Sympathy for the Devil by Jerrilyn Farmer Page B

added about four tablespoons of butter, grated in some fresh Parmigiano-Reggiano and beat it some more until the polenta was smooth. Then I tasted.
    It had a rich corn flavor with a slightly bitter edge that was a perfect match for the cheese and butter. “You’ve got to taste this, Holly.”
    Holly tasted. She made that face like she was falling in love.
    â€œWe need to find the guy who killed Bruno Huntley, Holly. It may be the only way to keep Wesley out of jail.”
    I walked back to the grill and flipped the chops.
    â€œWe’ve got work to do. I need to talk to Alan, and that girl who did the soothsayer bit, and I may even talk to Carmen Huntley, what the hell?” I served the lamb with the polenta onto brightly colored Metlox plates and we sat down to eat.
    â€œMaddy, if anyone can find out who killed Huntley, you can.”
    I grinned at her. Maybe I could.
    But first, dinner.
    I put a vivid yellow plate down in front of my assistant, and watched her mouth form into a satisfied smile. This girl did love to eat. She started to cut into one beautiful lamb chop, grilled medium rare and dusted with rosemary.
    â€œKiller!”
    For once that day, I figured someone was using that word in a purely complimentary way.

Chapter 13
    T here were still a few little things I needed Wes to clear up. Like, what was this rumor that he’s some kind of poison expert? And, how did he figure into the Curse of Los Feliz? I checked my old Hamilton watch with the scratched crystal. Since he was driving in from Rancho Mirage, it would take him at least another hour to get to my place. I swore.
    Nobody had ever accused me of sainthood. Patience was sorely missing from my inventory of fine qualities. I became aware of the sound of my tapping foot.
    For the moment, I was alone. After helping me clean up the dinner dishes, Holly had to go meet her latest guy. So I grabbed my notebook computer and walked out through the french doors of my office into the back courtyard. I arranged myself on a large wooden chaise lounge, with the computer in my lap and a Diet Coke by my side, and I started a journal of the events that surrounded Bruno Huntley’s murder.
    First, I typed the heading “Enemies and Suspects.” I stared at the blank, vivid blue screen. This was no use. Everybody could be on that list. I backspaced through the heading and tried again. I typed “Motives” and considered.
    Money was always a popular motive. Who stood to gain the most? I figured Lily would come into a chunk of money. Also, Bru, Jr. and Graydon. I made a note to find out to whom Bruno had left his estate. Not too tough. Withthe gossip mill in this town, that news would practically be broadcast on “Entertainment Tonight.”
    I thought I heard the doorbell ring, and I jumped up to answer it. Maybe Wes had been speeding. I reached the entry hall and opened the door. Standing in the small circle of low-watt yellow light was Arlo.
    Arlo and I hadn’t been seeing each other that much lately, and suddenly finding him there made me miss him, with a sharp, inward hurt.
    He had wavy brown hair that seemed to be getting longer, I noticed. His compact body was super slim. Despite my reputation in the kitchen, this guy was strange in the ways of the palate. He would only eat certain foods, cooked certain ways, and in certain combinations. Serve him meat and fruit in the same meal and he’d have a cow.
    Send me to a shrink for a year, but I kind of dug the way he was so uninterested in food. Or better yet, save your money. I was always being patted on the head for my cooking. Maybe I just wanted a man who saw me for something other than the obvious.
    Arlo walked through the door and tossed his black sports coat down on my desk as he detoured past my office. I padded in my stocking feet behind him. He hadn’t said a word, yet. It was his offhand, familiar way of picking up where we’d left off a few weeks