Two Redheads & A Dead Blonde: A Ronan Marino Mystery

An Excerpt from "Two Redheads & A Dead Blonde"

The rain cleared out late in the morning and we were rewarded with a beautiful sunny New England afternoon; too warm for the heat to kick in but not even close to air-conditioning season. I wore my nylon black-with-gold-trim Boston Bruins jacket over a white T-shirt and jeans. Though the season was over for my team, I liked the jacket and wasn't ready to put it away just yet.

I sat at the outdoor café on the patio behind the Doubletree Hotel and a refreshing breeze came up off the water and flooded the Industrial Canyon. A boatload of Lowell National Park tourists made an early season run through the Lower Locks into the Pawtucket Canal and some kids waved as they passed by. I gave them a short royal wave back.

Spring is easily my favorite of the seasons, and I enjoyed spending time outside, taking it all in. The flowers bloomed, the bees buzzed, the birds sang, and the skirts on the local girls were growing noticeably shorter. They'd stashed the long wool winter numbers and exchanged them for lightweight and tight knit dresses. There would probably be a few more chilly days, but those women wouldn't mind. Switching to warm-weather attire meant weekend trips with boyfriends or husbands to the Cape or Hampton Beach were only weeks away.

The warmer weather also signified something very important to methe start of baseball season. I ran through the highlights of last night's Sox game in my head, a five-to-four win over the pesky Tampa Bay Rays. Josh Beckett had been marvelous, but the relievers had given up four runs in the ninth. It was going to be a long summer for the Olde Towne Team if they didn't improve out of the bullpen.

I'd met with Shea earlier in the day to fill out a written statement about the previous night's activities. He was still pissed off, though I could have sworn I heard him mutter, "thank you," under his breath between curses. Buck had survived the night in intensive care and his comrades had squealed their heads off to the cops laying the blame squarely at his feet as the ringleader. All of them were charged with arson and attempted murder and there were federal hate crime indictments probably coming as well. It looked like they'd be spending a long time in prison.

After Shea was done with me, I had lunch with Rabbi Salus, one of the local Jewish leaders. Unlike my friend downtown, he thanked me outright and was most pleased with my work; although a little disappointed that I had shot one of the men. I explained that those things were sometimes necessary in my line of work, and he seemed to genuinely understand, even if he didn't like it.

The rabbi offered me a substantial fee for my services, but I declined. He insisted, and after twenty minutes of negotiations, I convinced him to make a donation to charity in my name. I kept a low overhead by not having a cushy office and a gum-snapping secretary to screen my calls and get me coffee. At least that was my story, and I was sticking to it.

The look on his face said he knew I was full of it, but I had my reasons and kept them private. As a bonus for a job well done, he promised the local Jewish community would keep me in their prayers. I appreciated that much more than money. Divine Providence was always a welcome backup for some of the sticky situations I had been finding myself in.

Before we parted ways, Rabbi Salus mentioned he knew plenty of attractive single women looking for a good man, and if I was interested to call him, and he'd introduce me. A year ago I probably would have taken him up on the offer, but for the time being I was all set in the girlfriend department.

A cute, young waitress with bobbed blonde hair wearing a gold nametag that said Sally came over to take my order. She didn't look like a Sally, more like an Amanda, but what the hell does someone named Ronan know about names? I ordered a Sam Adams draft and she smiled and skipped off to get it. I watched her go toward the bar, admiring her figure under her black stretch pants.