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of keeping journals. A 44-year-old puzzle had been destroyed the previous night without a solution. The way it stood now, the whys and hows of the riddle were about to disappear into the dusty annals of time without ever seeing the light of day. |
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The drive gave me time to reflect. We live in a bottom-line worldand the bottom line on Chambers Bay was simply that the killer had killed again and now the killer had been killed. What was it all about? If I was ever going to make any sense out of all this, I had to know a great deal more about it. |
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"Why don't we just go home?" Brenda pushed. "What you don't know, you can hypothesize. Isn't that what it's all about?" |
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"My curiosity has been tweaked," I admitted. "Besides, you don't have enough to write your dissertationor have you forgotten about that?" |
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The all too blunt reality of my assessment only served to drive her further down into her seat. Her sensuous lower lip was now protruding a good quarter of an inch. "So why won't you talk about your love life?" she mumbled. |
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In front of the delapidated old gray house again, I began having second thoughts. What if Glenna Hoyt Austin was nothing more than what she appeared to bea pathetic, dislocated bag lady. Maybe I was making too much of her cackling mumbo jumbo about the sarcophagus of Sate. |
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