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who was staring at me with horrified eyes.
    “Time to call the police,” I said.

    * * * * *
I'd had the unique pleasure of making LAPD Homicide Detective Alonzo's acquaintance a few weeks earlier when I'd been seduced—almost literally—into getting involved in the murder investigation of a Hollywood producer by the name of Porter Jones. Alonzo had found it hard to believe that an innocent citizen could be involved in four murder cases and not be guilty, at the very least, of considerable bad judgment. I tended to agree with him.
    More so after getting shot.
    So I can't say that my heart exactly leaped for joy when he walked into Cloak and Dagger Books wearing that familiar cheap suit, mirrored shades, and bad attitude.
    “Mr. English. We meet again.” Alonzo was showing lots of teeth, though I don't think it was meant to be a smile. He wasn't a bad-looking guy. Hispanic, midthirties, medium height, and compactly built. He scanned the empty bookstore, his gaze lingering too long on Natalie, while the crime-scene team pushed through with their usual brusque officiousness.
    “It's a small world,” I said.
    “About the size of a jail cell.”
    “I like your optimistic spirit, but even you're going to have trouble pinning a fifty-year-old murder on me. If this case were any colder, they'd have called an anthropologist.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, you think you know how old this murder is? You get your online degree in forensics or something?”
    “Fair enough. I think this might be Jay Stevens. He lived at the Huntsman's Lodge back in the fifties. He disappeared, and the rumor was that he was murdered. I'm guessing the rumor was right.”
    “How about you leave the guesswork to the police?”
    I opened my mouth; that was really too easy a shot. And if I were honest, I didn't feel up to tangling with Alonzo again.
    He must have read the thought that crossed my face. He said with grim good humor, “First thing is, we're going to have to close your shop till further notice. This is a crime scene now.”
    “Further notice?” I repeated. I tried to keep my voice calm, so as not to antagonize him further. “I understand closing the bookstore for today. And I realize that construction has to stop while you investigate, but this part of the building isn't a crime scene. There's no reason we can't be allowed to open for business tomorrow.”
    “You don't think so? And here you're supposed to be a famous master detective.”
    “I don't consider myself any kind of a detective, and I've zero desire to get involved in another murder investigation, okay?”
    “But here you are, right in the middle of another one, aren't you?”
    “The crime scene is over there on the other side of the wall.”

    An Adrien English Mystery: The Dark Tide

    23

    “And what wall would that be?”
    We both looked at where the plastic divider hung, torn and drooping.
    Alonzo smiled. “That's about as much protection as a condom with a hole in it. No offense.”
    Was inadequate self-protection supposed to be a specialty of mine?
    Actually, maybe he had a point. I said, “Look, Detective. I know you don't like me, and I know you resent the way—”
    “You don't know shit,” he interrupted. “This isn't personal. This is strictly police business.”
    “Then you have to know that I didn't—couldn't possibly—have anything to do with this. I wasn't even born when Jay Stevens disappeared. And this part of the building has—”
    “Sorry, English,” he said with that same cheery aggression. “Rules is rules.”
    He strode off but stopped as he reached the open space between the bookstore and the construction site. “Hey, give my regards to your boyfriend, ex -Lieutenant Riordan.”
    I didn't have an answer, which clearly pleased him. He strolled away with a big smile on his face.
    “What an ass ,” Natalie muttered, joining me.
    Answering was beyond me. I felt numb as a wave of fatigue seemed to roll in out of nowhere, sucking the