David Handler - The shimmering blond sister

“There are plenty of breeds bigger than German shepherds. You’ve got your Great Danes, Irish wolfhounds. And then there are the really big boys like Saint Bernards and English mastiffs. There can’t be too many of those in-”

“Mitch, I’m fairly certain that this didn’t come from any dog.”

“Oh, okay, then that’s a whole different plot.” He bent over, squinting at it. “It’s not a cow pie. And I know horse droppings when I see them.” His face dropped. “God, please don’t tell me it’s a bear.”

“No, nothing as tabloid fantastic as that. I’m sorry to say that unless I’m totally wrong-and I’m not-the origin of this fecal specimen is human.”

For a second, Des thought her he-guy was going to lose his striped bass. But he gathered himself, gulping, and said, “Well… that’s good, too.”

“Really? How so?”

“We’ve got a fresh human fecal specimen here.”

“Still waiting for the good part, Mitch.”

“The state forensic lab can extract the guy’s DNA from it, can’t they?”

“Actually, that’s a big no. The DNA in human fecal matter is too degraded for them to get a profile. Has something to do with the microbes in the gastrointestinal tract. If I want a sample of this bastard’s DNA, I need his blood or saliva, nasal secretions, hair

…” She carried the bagged specimen back to her car anyway. Because that’s what you did. You collected evidence. Never knew when it might prove to be valuable. She slammed the trunk shut, mustering a tight smile. “You may as well head on home. I have to help Oly knock on doors.”

“Are you going to join me later?”

“Don’t think so. I’d better hang with Bella. She’s more freaked than she’s letting on.” Des softened her gaze at him. “I’m afraid our big evening’s over. I’m real sorry.”

“Don’t be-shit happens.” He flashed a boyish grin at her. “That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I had to go there.”

“I knew that.”

“I knew you knew.” Just as he knew that he couldn’t kiss her good-night. She was in uniform. The neighbors were watching. Public Displays of Affection were a no-no. “We’re good,” he assured her as he climbed back into his truck. “Don’t you worry about a thing.”

“I’m not worried,” she said quietly.

Because she wasn’t. She was furious. The Dorset Flasher had made this personal now. And she wasn’t just thinking of him as some abstract loser boy any longer. She had someone very specific in mind now. Someone who was openly hostile toward Dorset’s blue-blooded dowagers… “You say hello to them and they act like you just took a leak on their shoes…” Someone she’d clashed with that very afternoon. A public altercation that had left him flat on his butt and humiliated. He’d warned her that she’d be sorry. And now there was a turd on her welcome mat. Coincidence? Des Mitry didn’t believe in the tooth fairy, clean coal technology or coincidences. What she did believe was that she had her man. He was a bitter, angry widower. He had a drinking problem. And he lived by himself smack-dab in the middle of the Historic District.

Oh, yeah, she had her man, all right. Augie Donatelli was the Dorset Flasher. Des had zero doubt. None.

The only tricky part was going to be proving it.

Beth had a radiant smile on her face when she answered the doorbell. And was impeccably turned out in a coral knit top and white linen slacks. “I’m so thrilled to finally meet you,” she exclaimed warmly, taking Des by both hands. “Mitch was always like family. I hope you’ll think of us that way, too.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind. And real sorry about the gunny-sack,” Des said, meaning her uniform. “But I’m on the job tonight.”

“No apology necessary. Believe me, we’ll all sleep better when that sicko has been put away.” Now Beth gave Mitch a hug and said, “And don’t you look handsome.” He had on an untucked white button-down shirt and khaki shorts. “That shirt really sets off your tan. Or should I say sunburn?” Her brow furrowed with concern. “My goodness, you look awfully red all of a sudden.”

“From my daily run,” Mitch explained. “It was really windy out at the point.”

“Of course it was, dear. Of course.”

Beth’s apartment was huge, with high ceilings, tall windows and polished oak flooring. The decor was elegant but impersonal. No quirky little keepsakes. It had the feel of an executive rental, Mitch reflected. There was a screened-in porch off of the dining room. He heard voices out there.

It was a long, deep porch that looked out over an expanse of lawn to the Lieutenant River. Beth had furnished it with a white wicker loveseat and armchairs. A glass table was laden with chilled shrimp, deviled eggs and cheeses and crackers. There was hard liquor, wine, a washtub full of beer and soda on ice.

Kimberly and Kenny stood there together, hand in hand, glowing with so much love for each other that Mitch, who was known among his fellow New York film critics as the Town Crier, instantly felt himself welling up. Kimberly looked absolutely beautiful. Her long blond hair was brushed out. And the sleeveless print dress she had on showed off her lean, muscular arms and legs. She and Kenny were the same exact height-if you ignored that Kimberly wore flat sandals and Kenny thick-soled trail hikers. Still, Kenny was no longer a little twerp. He stood a wiry five feet ten in his Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. Was built like a marathoner. And was a good-looking guy in a neo-wonky sort of a way. His thatch of brown hair was stylishly unkempt. He had a four-day growth of beard. And the eyes behind his wire-framed glasses were bright and earnest.

He rushed toward Mitch, and pumped his hand excitedly. “God, Berger, it’s so good to see you again!”

“Same here, Lapidus.”

“And I’m ready for you this time, I swear. All set? Here goes: ‘I’ve met some hard-boiled characters in my time but you-you’re twenty minutes.’ ”

“Easy. That was Jan Sterling to Kirk Douglas in Ace in the Hole.”

Kenny’s face fell. “Damn, I still can’t beat you.”

“And you never will. Kimberly, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me this doofus was your boyfriend.”

“Honestly, I had no idea you two had a history,” she confessed. “And when I found out about it, Kenny swore me to secrecy. He and Beth wanted to surprise you.”

“Which I’m happy to say we did,” said Beth, bustling in from the kitchen with a platter of piping hot cheese puffs, then bustling right back out again.

“Kimberly, you know Des, don’t you?”

“Of course. We always get seated together at the Chamber of Commerce dinners. We’re the only single women who are under forty. We even get our very own table-just us.”

“That’s because the wives make up the seating chart,” Des said, smiling at her. “Consider it a form of flattery. That’s what I do.”

“Really glad to meet you, Des,” Kenny said effusively. “I’m guessing that if you spend time with this guy you must be into old movies.”

“I’m developing a healthy appreciation-with the notable exception of the Three Stooges.”

“That’s a gender thing,” Kenny stated with great conviction. “There isn’t a woman on Earth who can tolerate the Stooges. Don’t know why.”

“I do,” Des said. “Because they’re really, really stupid.”

He frowned at her. “And this is a problem because…?”

“Oh, God, you two did grow up together.”

Kenny and Kimberly were both sipping bottles of Sam Adams. Mitch fetched himself one and a Diet Coke for Des. Also a small plate of devilled eggs, promising himself he’d be careful. He could eat his body weight in devilled eggs. As he devoured one, he noticed Kimberly studying him with a critical eye. “Uh-oh, am I hunching my shoulders? No, it’s my feet, isn’t it? They aren’t hip width apart.”