About
It was a dark and stormy night. Except it wasn't. Well, it was definitely dark and stormy but it was 9:00 am.
And Gabriel Henri Bergeron, CPA, was huddled in the lobby of his apartment building on Arch Street.
Lightning and thunder and howling gales and sheets of rain were currently assaulting his building and indeed the entire city of Philadelphia. Which was the reason for the huddling.
He sighed. He was supposed to be on vacation for the whole week, but Chase was idling at the curb in his very red, Toyota Tacoma pickup. Waiting for Gabe Bergeron. Chase was most definitely a friend and all around stalwart fellow. And he had found it impossible to refuse when he'd asked for help on a new case.
The tumult seemed to be easing just a bit, and he ran for it, leaping into the truck that rode far above the roadway on fat, spiky tires.
Chase smiled at him, lighting up the cab of the truck, radiating in all three of the “V” wavelengths: vitality, vigor, virility. And the guy was cute too. If seriously over-cologned.
Gabe sighed to himself. Deeply. Lane Colby “L.C.” Chase had tightly curled, reddish-brown hair, little brown eyes, and the masculine cheekbones and jawline of your better Grecian sculpture: one of Zeus or Achilles or Odysseus.
And a muscular body that Gabe found difficult to ignore, but he did. Well, a good fifty percent of the time. He gave Chase the very best Bergeron smile. “And where exactly does Ms. Ember Thys live, Private Investigator Chase?”
Chase looked over. When he really smiled, he had these little cheek rills instead of your common variety dimples. Chase rilled him . “It isn't far, Gabe." And they set off.
Businessman Kris Thys had gone missing eleven days ago, and his wife, young Ember Thys, was distraught enough to hire Millikan Investigations and fledgling private investigator, L.C. Chase, to find her husband. Gabe was loathe to help out after his latest misadventure, but sturdy, studly Chase had smiled at him.
Ember and Kris lived out in the country in a solitary bungalow that snuggled into the landscape and had a fairy tale air about it; Hansel and Gretel without the horror elements. So far.
Ms. Ember Thys had pale blue eyes, large and limpid, and emoted innocence. And she was with child: six months along if Gabe was any judge. She seemed to know almost nothing about her husband except that Mr. Thys traveled for work and bought “widgets” in places like India and Colombia for a company which had gone off the grid at much the same time as Mr. Thys.
But as the days passed, a rich assortment of other people began swarming around Gabe's apartment also seeking Kris Thys. Desperately. For unspecified reasons. Some were not above making threats or offering sums of money for hints about the whereabouts of Mr. Thys.
And then the body of one of the swarmers was discovered in his lobby. Which led inexorably to the swarming of police officers and detectives and even stray federal agents of an obscure and curious origin. Gabe argued that the death could have been accidental but he wasn't convincing. Even to himself.
And Gabriel Henri Bergeron, CPA, was huddled in the lobby of his apartment building on Arch Street.
Lightning and thunder and howling gales and sheets of rain were currently assaulting his building and indeed the entire city of Philadelphia. Which was the reason for the huddling.
He sighed. He was supposed to be on vacation for the whole week, but Chase was idling at the curb in his very red, Toyota Tacoma pickup. Waiting for Gabe Bergeron. Chase was most definitely a friend and all around stalwart fellow. And he had found it impossible to refuse when he'd asked for help on a new case.
The tumult seemed to be easing just a bit, and he ran for it, leaping into the truck that rode far above the roadway on fat, spiky tires.
Chase smiled at him, lighting up the cab of the truck, radiating in all three of the “V” wavelengths: vitality, vigor, virility. And the guy was cute too. If seriously over-cologned.
Gabe sighed to himself. Deeply. Lane Colby “L.C.” Chase had tightly curled, reddish-brown hair, little brown eyes, and the masculine cheekbones and jawline of your better Grecian sculpture: one of Zeus or Achilles or Odysseus.
And a muscular body that Gabe found difficult to ignore, but he did. Well, a good fifty percent of the time. He gave Chase the very best Bergeron smile. “And where exactly does Ms. Ember Thys live, Private Investigator Chase?”
Chase looked over. When he really smiled, he had these little cheek rills instead of your common variety dimples. Chase rilled him . “It isn't far, Gabe." And they set off.
Businessman Kris Thys had gone missing eleven days ago, and his wife, young Ember Thys, was distraught enough to hire Millikan Investigations and fledgling private investigator, L.C. Chase, to find her husband. Gabe was loathe to help out after his latest misadventure, but sturdy, studly Chase had smiled at him.
Ember and Kris lived out in the country in a solitary bungalow that snuggled into the landscape and had a fairy tale air about it; Hansel and Gretel without the horror elements. So far.
Ms. Ember Thys had pale blue eyes, large and limpid, and emoted innocence. And she was with child: six months along if Gabe was any judge. She seemed to know almost nothing about her husband except that Mr. Thys traveled for work and bought “widgets” in places like India and Colombia for a company which had gone off the grid at much the same time as Mr. Thys.
But as the days passed, a rich assortment of other people began swarming around Gabe's apartment also seeking Kris Thys. Desperately. For unspecified reasons. Some were not above making threats or offering sums of money for hints about the whereabouts of Mr. Thys.
And then the body of one of the swarmers was discovered in his lobby. Which led inexorably to the swarming of police officers and detectives and even stray federal agents of an obscure and curious origin. Gabe argued that the death could have been accidental but he wasn't convincing. Even to himself.
Publication
(2024), 375 pages