Chapter 37As the melodic, rhythmic jazz of saxophonist Noah Preminger played softly in the background, conversation over chicken and rice was business-like and contained to the murders and Xavier. Innocuous chatter related to community affairs and new restaurants followed over coconut mousse and green tea.
Somewhere between the turning off of music and the turning on of television, we wound up on the two-seater, enfolded like sushi and nori, watching the World Poker Series. Cash’s third cousin twice-removed was one of the players.
“Jake’s losing his shirt, the poor guy.” The arm draped loosely around my shoulders tightened as he glanced over and winked. “Care to do the same?”
“I’m not a poker player,” I responded nonchalantly, taking a sip of the lush Chianti he’d brought, in addition t
