Stephen Cannell - At First Sight

He nodded, and then someone was spinning him around-the bodybuilder in the black T-shirt and jacket. He was saying something about wanting to buy gym equipment, so I moved off.

I wandered around for a while but I didn't know any of the other people and basically kept to myself. A little while later I went outside to get some air. I noticed a man looking at a gold Mercedes parked behind the garage. I guessed it was Evelyn's car. The one she was murdered in. It seemed sort of macabre having it parked back here. I walked up and looked over the man's shoulder. He sensed me standing behind him and turned around.

"Hi," he said. He was remarkably handsome, olive skin, square jaw, complete with a deep cleft in his chin. His blue suit fit him perfectly, set off by a yellow shirt and striped blue and yellow tie. His shoes were blood-red Oxfords, buffed to a high shine.

"Hi." I hesitated and then asked him, "Was this the car?" "Yep."

"Don't the police hold a car where a murder was committed until after the trial?" I said. "Isn't it part of the crime scene or something?"

The man put out his hand. "I'm the detective assigned to the murder. Apollo Demetrius, LAPD."

"Paige Ellis, friend from out of town." I shook his hand.

"Once our forensic and print teams are finished and our chain of evidence is intact, the courts don't need the car. We could have kept it in impound if it was a junker, but with an expensive rig like this, we'll often cut it loose. Chick wanted it back. I think he's going to sell it."

"I heard you got the guy," I said.

"Yep. Delroy Washington. We ought to get that brain-dead banger on America's Dumbest Criminals. He left prints all over the car, all over the murder weapon, left the gun right where he ditched the vehicle after he stripped it. Bunch of carjack priors, all violent. At worst, it's a special-circumstances, murder-one, death-penalty case. At the very least, life without parole."

"My husband was killed by a hit-and-run driver in Charlotte, North Carolina, earlier this year. They still haven't solved it." It just came out. I didn't even know why I said it.

"You have to get a little lucky sometimes. But this guy Delroy was so sloppy he might as well have mailed me an invitation to the murder?'

"It's really helped Chick, I think, that you caught him."

"Chick seems like a good guy. At first, I wasn't so sure. But I've been around him a lot the past few days and he seems okay."

Then the detective smiled at me. "Since you've just been through the same thing with your husband, maybe you can help him."

"Maybe so," I finally said.

IT WAS DUSK AND THEY WERE IN THE BACKYARD OF Chick's beautiful Beverly Hills house. The pool light was shimmering, the Jacuzzi projecting a promising message. The catering company had just cleared out. Chick changed into his cool, new, blue Versace silk shirt and black Roberto Cavalli stretch jeans. He had a pair of expensive Gucci suedes on his feet. No socks, of course.

They both sat in pool chairs. The name of the game was Get Paige into the Jacuzzi. That was the end zone. But he had to go easy. Keep it simple, keep it sad. And then, if his wood hardened up just a tad, he'd make his move.

Chick worked his neck around in a circle, then stretched it side to side, front and back, making a big deal of it.

"Stiff neck?" Paige asked after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah. Maybe after you leave, I'll pop into the Jacuzzi and see if I can get it loosened up. But right now, all I want to do is talk and relax a little. I'm all wound up. If this ever really hits me full on, I'm afraid I'll go down for the count:'

Chick looked over at her, sitting with her feet tucked under her in the pool chair. Adorable. "After the initial shock of it, having to plan the funeral was a Godsend, because it kept me thinking about a zillion details:' he said sadly. "I couldn't focus on the loss. Did you ever have that with Chandler?"

"Yes:' she said softly. "Yes, I did."

"God, you guys had so much, just like me and Evelyn."

"Y'know, I don't think I ever really understood who Evelyn was:' Paige said. "The things you said today at the funeral made me realize it was too bad we didn't have a chance to know each other better."

Chick gave her a thoughtful, sad, penetrating look, while thinking Evelyn and Chandler were at the exact opposite ends of the spectrum. Chandler had stupidly given away his fortune. Evelyn had greedily spent Chick's. If Evelyn had Chandler's money, she wouldn't have set up a center for learning disabled children. She'd have set up a center for the beautification and fashionable excess of Evelyn Sheridan Best. But he didn't say any of this. Instead, he kept working his neck, pretending to loosen the stiff muscles.

"After denial comes a lot of vengeance and anger, Chick. You mentioned that at the funeral. I need to warn you, it stays for a long time and it is very destructive. I'm still seething inside, and I know it's notgood for me. After that comes the bargaining. Sort of promising you'll do better in the wake of death. It's the way we say goodbye. There's a great book on grief called Death of a Loved One. I'll loan it to you. Although, you surprise me, because you seem so in touch with yourself. You already seem to know most of it."

Chick thought this couldn't be going better. Half the shit he had been saying to her was right out of that silly book, and so far she hadn't picked up on it.

He let his face go blank.

"What is it?" she asked, noticing his expression change. "Nothing," he said, "nothing, really."

"If I can help… "

"Just worried about this horrible task I have ahead of me. Forget it." "I didn't mean to pry." She sat back, and a minute of silence followed.

"Okay, what I was thinking, really more like dreading, was going up to that damn cabin in Big Bear and sorting through all of Evelyn's things. She had a lot of family mementos up there… photo albums from before we were married, paintings, stuff her sick mother wants. I've agreed to go hunt it up and send it to her sister, who's going to give it to her mom, who's in pretty bad shape. She's in assisted living and it seems she doesn't have much longer."

"Was Evelyn's sister at the funeral?"

"No… no, Mariah couldn't come. She's taking care of their mom in Michigan. Neither of them could get here. Evelyn's father died two years ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too," Chick said sadly. "He was a great guy." Chick thought Bud Sheridan was a pompous asshole who pumped out useless advice, one horrible suggestion hooked to another like bad sausage. The man had opinions on everything from the stock market to the best way to wash your car. It was hard to take instruction from a guy who got fired every eighteen months and ended up as a nonunion plumber doing illegal work for an unlicensed contractor. But that was another story. Bud was gone. Taking a well-deserved dirt nap. No need to revisit that sack of hopeless memories.

Chick leaned back and worked his neck some more.

"That neck's really bothering you, isn't it?" Paige said. She got up and moved around behind his chair and began to massage the muscles in his shoulders. She worked silently for a few minutes, her long, strong fingers kneading him professionally. Chick actually felt his johnson tingle, then quiver, then begin to rise like a mummy from the tomb. A smile spread to his lips. This was actually about to happen.

"Better?" She stopped without preamble, shook out her hands, and moved back to her chair.

Fuck, he thought. What kind of a massage is that? But what he said was, "Much. Thank you."

He stood up and turned on the Jacuzzi, making a big deal out of setting the temperature. "After you leave, I'll just soak in this thing for a while. I'm sure I'll be fine."