Who's Kitten Who? Read Online Free PDF

into the parking lot of the Norfolk County Courthouse less than half an hour later, I saw two Channel 14 vans, along with vehicles from three Long Island radio stations. I wasn’t surprised that the murder of an up-and-coming actor–playwright who was headed for Broadway was big news in Norfolk County. I also wasn’t surprised that I’d been right about Falcone intending to squeeze every possible ounce of publicity he could get out of it.
    I parked and ran up the steps of the large, imposing building, whose facade boasted more columns than the Parthenon. Inside was a cavernous lobby, complete with a shiny marble floor, more columns, and a large statue of Lady Justice. Way in back, I saw a camera crew setting up. Lieutenant Falcone was nowhere to be seen. But my eagle eyes zeroed in on a pair of shiny shoes poking out from behind one of the columns at the lobby’s edge. I was pretty sure I’d seen them before.
    However, the two feet that wore them were separated from me by a large police officer who looked as if he was no stranger to the weight room.
    Nevertheless, I strode confidently toward what I surmised was a makeshift dressing room. I did my best to appear much too busy and much too important to engage in any chitchat, even with a cop who, at the moment, was playing the role of guard dog.
    “I need to speak to Lieutenant Falcone,” I said breathlessly, as if the mere act of bothering to explain was a waste of my time.
    “He’s kinda busy right now,” the burly brute announced, folding his arms across his chest in a manner that most people, including me, would interpret as menacing.
    “That’s okay,” I assured him. “The lieutenant and I are friends.”
    “Friends?”
I heard a familiar voice repeat from the other side of the column.
    I cringed over the way that voice pronounced the word, stretching it out to at least three syllables and using a tone that was so dry we could have used a humidifier in there. But at least I’d gotten his attention.
    Lieutenant Falcone popped his head out from behind the tall marble structure, which suddenly seemed embarassingly phallic, and scrutinized me with the dark piercing eyes of a bird of prey. Even though he had a jockey’s build, the man carried himself like a four-star general. In honor of this morning’s press conference, he was decked out in a gray suit that had the distinctive sheen of polyester. His blue-black hair was just as shiny. In fact, it looked as if it had been spiffed up for the occasion with a thick coat of shoe polish. Today there was one unusual addition to his outfit: a small white towel draped around his neck.
    “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the famous—or should I say
infamous
—Dr. Popper.” As usual, Lieutenant Falcone pronounced my name without the Rs, so it came out sounding like “Docta Poppa.” I wondered if somewhere out there, there was also a “Docta Mama.”
    “See?” I told the guard, forcing myself to smile. “We really are friends.”
    He just grunted. Falcone didn’t help much by growling, “Whaddya want, Dr. Popper?”
    I blinked in surprise as I suddenly noticed something else about Falcone.
    Makeup. He was wearing makeup.
    Not the Alice Cooper variety. This was more subtle. A thick layer of foundation that was a tad too orange for his natural olive skin tones had been smeared all over his face. And, I couldn’t help noticing, not exactly blended along his jawline.
    If I wasn’t mistaken, he also had a faint dusting of pink on each cheek, just enough color to give his cheekbones definition—and to make him resemble a Swiss milkmaid posing for a hot chocolate ad. It was even possible that the reason the lashes framing his piercing eyes looked especially dark today was that they, too, had been chemically enhanced.
    In a way, the attempts at subtle improvement were even more shocking than if he really had ringed his eyes with thick black circles à la Alice Cooper.
    “You look…different,” I couldn’t help