. “He wants to talk to you.”
Jesse picked up the phone.
“What have we got, Rich,” he said.
“We got a problem, Skipper,” Bauer said. “Not only is the Steinberg Honda not at Smitty’s, but there’s a woman here looking for her car, claiming that it, too, has gone missing. And the funny part is her car is also a Honda.”
When things had finally calmed down and the Steinbergs had been taken to Paradise Car Rental, Jesse sat quietly, thinking.
Today was moving day for him. He had finally acted on his wish to move out of the condo where he’d lived since coming to Paradise.
He had rented it when he first arrived, when his future was uncertain. Despite its view of the harbor, it was basically a utilitarian space that had served his needs