The Cold Blue Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

demon.
    “Clothing drive over at the shul later this morning,” Bella replied, chin thrust up into the air over the steering wheel. Her legs were so short that she had to shove her seat up right against it, practically squashing her breasts. “Have you got any old clothes?”
    “Girl, I’m wearing them.”
    “What about Brandon—did he leave anything behind?”
    Des let out a laugh. “Just ill will.”
    When Des was twenty-three, she and Brandon had been featured on the cover of Connecticut magazine under the headline: “Our State’s Shining Future.” She was a West Point graduate with almond-shaped pale green eyes, a wraparound smile and dimples that could melt titanium at a distance of a thousand feet. Brandon, just two years out of Yale Law School, was the state’s top young district prosecutor. Only it turned out their future was in Washington, not Connecticut. Or at least his was. He went to work for the Justice Department looking into campaign fraud by several high-ranking senators. It was just a temporary assignment, he insisted. But one investigation led to another. And then he was signing a two-year lease on an apartment there without talking to her about it.
    It was right around then that Des started rescuing cats with Bella. There is an old saying in pet connection circles: People who are trying to save stray animals are really trying to save themselves.
    Des knew it was over when Aretha peed in Brandon’s $395 Ferragamo loafers. Cats know about such things. That same night he told her there was another woman. For the record, she was not white. But she was the daughter of a wealthy Philadelphia congressman. Their affair had started when they were in law school together. And it had picked up heat again in D.C. In fact, it had never actually ended, not even after he married Des. Which had taught Des a most valuable lesson in life:
    Don’t ever trust lawyers.
    “What you need,” Bella counseled her as they drove along, “is a Jewish man.”
    “Is that right?” asked Des, raising an eyebrow at her.
    “Absolutely,” Bella replied with total conviction. “They don’t drink to excess, they always come home at night and, oy-yoy, do they have low self-esteem.”
    “Why is that such a good thing?”
    “It means they work harder to please you—morning, noon and night.”
    “Um, wait a second, are you saying Jewish men make better lovers?”
    “I’m saying it.”
    Des let out a hoot. “Bella, you are baad.”
    “Now don’t misunderstand me,” Bella cautioned. “Stallions they are not.”
    “Been there, done one. Maybe two.”
    “But a good Jewish man won’t sleep a wink until he is absolutely positive you are satisfied. And I mean fully. Even if it means he has to go to work in the morning with bags under his eyes and full-blown case of lockjaw.”
    “Yum, sounds totally off the hook.”
    “They also make excellent fathers.”
    “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Des drained her coffee and put her empty cup in the bag at her feet. “But, listen up, I thought they only went out with their own kind.”
    “Not a problem. You’re one of us.”
    “I am?”
    “You forget, I’ve personally laid eyes on you climbing in and out of your hot tub,” Bella replied, her eyes twinkling at her with mischief. “And there’s no getting around it, Desiree—you are one of the chosen people.”
    Des grinned at her. “Girl, are you alluding to my booty?”
    “If bootay is another word for tuchos then the answer is yes. And you’ve got one to die for. Although what you do for a living might scare them.”
    “Hey, it scares me.”
    It was not yet dawn when they pulled up behind the darkened supermarket and unloaded their traps. Dog cages worked the best, they had found. They would tie a length of string to the cage door. Lure the cats inside with opened jars of Gerber’s strained turkey. Then pull the cage door shut behind them.
    They waited, strings in hand, huddled together by the