The Sentry - By Robert Crais Page 0,54

thick.

“Is that why I lost you?”

“You didn’t lose me, baby. Here we are. If he wants to save her, fine, but he deserves to know who he’s saving.”

“Being a friend is hard.”

“If it was easy, anyone could do it.”

“I love smart women.”

“Smart women love you.”

“I’d better go.”

“Call me later.”

Cole put down the phone. It was still early, but he had plenty to do, and Lucy had given him a good idea. He scanned the list of food purveyors and suppliers Smith had dealt with. All were people in the food and restaurant business who probably swapped stories about cooks, cooking, and the good and bad restaurants where they worked. It was possible Smith mentioned a New Orleans restaurant where he had worked, or maybe a chef he had worked with, and one of the people on the list might remember. Having a place to start would make Lucy’s job easier.

Cole opened a fresh bottle of water, pulled the phone close, and got back to work.

26

Elvis Cole

Cole was still at his office later that day when Pike phoned, saying he was coming over to fill Cole in about the bodies. Cole suggested they meet at his house, saying he would make dinner while they talked, and they could have a few beers. Cole did not mention Dru or Wilson, or the sick feeling he had from the ugly news he was about to share with his friend.

The twilight sun melted into a magenta haze as Cole crept up the hill toward home. The traffic on Laurel Canyon was brutal, so Cole took a neighborhood bypass, winding between the trees and gated homes up Outpost Drive to Mulholland. Cole drove a yellow 1966 Stingray Convertible, and liked it a lot. It ran well and was fun to drive, but Cole didn’t wash it often, so it was dirty. Pike washed his Jeep every day. Its immaculate red skin was so slick with polish, Cole joked that dirt probably blew off with the wind. Thinking about Pike’s gleaming Jeep left Cole feeling sad. It would have been a lovely drive home, any other night, with the Stingray’s top down and the cool canyon air scented with eucalyptus and wild fennel. Any other night, it would have been fine.

Home was a redwood A-frame on a narrow street off Woodrow Wilson Drive at the top of a canyon. The little house was a two-bedroom, two-bath fixer Cole bought during a flush year before prices went crazy. If he wanted to buy it today, he couldn’t. There was no yard to speak of, what with being perched on a drop-away slope, but a deck across the back of the house gave Cole a great view of the canyon and glimpse of the city.

Cole pulled into the carport, and let himself in through the kitchen. A black cat was on the counter. It looked at its bowl when Cole walked in, and made a soft mrp.

“Okay. Let’s get you squared away.”

Cole put out fresh food and water, then helped himself to a beer. Negro Modelo. The cat looked up from the food.

“Mrp.”

“Okay, but not too much.”

Cole poured a little beer into a saucer.

The cat had come with the house, and had been part of Cole’s life longer than any living thing except Joe Pike. It was a mean animal, and given to attacking people. Cole did not know why. Once, a heating and air-conditioning repairman was working on the forced-air unit in Cole’s hall closet. The repairman was kneeling in the door with his back to the hall when the cat climbed his back and bit him on the neck four times. Cole’s insurance company settled the claim, but Cole had to do a personal job off the books for his broker to get a new policy.

“It’s going to be a tough night, bud.”

The cat bumped his hand with surprising gentleness, then went back to eating.

The house was warm from being closed all day, so Cole opened the big deck doors. He took a small skirt steak from the freezer to thaw, then rinsed a large can of white beans and put them aside to drain. The first Modelo was gone by then, so he helped himself to a second, drinking it while he sliced zucchini, Japanese eggplant, and two large tomatoes for the grill. The joy of cooking was oblivion. Slicing and seasoning made it easier not to think. The Modelo went a long way toward helping that, too.

When the vegetables were good to go, Cole