Chapter Thirteen “Are you awake?”
“Barely.” Prying open one eye, I glanced at my peppy driver. “It’s been an extremely long and eventful night.”
“Somebody got lucky, huh?” Kent snickered.
Ignoring him, I attempted to settle in. Which was less comfortable: a stiff car seat or a bed of nails?
Drake’s “Hotline Bling” faded as did Kent’s singing. In addition to a decent voice, the man displayed some promise as a detective. He’d made a number of phone calls yesterday, including two to the names provided by Chester Franken -- Canon Thiebault and Melville Querul -- and uncovered some tidbits about Jimmy Silone Picolo III, which he’d shared earlier when we hit the H-1.
Besides Picolo’s passion for arrack, he’d enjoyed properly processed espresso with a twist of lemon. He’d loved gnocchi an
