Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection

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Faye Kellerman

Год написания книги

2019

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“The eyes are wrong.”

Marge shrugged and attacked another pile of pictures.

“What do we do if we find her in one of these?” Hollander asked.

“They’re numbered on the back, Mike,” Decker answered. “If we find a match, we can look up where the photo came from and, hopefully, get a fix on who the photographer was.”

“How was Saturday at the yeshiva, Pete?” Marge asked.

“Terrific.”

“Your arm looks looser,” she said.

“Doc says I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, Rabbi,” Hollander said. “You never did tell us how the hell that happened.”

“Would you believe I got bit by a dog? Of all the stupid things.”

“Happens to the best of us,” said Hollander. “I remember once getting stung by a bee. People always tell you if you don’t bother it, it won’t bother you. Well, I didn’t do a thing and the little fucker looked me straight in the eye and stuck its stinger into my arm. Really pissed me off.”

“Ernst got stung by a bee,” Marge said. “Blew up like a blimp.”

“How is he?” Decker asked, shuffling photos.

“Beats me. Haven’t seen the sucker for two weeks.”

Decker looked up. “You’re kidding. I thought you two were tight.”

“Appearances are deceiving,” Marge said.

“What happened?” Decker asked.

“It was mutual. I think I was too much woman for him.”

“I’ll say,” Hollander snickered. “You outweighed him by a hundred pounds. Take a look at this, Pete.”

Another blonde girl, not more than fifteen, was performing cunnilingus on a gaping vagina. Decker studied the snapshot closely.

“I’d say no, but it’s close. What do you think, Marge?”

She scrutinized the picture.

“Too close to call. My gut instinct is no, but I’d check it out.”

“This photo reminds me of a joke,” Hollander said. “What’s the difference between pussy and parsley?”

“Not everyone eats parsley,” Marge said. “That’s old, Mike. Even older than you.”

“Okay. How about this one?” said Hollander. “What’s the difference between pussy and parsley?”

“What?” Decker asked.

“Parsley leaves a good aftertaste.”

Decker smiled, but Marge frowned.

“You’ve been munching the wrong carpet, Mike,” she said.

“You sound jealous, Margie,” Hollander said, grinning. “Maybe it’s your recent loss of male companionship. For a small fee, I can accommodate your needs sooner than the twenty-first century.”

“Don’t make me ill,” she answered, looking ill.

“Give me the snapshot, Mike,” Decker said. “We’ll start a close-call pile over here.” He turned to Marge. “You want me to spread the word around that you’re available?”

“Thanks, but I just met someone.”

“Jesus, you don’t waste any time, do you, girl,” Mike said.

“When you’re hot, you’re hot,” Decker said.

“Who’s the lucky guy, Margie?” Hollander asked.

“Carroll.”

Hollander looked at her. “A girl?”

“Watch your mouth, Mike. Two r’s, two l’s. He’s six six and weighs a hard two ninety.”

“Carroll’s a great name,” Hollander said quickly.

“What instrument does he play?” Decker asked.

“He’s tone deaf,” Marge said glumly.

“That’s a departure,” said Decker, discarding another photo.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t done too well with the musicians in my life. I figured it was time for a change. The only trouble is now I don’t have anyone to play my flute with.”

“What a shame!” Hollander said, holding back a smile. Marge was a terrible musician, but that didn’t stop her from performing in public, usually with her musician boyfriends. No one had the heart to tell her the truth.

“But it’s good for me,” she continued. “I’ll work on some solo pieces and let you guys know when I’m ready.”

Decker stifled a groan.

“Great, Marge,” he said.

“How’s Rina?” Marge asked.