Free A.R. Winters - Valerie Inkerman 01 - Don't Be a Stranger by A.R. Winters

whatever.”
    “Mmm-hmm.”
    “Staying in shape’s really important for the role, because I’m this really tough, strong kinda guy. Like this.”
    Jerry struck a ridiculous pose and I glanced up for a split second. “Uh huh. I see.”
    “…And I play a detective. Isn’t that great? I’ll be like you, but way cooler.”
    “Uh huh.” I stopped taking notes and looked up at him. “What did you say about a detective?”
    “I play a detective. Like you, but way cooler.”
    I sighed. “I need to call Sara Rodriguez.”
    “Sara… who’s a big fan of cop shows?”
    “No, Sara who is a detective. Or at least plays one in real life.”
    “Right.” Jerry nodded. “Hey, maybe I could come along and meet Sara, pick up some tips on acting like a detective.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Well, at least let me go along with you sometimes. I could pick up something.”
    “I’ll think about it,” I said vaguely, as I found my cellphone and disappeared into my bedroom.
    I stared at the phone for a moment before I dialed Sara’s number.
    “I’m near your apartment,” she said. “Is this about your work?”
    I nodded, before I realized she couldn’t see me over the phone. Sara and I had first met when I was a PI-in-training, working with my mentor, and she’d seemed to like me. At least, she’d done more than answer my questions with grunts, so I took that as a positive sign.
    “It is. Can we meet for coffee?”
    “Sure. Leop old’s Diner?”
    “Absolutely. I’ll be there in five.”
    I rushed out the door, yelling something to Jerry about being back soon. He was busy practicing a Southern accent, and called out, “Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” as I slammed the door behind me and half-ran toward the elevator.
    Despite my hurricane-like travel efficiency, Sara and a strange, crew-cut man were already sitting at a corner table in Leopold’s when I arrived.
    Leopold’s was an old diner with a spotless white floor, a scattering of red aluminum-and-plastic tables and chairs, and a staff who took orders with a vengeful efficiency. The food wasn’t that great and neither was the coffee, but the place was popular with folks who lived nearby and occasionally felt the need to get out of their shoe-box sized apartments.
    “This is Sammy,” said Sara, nodding her head toward the crew-cut man.
    I smiled politely. Sammy looked young, but his square jaw and serious eyes made him look like a capable law enforcement officer. “Nice to meet you.”
    “You too,” he grunted, and I could tell that conversation wasn’t his forte.
    “How are you?” I said, turning to Sara.
    She smiled politely. Today, she was wearing a white cotton blouse and had hung her dark blazer over the back of her chair. Her hair was cropped super-short, and her face was bereft of any makeup. I supposed it was tough being a young, attractive policewoman, and Sara went out of her way to downplay those attributes.
    “Reasonably ok,” she said. “We’ve just wrapped up a case so we can actually go home at a decent hour today. After we’ve wrapped up the paperwork, of course.”
    “Of course. Black coffee, please,” I added, to the waitress who’d suddenly materialized.
    She placed two coffees in front of Sara and Sammy, and disappeared just as silently.
    “How’s the PI work?” said Sara.
    “Not bad. I’m actually, ah, looking into the murder of Esme Lindl.”
    Sara nodded seriously. “Not a nice case, that one.”
    “Yes, well, I was wondering if you could tell me anything about it.”
    “It’s still an open case.”
    I nodded. “Of course. But anything that’s on the record, that you’re ok to share?”
    Sara shook her head. “I know what everyone else knows. She was at a Hamptons party, someone shot her. We’ve got a suspect, but we haven’t found the murder weapon yet.”
    “What about Esme’s personal effects? Did you give them back to her father?”
    Sara gave me a funny look. “I suppose so. Why?”
    “Wasn’t