Out Of Nowhere

“Good. That’s great.”

Fox sighed. Life was different, he thought, when you had a woman.

He disconnected and glanced at the bag on the seat beside him, and the aborigine started drumming behind his eyes again. Correction, he thought. Life was different when you had the right woman. Some could purely drive you to a coronary.

The cab let him out in front of his condominium. The Shelby convertible was in his driveway. He ran a loving hand over her curves and angles as he passed it. He didn’t always take her out. Parking was hell in the city and she was the kind of animal who was built for speed rather than a slow prowl. Sort of like a certain brunette who was the key to this crime.

Damn it, he preferred blondes.

Fox went inside and dropped the dry-cleaning bag on his kitchen table. He grabbed a Guinness from the refrigerator. After a fortifying swallow, he pulled back a corner of the bag and peered inside. Peach-colored satin. With lace. He hooked a finger in and brought out a slim strap that was attached to a camisole.

The lady dry-cleaned her lingerie.

Fox dropped the strap and crumpled the top of the bag together tightly and fast. He swallowed deeply from his beer again. She wasn’t his type. She was dark and sultry, polished as glass and too quick on her feet. She had more sharp points than a porcupine. She wouldn’t know good manners if one jumped up and bit her on the nose, no matter that she had grown up in the lap of luxury. Some people like that thought it gave them the right to set their own rules.

At the bottom of it all, there was still another irrefutable fact, the biggest reason she shouldn’t appeal to him: she was the key to this crime. But all the same…he couldn’t get her off his mind.

Fox went to the telephone and made another call. He decided to take over tonight’s surveillance as well. Five minutes later, he showered then he spent an inordinate amount of time dressing so he could go loiter around the Four Seasons. At seven-thirty exactly, he fired up the Mustang, and headed back toward center city.

He was whistling Dixie.

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