Or… A new thought struck him. Did he want to move from genre fiction to true crime? Once he delved into this open case even further, he might find a treasure trove of information to work with.
Either way, Coop knew he was on to something. After months of writer’s block, his adrenaline was pumping in a way that surpassed even the excitement of stopping the robbery today. He finally had the germ of an idea for his next book, with more characters and intrigue than he’d ever written before.
His first novel, published by a small press, had had a piddly print run and had barely sold enough copies to buy him dinner. But this story had definite potential.
His gut, which had never guided him wrong in his full-time career, told him he was finally looking at a book that could help him realize his private, lifelong dream of being a bestselling novelist.
LEXIE DAVIS HOVERED over her grandmother, the scent of violets permeating her every inhalation.
“So let me make sure I understand you,” Charlotte Davis said. “I click on the compass-looking thing and it brings up the Internet. Then I place the mouse—”
“The cursor—” Lexie corrected her paternal grandmother. Placing her hand over the warm, weathered one, she moved the mouse, guiding the cursor over the screen.
The older woman sighed, sounding put upon. “I place the cursor over here, click, and then I can Giggle anything I want to know about. Is that right?”
“Google not Giggle!” Lexie shook her head and tried not to laugh at her grandmother’s innocent mistake.
These computer lessons were going to be even more challenging than she’d thought. Well worth her time and effort, since it meant Lexie could remain in constant contact with the grandmother she loved, but taxing nevertheless. Lexie figured her grandmother had a thirty-minute attention span, max. They’d only gone through half that time so far.
Her grandmother’s old PC had died a natural death and Lexie, a Web designer and Mac addict had surprised her with a new computer. When the next wave of wanderlust hit and Lexie felt compelled to pick up and travel, she wouldn’t have to worry about her grandmother’s computer being on the fritz, leaving Lexie to wonder if she couldn’t reach the aging woman because the computer had died—or because her grandmother had.
A glance at Charlotte reassured Lexie. Even with her upcoming birthday, her grandmother had aged well. She was still mentally fit and physically able. A healthy specimen, if Lexie discounted the older woman’s self-dyed red hair and decades-old housecoat adorned by the antique jewelry Charlotte always wore around her neck and on her ears. Hopefully, Charlotte wasn’t leaving this world anytime soon.
“Oh look, it’s five o’clock. Time for Eyewitness News!” Charlotte reached for the television remote control and turned on the TV.
“Can’t you wait another fifteen minutes? We’re almost finished with the basics of surfing the Net.”
“The news can run in the background. You know I like to keep up on local events.”
Lexie nodded. She knew. If Charlotte Davis’s stories were to be believed, Lexie’s eccentric grandmother had lived a colorful life and had known many famous people. At the ripe age of seventy-nine and 330 days—Grandma Charlotte counted off the boxes on her Derek Jeter wall calendar—Charlotte watched television and read the paper to see who she’d outlived this week. Lexie had long since stopped reminding her that the TV news only broadcast the more sensational deaths. Her grandmother’s true interest in the Channel 7 news was—
“Bill Evans!” Charlotte exclaimed, pointing toward the handsome weatherman.
Lexie bit the inside of her cheek as she saw her hopes for more lesson time slipping away. “Grandma, pay attention.”
“After this segment. Check out the dimples on this dude.”
A glance at the screen told Lexie her grandmother was no longer referring to the weatherman.
“Of course he doesn’t hold a candle to Bill Evans, but he’s still hot.” Charlotte pointed a wrinkled hand toward the large television screen in the corner of the room.
The words Crime Beat Reporter Foils Robbery caught Lexie’s mental attention, but the man captured her female imagination. Dark hair, longer at his neck, he was tanned, dimpled and sexy. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. His blue eyes showed his obvious discomfort as the store owner, whose jewels he’d saved, tried to reward him for his trouble.
“Would you look at that? He’s too noble to take the reward!” Grandma Charlotte said.
“A true gentleman,” Lexie said, impressed by the man’s actions as well as his handsome face and toned physique.
An exasperated sound escaped her grandmother’s throat. “A fool is more like it. Take the goods!” the older woman yelled at the screen.
Lexie laughed.
The man, whose name flashed on the TV as Sam Cooper, turned down a watch and a necklace before the grateful store owner shoved a tray of rings in front of him.
“Not married,” he said in a deep voice that suited his rugged good looks. “I’ll take this,” he said at last, reluctantly choosing a ring from the assortment on the tray.
The camera panned in for a close-up of the ring. A large, gaudy, flowery ring.
“Grandma, look! That looks just like one of your necklaces!”
Charlotte rose from her chair and peered at the screen. “You’re right! Holy shit-ake mushrooms!” her grandmother exclaimed.
Lexie rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to stop watching Austin Powers movies.”
Charlotte ignored the comment. Instead, her hand flew to her chest. She grasped not the necklace in question, but another one of her so-called treasures that she’d promised to leave to Lexie one day. Some of them were hideous, but in a world without her grandmother, Lexie would want any item that reminded her of Charlotte.
“I wonder if it’s an exact match,” Lexie mused.
“I hope Sylvia is watching this!” her grandmother said of her longtime friend and neighbor, Sylvia Krinksy, who lived down the hall.
Lexie’s grandfather and Sylvia’s husband had long since passed away, but the women’s friendship had predated their marriages and had remained strong to this day. Sylvia was Charlotte’s person, the one who was there for you in good times and bad. “Sylvia would bury the body for me,” Charlotte liked to say, while Sylvia would sit beside her friend and nod.
Suddenly agitated, her grandmother began pacing the small apartment, muttering as she moved.