Gladyss of the Hunt by Arthur Nersesian Page A

right eyebrow twitched and her mouth dropped open, but nothing came out. Celebrity news came from dubious web sites or TV shows. Certainly not from the cynical virgin who lived next door.
    â€œIt’s not what you think,” I said, slightly fearful of her reaction. “I’m really not interested in him.”
    â€œExactly which party are you going to . . .?”
    â€œMiriam someone is throwing it.”
    â€œMiriam Williams!”
    â€œHe said she was a producer or something.”
    â€œI’ve worked her parties before. She used to be the mistress of a big film producer. She got him to divorce his wife for her. When he died, she became the big producer. She’s producing Crispin’s latest project.”
    Catching herself, she added, “Be careful, Gladyss, these celebrities use little people like us, then toss us away like pistachio shells.”
    â€œI really am not interested in him,” I said again.
    â€œThen why are you going on a date with him?” She was indignant.
    â€œI know what I’m going to say will sound weird, but, I think I had a Kundalini moment involving him.”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with . . .”
    Since she knew so much about the superstar, I just asked her point blank: “I know it sounds weird, but do you think Noel Holden could kill someone?”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œTwice in a twelve-hour period I saw him in the vicinity of amurder scene, on Forty-second. A crime scene that was not public knowledge at the time.”
    â€œForty second Street is hardly the middle of nowhere, is it? And he’s an actor. Just because he happens to be around there, that hardly makes him a murderer.”
    â€œI’m not picking on him because he’s a big actor. I’m just checking his prints and alibi and that’s the end of it. “
    She sighed deeply, as if to keep from panicking, then she muttered, “My God, are you kidding? What did I do? What did I do!”
    â€œWhat did you do?’”
    â€œDon’t you see? I did this! I wrote those letters to him and put all those messages out there.”
    â€œOut where?”
    â€œOut there!” she pointed to the air around her. “And you must’ve been picking them up! Shit!”
    â€œLook I just want to get his prints,” I said, hoping to calm her. “Then I can eliminate him as a suspect.”
    â€œOnce you get his prints you’ll back off?”
    â€œI swear.”
    â€œI’m better than I used to be,” she said, showing that she was aware of her own flaky behavior. “I’ve stopped the letter writing . . .” She paused, because I guess she didn’t want to lie, then amended, “Well, at least I’ve stopped mailing them.”
    I gave her a hug.
    â€œOh, look at the time,” she said looking at my Elvis Presley wall clock. “I’m going to miss A Most Singular Man !” Before I could tell her that she was welcome to watch it on my TV, she was out the door.

CHAPTER FOUR
    The next day at roll call, Sergeant McKenner informed me that my prayers had been answered, if only conservatively—my thirty-day reassignment to homicide had just come through.
    â€œThirty?” I replied. “It was supposed to be ninety.” That was what I had put out into the universe à la Maggie.
    â€œNo problemo, I’ll just tear this up.”
    I grabbed the reassignment order. It ended on the exact day I was scheduled to have my eye surgery. A coincidence? I thought not.
    O’Ryan had a frozen smile on his face, hovering somewhere between jealousy and envy.
    â€œIf you like I’ll buy you a blonde wig,” I mocked him. He’d been so sure I wouldn’t get the job. He called me a lucky stiff.
    â€œIf I get killed,” I shot back. “I’ll just be a stiff.”
    â€œAre you still going on your surreptitious date with the lady-killer?”
    â€œYeah, and I’ll