Cold Serial Murder by Mark Abramson

Author:Mark Abramson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: gay mystery, gay comedy, murder mystery, San Francisco, woman detective
ISBN: 978-1-59021-140-3
Publisher: Lethe Press
Published: 2009-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Monday morning dawned clear and bright for a change. During the past few days of fog, Tim and Ruth had been talking about going on a little trip somewhere if the weather ever turned nice again. After a lengthy discussion they decided on a ferryboat ride across the bay to have lunch in Tiburon.

Once she was out on the water and admiring the views, Ruth began to feel depressed at the thought that her flight back to Minnesota was only a few days away. “Tim, I don’t want to go home and leave this beautiful place. Look! There’s Alcatraz. There’s nothing like that at home. The Minnesota State prison at Stillwater isn’t nearly as romantic!”

“No, I guess it isn’t,” Tim laughed. “So don’t go. Stay here.”

“Really? Do you really think I should stay? In San Francisco, I mean… not in your little apartment. I should have been out of your way a long time ago!”

“You’re not in my way, Aunt Ruth.”

“You’re just saying that to be kind and I love you for it.” She inhaled the salt air deeply and smiled into the sun. “I’m not sure what I have to go back there for, anyway…”

“So move to San Francisco,” Tim encouraged her. “It would be great! You can stay with me until you find a place. I’ll help you look for a nice little apartment in the neighborhood. I see FOR RENT signs all over the place.” They strolled to the uppermost deck of the ferry with the San Francisco skyline growing smaller in the distance.

“I don’t know. Have you looked at the prices on some of those signs?” Ruth asked. “Rent on a studio apartment in San Francisco costs more than mortgage payments on a four-bedroom house in most parts of the country! At least my house in Edina is paid for.”

“But how often do you drive to Stillwater to admire some ugly prison?” Tim asked and they both laughed. “You even told me the other day that the cracks in the sidewalks here grow prettier flowers than your garden in Minnesota.”

“Well… that would be especially true in January, I’ll have to admit. The snow shovels tend to chop them off. Do you want a cup of coffee?”

“I’m skeptical about the coffee they serve on the ferry.” Tim was looking down and behind them at their wake. “I’ve heard they make it with the water right out of the bay. It’s pretty vile stuff.”

“Oh, Tim… you’re joking.”

Tim looked at his watch. “It’s past noon. Let’s live it up and have a Bloody Mary. How bad can they be? Come on. The bar is one level down.”

When they disembarked in Tiburon, it was only a few steps up the dock to Guayma’s restaurant. The host seated them outdoors on the lower deck with the sounds of seagull cries overhead and waves lapping at the rocks nearby. “They have terrific margaritas, here, Aunt Ruth. How does that sound?”

“Delicious. I wonder how they compare to Teresa’s… or mine.”

“Those Bloody Marys

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