Four O'Clock Sizzle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 4) by Joanne Pence

That was the last thing he ever expected to hear. His mind raced. “Do you think it was some sort of terrorist attack?”
    “No.” She took a good-sized swallow of the wine. “The M.E. concluded that he was dead before his head was removed, thankfully. And wherever it happened wasn’t near the spot where the head was left because a massive amount of blood is lost in such a situation.”
    He placed his hand on hers and rubbed it gently, compassionately. “I’m sorry you have to deal with something so ugly.”
    “All murders are ugly,” she said, again removing her hand from his touch. “But I’ll be quite glad to find whoever it was and get that bastard off the streets.”
    “I know you will,” he said.
    She swallowed hard. “The rest of his body is still missing.”
    Richie made no comment; he couldn’t imagine something so macabre.
    “We understand he’s only about five-foot nine, but weighed well over two-hundred fifty pounds. That’s a lot to keep hidden,” she said.
    Richie took a deep breath and slowly let it out, trying to come to grips with all he was hearing. “He was one of those guys who gained weight easily, and then would go on a starvation diet to take it off.” He tried, but failed, to joke. “A chef’s curse, I’d say.”
    “So I’ve gathered from photos I’ve seen,” she said.
    “Maybe someone didn’t want to deal with moving all that weight, so just left the head for identification,” Richie suggested.
    Rebecca frowned. “Most murderers aren’t that finicky, or so interested in providing identification. It’s got to be something else—a message, most likely, for the police or someone else.”
    He nodded thoughtfully.
    The waitress brought their steak dinners out to them.
    Rebecca picked up her knife and fork, but then put them down again. She could scarcely keep the irritation out of her voice as she said, “I don’t understand why you didn’t at least mention the San Francisco Beat article to me.”
    Richie didn’t care for her tone, and took a sip of his wine before answering. Rebecca buttered her dinner roll, glaring at him and waiting. Finally, he said, “Maybe I was hoping you wouldn’t see it.”
    “But you knew the article was out there. You knew you and Bosque were in it, and both of you had your places firebombed. Two plus two, Richie!” The more she spoke, the angrier she became. “How could you not say anything?”
    He hated being pushed by anyone, and his irritation quickly matched hers. “What, I’m supposed to think some crazy person is out there who hates bachelors? Or some guy who’s jealous of us? Or maybe it was done by some woman who was jilted, read the article, went nuts and decided to take out her bitterness on all of us in the story?”
    He could see her working to maintain her cool. “Whatever the cause, you could see that something is going on with the bachelors in the write-up.”
    Damn! “Can’t you see you’re jumping to conclusions?”
    She lost it. “I’m jumping to common sense! Something that seems in short supply around here.”
    It was his turn to fume. “There could be other reasons for what’s going on.”
    “Name one.”
    He leaned back, arms folded. “Diego and Shig seemed to have some sort of business dealings with each other.”
    That set her back. “They did? I haven’t come across a hint of anything to confirm that.”
    “I just confirmed it for you.”
    “How do you know?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
    He gripped the edge of the table. “You ask for my help and when I give it to you, you’re suspicious?”
    “No, I’m not!”
    He frowned. “You’re still mad about that stupid tabloid.”
    “Of course not! I couldn’t care less.” Her back stiffened. “And anyone who knows you was hardly surprised by what it said!”
    “Gee, thanks. That’s really great, Rebecca. Now I know what you honestly think of me.” He stood, took out a roll of money, peeled off enough to cover both dinners, and