Read The Second Rule of Ten: A Tenzing Norbu Mystery (Dharma Detective: Tenzing Norbu Mystery) for Free Online

mouth. The combination of earthy, sour, and sweet was superb. Maybe they’d both just go away.
    “What? Nothing to add?” Bill turned to Jean. “As it so happens, Julie-the-chef is my wife, Martha’s, half sister. I have it on good authority that she is back in Chicago, happily living with her previous ex-boyfriend, the sommelier.”
    “I thought she hated him,” I burst out. “I thought he was a crazy lush.”
    “He got sober, apparently.”
    “A sober sommelier? How’s that supposed to work?” My temples were throbbing.
    Jean jumped in. “No, I’ve heard of that before, Ten-zing. They just smell everything.” Jean had once confessed to me that she hadn’t touched alcohol or drugs in years. What Scientology couldn’t fix, a recovery program apparently could.
    I gathered what little dignity remained. “Give Julie my best,” I said to Bill. My voice sounded stiff, even to me. “She wasn’t a good fit for me, anyway.”
    Jean patted my arm. “You know what they say about failed relationships, Ten-zing. ‘Put down the flashlight, pick up the mirror.’” With that, she sailed off to her other unsuspecting diners, no doubt to offer more brilliant, unsolicited advice.
    We ate in silence for a few moments. As Bill swallowed a big forkful of bacon and eggs, he grunted with pleasure. Then he frowned.
    “If Martha saw me eating this she’d kill me,” he muttered. “All she does these days is nag. She’s turning forty, and somehow it’s my fault. As if I didn’t have enough stress with this new fucking job.”
    I’m always surprised how little actual joy we humans allow ourselves before we feel compelled to do something that brings us down again. Bill gave himself at most ten seconds of bacon ecstasy before starting the guilt-game, before some little part of his mind said, “Okay, that’s enough happiness for now—time to bring up a subject sure to bum me out.”
    I met his eyes. Waited.
    “Ah, never mind. It’s all good,” Bill said. “Don’t forget—Miceli’s tomorrow, for Martha’s fortieth. Her parents are flying in from Germany tonight. We’re defying the gods and bringing Lola and Maude, too. They’ve only been out to a restaurant once before, and it wasn’t pretty.” He signaled to Jean as he pulled some bills out of his pocket, waving my own money away as he tossed two 20s on the table. “Unh-unh. This one’s on me. I’m heading over to the autopsy next. You?”
    I shrugged. I didn’t want to tell Bill I would probably be spending the rest of the day polishing my already gleaming Shelby Mustang and cleaning my already immaculate Wilson Combat .38 Supergrade. I certainly wasn’t going to beg to be invited.
    “Okay. Well, I’m off, then.” Bill tightened his tie and tucked his manila envelope of crime scene photos and my Marv report into his briefcase. He started for the door, then turned and came right back. “Ah, hell. I’ll just tell them you’re consulting, helping me out a little with the investigation.”
    I pictured the big pile of Marv material on my desk back at home. In a way, I was.

C HAPTER 4
    The L.A. County Coroner’s Office was surrounded. At least six news trucks were parked in the lot, with maybe 15 reporters and cameramen milling around the front of the building, like ants waiting for the picnic to begin. When I pulled up, Bill was in their midst, trying to wade past, or through, or something. I couldn’t tell. His cheeks were looking pretty ruddy, though.
    I skirted the crowd and slipped into the building on the left, 1102, where the forensic labs were located. The main coroner’s building was all brick and flounces. Decorative, and more for show, good for notifications and the release of personal property. But 1102 was where the real work happened. Here, medical examiners conducted autopsies on a continuous stream of suspicious deaths, sometimes as many as a dozen a day.
    I sat down in a chair in the tiny waiting area, located to the right of the