Excerpts from an Unfinished Detective Story:
He was a chalk outline waiting for a place to happen.
I had roused myself and gotten ready extra-early that morning. A four o'clock shadow now covered my face like cigarette ashes on a dinner plate.
"As much as I hate my life," she said over her shoulder, "I hate your life even more."
I began to think I had a clue, and the clue was that my name was not on a big oversized check. Ed McMahon was not standing in my flower bed, smiling.
The striped tiger cat froze on the countertop, blending chameleon-like with the toaster oven and a stack of unpaid bills.
