CHAPTER SEVEN
Since it was late afternoon and I was already in Brentwood, I left the dealership and drove to Sara’s house. I parked in the driveway of her two-story Spanish Revival-style home and let myself in with my key. While Sara Bernstein and I had been an item for years, by mutual agreement, we maintained separate residences because it worked for us. Trixie the Wonder Dog, a Terrier mix we had rescued from the animal shelter, met me at the door wagging her tail. She barked a greeting, jumped up on my pant legs, and then raced around me in circles.
Walking into the kitchen, I opened the refrigerator door in search of a beer and spied the six-pack of Stella Artois Sara kept on hand for me. Detecting is a thirsty business. The beer was easy to find. The only other thing in the refrige
