“Do you think he was the one who threw Mo-Mo into the Lincoln, as reported?”
“Sure. Him and Vincent Price.” Pietro laughed, but not with humor. “I have someone to meet in an hour. I have to go.”
“If you remember anything or anyone else that might prove important, please give me a call.”
“Sure.”
The solitary flat response suggested he wasn’t about to.
* * *
“Frig! It’s never gonna get sunny again,” Rey fumed, dropping her dripping umbrella into a stand by the door and brushing water from her distressed skinny ankle jeans. She stomped her Michael Kors flats on the door mat and grabbed a pashmina shawl from the coat hook, which she quickly draped around her shoulders.
At 10:30, it was still dark and drab, and wet. The skies had once again opened, showering creation below.
“Coffee’s ho
