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“Fort Lauderdale businessman Carlos Alvarez was found murdered in Indian River County yesterday. An FBI source said he had been shot to death in a gang-land-style killing and his body dumped into the Indian River. His cousin and business partner, Pedro Alvarez, said his family and friends were shocked by the killing.”
Pedro appeared, standing in front of his shop. “We don’t know who could have wanted Carlos dead,” he said. “He was a law-abiding citizen, a small businessman for many years in this city. Who could have done this?” He covered his face and looked away.
“Funeral services will be held tomorrow at Santa Maria church.”
Holly switched off the TV and was astonished to find that she had eaten half the pizza.
26
Holly was wakened from a deep sleep by a noise. She sat up and looked around, disoriented; she had been asleep on the sofa. The noise came again: Someone was knocking on the front door. She got up and opened it.
Grant Early stood on the doorstep with a bundle of flowers, the kind that were sold at traffic lights during rush hour. “Hi there,” he said. “Any pizza left?”
Holly walked back into the living room, leaving the door open. “Yours is on the coffee table,” she said. “Daisy, get the FBI guy a beer.”
As Grant watched, Daisy got up from her bed, trotted to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator door with a rope hanging from the handle, took out a bottle of beer, and brought it to Grant, whose mouth was open by this time.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got an opener on you,” he said to the dog.
Daisy sat down and looked at him.
“She says it’s a twist-top,” Holly said.
“You’re kind of grumpy this evening, aren’t you?” Grant asked, lifting the top of the pizza box and making a face.
“I was asleep,” she said.
“Mind if I nuke this?”
“Suit yourself.”
Grant carried the box to the kitchen, found a plate, arranged the slices, and shoved them into the microwave.
“So, how was your day?” he asked, sitting down on the sofa and drinking his beer.
“Pretty well screwed up by the FBI,” she replied.
“Oh? How so?”
“Well, I drove down to Lauderdale to interview a guy, and—”
“What case was this?”
“Carlos Alvarez, my burglar.”
“Okay.”
“Carlos’s cousin, Pedro, was not forthcoming, so I called Harry, thinking a visit by a couple of agents might get the cousin off the dime.”
“And?”
“They talked to him, but Harry won’t tell me what Pedro said.”
Grant chuckled. “And you’re surprised?”
“No, just pissed off. And then I hear the FBI quoted on TV about the case, just like it’s their long-standing case, and they know what it’s all about.”
“Maybe they do.”
