Murder on Olympus Read Online Free Page B

going,” I said.
    “Of course.” Bellanca leapt to her feet.
    I raised the half-full glass of Sprite. “Thanks for the soda.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    She walked me to the front door.
    “I’ll call you when I find something,” I said, stepping across the threshold.
    Bellanca nodded. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Jones.”
    “Believe me, the pleasure was all mine.”

5
    I waited in my car, across from the Stone residence. It was eight in the morning. I had been there since before sunrise.
    Stakeouts are, without a doubt, my least favorite part of detective work. The long hours and boredom can drive me insane. A survival kit is essential. Today, mine included an assortment of magazines— Sports Illustrated , Gun Digest , Time —a six-pack of bottled water, a bag of premium beef jerky, and my trusty laptop.
    I’ve met a lot of PIs who claim to enjoy stakeouts. They say the solitude gives them a chance to think, to be alone with their thoughts. Personally, I try not to spend too much time in my own head. A detective’s brain is his most important tool, but like any tool, it can be worn down by overuse. Being overly reflective can dull the senses, make a detective less aware of what’s going on around him. In my line of work, that can mean the difference between solving a case and getting dropped from it.
    Collin came out of the house at 8:15, dressed for work in a charcoal suit and black loafers, and carrying a portfolio and a briefcase. He walked to the end of the driveway, with all the speed and rigidness of a corporate stooge, and climbed into his red BMW Z4. In my opinion, the car was too cool for him. I imagined he had bought it on a whim, in the midst of a midlife crisis. I’d probably do the same thing in a few years.
    Bellanca appeared in the doorway behind him. She wore a short, white bathrobe. The partially open front revealed some nice cleavage. A matching towel wrapped her hair. She waved at Collin. He raised his index finger and pulled out of the driveway.
    I started my engine and prepared to follow. He drove north out of the neighborhood, and then turned left onto Larken Street. With no police around, he leaned on the accelerator, but a red light at the intersection forced him to brake hard.
    As we waited for the light to change, Collin answered his cell phone. I was betting his mistress was on the other end.
    The light turned green and Collin sped forward. He took the first exit onto the highway, into bumper-to-bumper traffic. It took us over an hour to reach the downtown connecter. From there, I followed several cars behind him to Minos Advertising, housed in a fifty-story structure with brown-tinted windows. I pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. Collin remained in his car for several minutes, still talking on the phone. Eventually, he ended the call and got out. He disappeared into the building.
    More employees arrived. All wearing suits and dresses. All carrying briefcases and portfolios. They filed into the building like lemmings, one after the other. By ten o’clock, cars filled the quiet the parking lot. Now it was time to play the waiting game.
    I read two magazines and then listened to the radio. At noon, Collin came outside and hopped into his car. I trailed him to a nearby café and parked in an adjacent lot.
    I turned on my dashboard camera as he entered the café. He sat at a table near the window. The woman waiting for him sported a white tank top and blue jeans. A dark-green baseball cap and sunglasses shielded her face. As Collin sat down, she waved at him with a muscular arm, almost manly compared to Bellanca.
    Collin and the mystery woman smiled at each other the whole time they talked. After about a minute, a waitress came to their table. As she took their orders, my cell phone rang. The caller ID displayed Hercules’s number.
    Herc was the son of Zeus and stepson of Hera. He was also my best friend and an all-around swell guy—Demigod or not. We met twelve