By Jonathan Kellerman
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Extra info for Mystery (Alex Delaware Series #26)
Sample text
Her third attempt at carving a lemon twist was partially successful and she handed the drink to a server I’d never seen before. Looking too young to be allowed in a place where spirits flowed, he had floppy dishwater hair, a soft chin, and a dangerously overgrown bow tie. His red jacket was a flimsy cotton rental, his black pants ended an inch too soon. White socks. Black tennis shoes. Ralph, the Fauborg’s waiter for decades, had never deviated from an impeccable shawl-lapel tux, starched white shirt, plaid cummerbund, and patent-leather bluchers.
Instead of answering, he troweled heaps of jam on three slices of bread, chewed the first piece slowly, inhaled the remaining two. Uncapping the juice, he peered inside, muttered, “Not much left,” and drained the container. Contemplating the roast, he sliced, cubed, popped morsels of meat like candy. ” I fetched some aioli from the fridge. He dipped, chewed, wiped his mouth, snorted, exhaled. ” Crumpling the juice carton, he created a waxed paper pancake that he pulled out like an accordion, then compressed.
I shook my head. ” “Looks like it. She had on fancy undies, too, silk lace—Angelo Scuzzi, Milano. So maybe she’s European, some poor tourist who got waylaid. ” He chewed hard and his jaw bunched. “Looks like we’re talking two killers. ” He ate more roast, contemplated a rare piece, put it aside. “The major damage was to the face with a little pellet spray at the top of the chest. ” “Your money or I shoot,” I said. ” “Goddamn savages … I know the face can mean personal, but this could come down to a really ugly jack.