The Second Rule of Ten: A Tenzing Norbu Mystery (Dharma Detective: Tenzing Norbu Mystery) by Gay Hendricks

hoping to release the body later today.” He glanced at me. “Yes, sir, he is.” He listened, his neck turning a dull red. “No, sir, that won’t be necessary. Sully and Mack are already on it.” We reached our cars. Bill’s phone was still pressed to his ear, and he shifted from foot to foot. Finally he said, “I understand, Chief, but we’re moving as fast as we can.” Bill ended the call. He kicked at the gravel. “I fucking hate fucking celebrity homicides,” he muttered.
    “So listen,” I said. “I spent a little time on the Internet getting more information on Marv, and . . . “
    “On whose authority?” Bill interrupted.
    “What?”
    “On whose authority? Did the Chief call you?”
    “No,” I said. “I just thought you might like a little help.”
    “I’ll let you know when I need help, Ten. I’ve got too many cooks as it is.”
    Too many . . . cooks? What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.”
    “Fuuuck,” Bill groaned.
    I waited.
    “Ahh! Never mind.” He shook frustration off like a wet dog. “I’ll see you tonight, okay? You’ll be happy to know Martha made me invite what’s-her-name. Blondie.”
    If he was trying to distract me, it worked.
    “Heather? Heather’s coming?”
    “Yeah. Heather. So happy birthday to you. Oh, wait. That would be my wife who turned forty today.” He clapped me on the shoulder, climbed into his car, and sped off.
    I leaned against the Mustang, absorbing this new piece of information. On balance, I was glad, though it meant I wouldn’t be nearly as relaxed tonight. I made a vow to leave enough time this afternoon to meditate, as well as shower.
    I checked my messages before I started driving. I had three. The first was from Verizon, letting me know I could save more money by spending more money. I deleted it. The second was from my new best friend, Clancy Williams.
    “Hey, Ten, yeah, so, I’ve been thinking things over. And I guess I want to help. Just to let you know, Arlene Rudolph hasn’t left the house all day, but the kid, Harper? She took off in one of the family cars this afternoon. Yeah. So, I decided to follow her. Maybe get some grief-shots, or why-isn’t-she-grieving shots. Like that. But anyway, she’s led me somewhere interesting. Call me.”
    My heart rate accelerated from stroll to jog. I called Clancy, but it went straight to voice mail. “ Yo, Clancy here. Wassup? ”
    “Clancy? Where are you? Call me back.”
    The third message was from Heather.
    “Hi,” she said, her voice shy. “So Bill invited me his wife’s fortieth tonight, and, umm, I was wondering if you knew what Martha might like for a present? I’ve never met her, so . . . Anyway, if you could help with that, I’d appreciate it. Thanks, oh wait, here’s my number, oh wait, I’m calling your cell, so, well, just call this number, okay? God. Okay, then. Bye.”
    I smiled at her awkwardness. I knew that clumsy-message feeling well. You might even say I invented it. My smile faded. I’d completely forgotten about getting Martha a present.
    Before I devolved into full-scale panic, I closed my eyes, sensing my way into the essence of Martha.
    Her warmth—that was key. Also her humor and innate creativity—Martha’s flower arrangements, culled from her own garden, were little works of art. She was a fabulous cook, too, famous back in the day for her gourmet gatherings for close friends and hungry detectives. And her stamina was legendary. Martha had worked full time as a court reporter right up until she had the twins. I used to tease her, call her Durga, after the Hindu many-armed goddess. And she was stylish, though maybe a little less so since the twins came along. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her dressed in anything but sweats.
    Right. Something to wear. Something elegant and fiery. One-of-a-kind. A reminder that her Durga-like flame wasn’t out, just banked by motherhood for a little while. I knew just where to go