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"I really should go," she said, pulling her hand away gently. "You have work." He walked her to the door, keeping hold of her hand to prolong the contact. Jackson would arrive any minute, and Garrett wasn't in the mood to explain her presence. She kissed his cheek as she left, and he fought the urge to touch the spot. Jackson's car pulled up just as Ginger's pulled away. The younger detective kept looking at the disappearing tail lights as he came up the walk with a small box. "Was that Ginger Martin?" Garrett nodded absently. "What was she doing here?" "I was about to find out when you called," Garrett replied. "What's so important?" "I'll tell you inside," Jackson said ominously. Garrett shrugged and followed his partner inside, closing the door behind them. "Okay, there's no one here but us chickens, Jackson. What's this all about?" "I had a talk with Hunt's publisher, Barbara Wallace. Carter Hunt was a bigger yutz than we've been led to believe." "How's that possible?" "Apparently, his fiction that wasn't all that fictional. Some prominent toes were definitely stepped on." "Then why not sue him?" Garrett asked, not liking where the conversation was going. "Why kill him? "The material he used isn't the kind of stuff people want on the public record. A trial, even an inquiry would bring out too many dirty secrets - even if he did change the names to protect the not so innocent." "What's the point, Jackson?" Garrett prompted. Jackson handed over the box he'd brought in with him. "This is Carter Hunt's latest manuscript. It came in two days after he died. No one knew he'd finished it. I think you need to read it." "Jackson..." "We'll trade," Jackson insisted. "You read the book. I'll tackle the calendar. Besides, I think I have an idea for cracking the code. It's a computer thing you wouldn't care about since you're technophobic." "I'm a traditionalist. What's wrong with paper and a pen?" "Ask Carter Hunt that. Where's the calendar?" Garrett handed over the file and the calendar. He took the manuscript and showed Jackson to the door. "Just keep an open mind, Garrett," Jackson said going out the door. "And don't rule out any possibility." "Good night, Jackson." After the younger man had left, Garrett opened the box containing the thick manuscript. "This is going to take forever," he muttered to himself. He settled down in his comfortable chair and started to read.
# Garrett had just finished lighting candles when the doorbell rang. He went to let Ginger in. She was dressed to kill in a curve hugging and emphasizing dress. He tried to disregard the metaphor. "You look tired. Hard day?" "Just long," he admitted. "I had a really late night last night. Come in, dinner's about ready." "You didn't have to go to all this trouble." "Trouble's my business," he joked half-heartedly. "Something to drink?" "Whatever you're having is fine." "I hope you're hungry," he called from the kitchen as he poured two glasses of wine. "Starved,"
she said from closer than he anticipated. She followed him into
the kitchen and took one of the glasses. "It smells delicious.
Are you sure I can't do anything?" "'Jiffy?'
I haven't heard anyone use that word in years." She wandered
back out of the kitchen. Garrett watched her as she headed into
the living room. She ran her hand over the desktop and froze as
she saw the manuscript. She turned quickly, even guiltily as she
heard him moving in the dining room. "Dinner's ready," he said from the doorway. "You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost." "Something reminded me of Carter," she said, going past him. "What's for dinner?" She
swept past him into the dining room. Garrett paused a moment before
following her. After they sat down, Garrett noticed Ginger moved
her food around her plate and ate very little. He couldn't fail
to notice.
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