Free Hunting Sweetie Rose : A Mystery (9781429950879) by Jack Fredrickson Page A

part of a team she’d hired to authenticate two Jackson Pollocks she wanted to buy for the Art Institute.”
    â€œJackson Pollock? Was that the guy who threw paint?”
    â€œBoor.” He laughed too hard and too long at my feeble joke. Then, “Why do you ask about Sweetie Fairbairn?”
    â€œI went to a party at her penthouse last night. Amanda was there, and at first I thought she’d arranged the invitation, so we could steal a few moments.”
    â€œGo on,” he said, after I’d paused for too long, thinking about naïveté.
    â€œSweetie herself took me aside for a short, intimate chat, ostensibly about my relationship these days with Amanda.”
    â€œOstensibly?”
    â€œShe told me she was considering donating to one of Amanda’s projects, and asked certain perfunctory questions about how close we were.”
    â€œMeaning whether you could get your lunch hooks on money Amanda took in?”
    â€œThat’s what I was thinking, yes.”
    â€œCan you blame her? Look at the way you dress, as opposed to someone with refinement.” He touched Woody Woodpecker’s beak. He was going to get a laugh out of me, no matter how long it took.
    â€œShe satisfied herself about my trustworthiness too quickly.”
    â€œYour winning smile, working at its usual warp speed?”
    â€œShe’d been sizing me up, all right, but it had nothing to do with Amanda. Sweetie Fairbairn is my client.”
    â€œThe clown case? She was the one who hired you?”
    â€œTo be certain, I asked one of last night’s guards if Duggan, the guy who’d hired me, was around. He said yes.”
    â€œWhat’s the dilemma? That Sweetie Fairbairn somehow knew the clown?”
    â€œThe widow Stitts told me her husband had been hired by a woman who rolled up in a chauffeured limousine.”
    â€œCome on, Dek. A lot of women in this town get around in limos.”
    â€œOnly one invited me to a party to give me the once-over.”
    â€œNow you’re thinking she hired you to see if there’s evidence that ties her to the clown’s death?”
    â€œThe scenario works.”
    He gave that some thought and said, “That’s a humdinger of a dilemma.”
    â€œFor sure.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?”
    â€œIf my client’s a killer…” I let the thought fade.
    I shook my head, he shook his, and we walked—two bobble-heads—down to the sidewalk.
    â€œSeriously, what are you going to do?” he asked through the open door, after I got in the Jeep.
    â€œI already did it. I left her a two-word note, last night: ‘The Clown?’”
    â€œWhat if she doesn’t respond?”
    â€œThen what I’d like to do is wait after school for the silver-haired bastard who’s sniffing around my girlfriend, and beat the shit out of him on the playground.”

CHAPTER 12.
    Jennifer Gale called right after I got back to the turret. “Let’s meet for lunch,” she said.
    â€œThe rope?”
    â€œI’ve got news.”
    She would also have questions about the clown’s death, Rivertown, and my zoning. She would dig at all kind of things I didn’t want to talk about.
    At that moment, sour and cranky from thinking about Amanda and her silver-haired friend, the idea of being interrogated by Jennifer Gale about anything at all sounded splendid. I agreed in less time than I should have.
    â€œWe’ll meet at noon,” she said. She gave me directions to a place I’d never heard of, adding, “Typical gourmet: miniscule portions and enormous prices, but there’s never a crowd. It’s a great place to talk. I hope you’ll be dressed appropriately.”
    â€œI never am, not for a gourmet place.” I was wearing one of my three pairs of khakis and one of my three blue button-down shirts.
    â€œSee you in a half hour.”
    I put on my floral tie and my blazer.