Read Gladyss of the Hunt for Free Online

started honking. We walked over to it. A smaller, uglier version of Noel was sitting in the back seat. Crispin Marachino.
    â€œAnd there they are,” Noel said. “Can we drop you off somewhere?”
    â€œI’m already there,” I said, pointing down the block. Abruptly a shaggy blond creature stuck her large bright head out the car window. Just as Noel had said, it was the shameless heiress Venezia Ramada.
    â€œSo where exactly do you live?” he asked, “Can I pick you up for the party?”
    Instead of giving him my address, I said I’d meet him on the southwest corner of 16th Street and Sixth Avenue.
    â€œYou’ll be picked up in one of these silly cars,” he said pointing to the Lincoln.
    â€œWho’s the dominatrix?” asked the unattractive director from the back seat.
    â€œThis is Police Detective Gladyss. She’s coming as my date to Miriam’s party,” Noel said.
    â€œYou’re a stunner,” Crispin shot back. “Want to be in my next film?”
    â€œNo, but I have a neighbor . . .”
    â€œWhere’d you get that get-up?” Venezia interrupted.
    â€œI wear it for work.”
    â€œShit, you’re a real cop?”
    â€œHave you ever had to draw your gun?” Crispin asked earnestly.
    â€œNo, but I sketched a knife once,” I trotted out the old joke. He looked at me severely, so I gave him a smaller lie. “I just got assigned to homicide and I’m working on my first murder case.”
    â€œWho was murdered?” he asked.
    â€œA hooker.”
    â€œShe was murdered last night at a hotel on Forty-second,” Noel pitched in. “Just a few blocks from here.”
    Crispin’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my God! I was just reading about two blonde hookers who were strangled around here over the past month.”
    â€œWhere’d you read that?” It reminded me of my fear that the fake detective had in fact been a reporter.
    â€œI forget which paper.”
    â€œ I’ll see you next week at Miriam’s party,” Noel said, trying to wrap things up.
    â€œWait, you’re taking her to Miriam’s investors party?” Venezia asked in a little girl voice.
    â€œUnless you’re still dating him?” I spoke up, since he’d said I could ask.
    â€œTell her it’s only for appearances,” Noel shot back to Venezia.
    â€œI’m carrying his baby,” the heiress instantly responded.
    Crispin focused an expensive-looking camera on me and quickly snapped a flurry of photos. Noel finally got in the back of the car, said he was looking forward to our date next week, and the whole loony crew sailed away.
    I had walked about ten steps when I saw Eddie O’Ryan standing in front of Midtown South, dressed in street clothes, staring at me.
    â€œDid I mention that any man named Noel has got to be a fag?”
    â€œDid you just see me with him?” I asked, happy that someone had witnessed it.
    â€œI was waiting to tell you that I’m sorry,” he said. I saw that he was holding a wilted rose.
    â€œYou should apologize to him.”
    â€œActually I was talking about the whole New Year’s Eve fiasco.” It was the first time he had brought it up, but it was a month too late.
    â€œI just don’t know why you never called me back.”
    â€œBecause I felt like an idiot, and I figured a little break wasn’t sobad. I was trying to be cautious.”
    â€œWell, we still have time,” I replied. He was a little awkward, it was true, and every cop I had ever gotten to know seemed to have serious intimacy issues—but O’Ryan was still hot compared to most of them.
    â€œYou’re not really going on a date with him, are you?” he said, absently handing me the rose.
    â€œActually, I have reason to suspect he might be the murderer,” I explained, as he walked with me toward the