Death by Sarcasm - By Dani Amore Page 0,35

relatively simple. She would have to track them down, interview them if possible, and cross them off the list until theoretically, she got the pool down to a chosen few and then she would have to take it from there.

It was the five accounted for that would be the bigger challenge. They had completely fallen off the grid, as the law enforcement community liked to call it. Or, just as likely, had taken themselves off the grid. Running from the law. Running from loan sharks. Hiding from ex-wives and alimony payments. She already pictured a couple of the guys bagging groceries in Florida under some assumed names.

More people abandoned their identities than most people realized. The process really wasn’t that difficult. The fact that most people thought it was very difficult was probably why more didn’t do it.

There was a definite appeal to tossing out your current station in life, and staring an entirely new one.

She couldn’t blame them if that’s what they’d done.

At some point, hadn’t everyone fantasized about disappearing and starting over somewhere new? Just wiping the slate clean? The ultimate do-over?

Mary couldn’t speak for everyone.

But she knew she’d considered it.

Mary drove back to her place and was at her door when she heard him.

“Hey, hold up!”

She turned and saw the new good-looking neighbor trot down the hall toward her. What was his name again, she thought. Chris. Chris McAllister.

“Sorry,” he said when he finally reached her. “But I wanted to ask you a question.” He hesitated. “Actually, I’d like to get your opinion.”

“Yes, I think global warming is actually happening. Soon we’ll be underwater. Might be an improvement for L.A.”

He laughed, displaying that easy confidence she had noticed and liked, before.

“You know, I happen to agree, but I actually wanted your opinion on something else.”

“Hey, you want ‘em, opinions I got.”

“It’s actually my apartment. I can’t decide where to hang two paintings. I needed a different perspective.”

“Ah, so when you bring your lady friends here they’ll feel at home? Sort of some inside information?”

“Exactly. I want you to spy on your gender for me. Come back and tell me everything.”

Mary chuckled and then her mind flashed back to the shooting at the gallery where the mermaid/dolphin had been destroyed.

“You know,” she said. “Art and I don’t have a great history together.”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“All right, I’ll tell my manservant Jacques to keep the lobster warm.”

He laughed, and for a brief moment Mary realized it was a laugh she could get used to.

Christ McAllister opened the door and Mary followed him in, checking out his ass as she went. Nice. It was firm and taut. She wanted to bounce a quarter off the damn thing, or maybe something else. Something more personal.

“Sorry for the mess,” he said.

Mary looked around. Mess? Her place hadn’t been this neat and clean since she’d moved in.

“Yeah, what a dump,” she said. “Sheesh. If you think this is bad, come over and make a mess of my place. It’ll be a huge improvement.”

It was a nice place. He’d bought completely contemporary furnishings. Sleek tables. Fifties style lamps. But not over the top. Not self-conscious. She had to admit, it was just good taste. Hip good taste.

“Before I present the dilemma,” he said. “Can I offer the judge a beverage? Wine? Martini? Beer?”

“Do you have any grain alcohol?” she said. “200 proof?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Just polished that off last night.”

“In that case, I’m good for now.” Her head still ached from the Jack Daniels. She was looking forward to going to bed. Maybe she should take him with her.

“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. “As you can see, my overall style is eclectic, but I’ve got two pieces of art here.”

He led her to the living room where two large canvases sat. One was definitely in the impressionistic camp. Heavy brushstrokes.

The other was like a Giclee print. It was an electric guitar.

“Hmm,” Mary said.

“What?”

“Well, I like both,” she said.

“Oh come on,” Chris answered. “My impression of you was that you don’t pull any punches. What do I look like? A pansy? I can handle the truth.” He raised his eyebrows and did a reasonably good impression of Jack Nicholson from A Few Good Men. “You need me on that wall…”

“Does anyone actually use the word pansy anymore?” Mary said.

“Only pansies.”

They both laughed.

“Okay, I’ll be honest,” Mary said. “Which is something I haven’t been in a long time. In fact, the last time I was honest I actually strained