Dash by Stella Marie Alden

Author:Stella Marie Alden [Alden, Stella Marie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-15T16:00:00+00:00

Raymond Chandler was murdered twelve years ago by a bullet to the head

His not-too-grieving widow posted a million-dollar reward for finding his killer.

Dash and his dad hired me to fly to South Jersey

I landed a sabotaged MD600 in the middle of New York Harbor without damaging the Statue of Liberty

The man I think stole the black box is dead and the police think I did it

His cousin tried to pillow me to death in the hospital

I had incredible sex

Did I leave anything out? I add some more details, make a plan, and call my favorite private investigator. “Hey Sam, I need a wing man. Want to go for a drive?”

“Thank God, I’m bored out of my gourd. Business has been slow as hell. Suds has our SUV, but I can take the boat out of storage. See you in a few.”

“Excuse me?” I put the phone closer to my ear, but she’s already hung up.

About an hour later, she parks a mammoth fifty-year-old Chevy Impala in front of my building. It takes almost a minute to slide across the humungous seat so I can speak to her.

“Holy crap. You weren’t kidding.”

No one dares challenge her rust bucket’s right of way, so we make great time through Staten Island. By the time we reach the Garden State Parkway, I’ve shared all the items in my bulleted list.

In the fast lane, Sam rides the tail of a new Ford Escort. “I don’t understand why the wife is so interested in finding her husband’s killer. It doesn’t sound like they were close.”

“Agreed. At the restaurant she sounded indifferent.” I sigh. “Yet another thing not adding up.”

“Speaking of one plus one… what’s going on between you and Dash?”

“Nothing.” My face heats up and she glances off the road.

“That bad, huh?”

“No, no. We… you know, we hooked up, did the deed, put the banana in the fruit salad.”

“Stuffin’ the muffin?” She grins.

“Yup, placed the sour cream in the burrito. Filled the twinkie.”

Laughing hard, she snorts out her nose. “Oh my God, stop… So? What went wrong?”

“After mind blowing sex, he got pissed because I thanked him. So, I grabbed my stuff and went home.”

“Didn’t you text him?” She guns the engine and as she rides bumpers, cars move to the slow lane.

Both impressed and horrified, I stare out the window. “No. Should I?”

“You will if you ever want to play hide the sausage again.” The road now free in front, she ventures a glance my way.

“Fine.” Sighing, I stare at my cell phone. “Fuck.”

“Just message him.” She says it like its easy.

After typing hi into the screen, I hit send, then show her.

“Jeesh. Maybe try a few more words. How about explaining why you took off?”

“Okay, Dr. Phil, how do I say I didn’t want to have the morning-after-sex talk?”

“If you had, maybe there would’ve been more corn dog dipping.”

“Oh, do shut up.” I glance down at the screen not wanting to apologize. He was the one who got miffed, not me.

My internal pop-culture-shrink pipes up.

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