The Night Searchers (A Sharon McCone Mystery) by Marcia Muller

you’re moving to Sonoma?”
    “I am. Watch out, Shar, I’m getting closer and closer to you every year.”
    Sonoma wasn’t all that much closer to the city than Napa. “I’ll worry about that when you buy down here.”
    “Actually, I’ve got my sights set on a pretty good location there too.”
    We chatted for a while about her kids, her current boyfriends—always plural these days—and Hy and me. Then I explained about Ma’s complaints to Charlene, which she promised to straighten out—leaving me free of further late-night conversation.
    I regarded the ziplocks I’d offloaded onto the kitchen table when I’d come in. Then I got a section of newspaper from the recycle bin and emptied the bags onto it. Pretty slim pickings.
    The gold cigarette lighter was the only valuable item. I checked it over, found it wouldn’t light—although it did give off an unpleasant butane stink—but I couldn’t imagine anybody throwing out such an expensive lighter as if it were a disposable Bic. I’d have it checked by Richman Labs for residual contents and prints tomorrow and then have them messenger it to the Dunhill store near Union Square; it was a long shot, but maybe someone there would be able to identify its purchaser.
    The piece of metal with the leather attached to one end could have been from a watchband; also the silver buckle. But buckles and chains went into so many accessories these days…long matches? Well, what else would you use to start a fire in a windswept lot? Ballpoint pen, dog bone paper clip chain? Junk. Gold cord? Same.
    I yawned. Looked at Jessie the cat, who was eyeing me in hope of more food.
    “Tomorrow, Miz Scarlett,” I told her, “is another day.”
    Then I scooped her up and carried her to bed.

Chapter 5
    8:10 a.m.
    H y phoned me right before he boarded his plane home from Des Moines, sounding grim.
    “Situation here’s been resolved, and the one out there’s still under wraps, but Gregor Deeds, the op I put in charge of the Hoffman case in my absence, reports we’ve received another series of those weird, taunting e-mails.”
    “Read them to me.”
    “I’d rather not; this isn’t a secure line. How about I meet you at one o’clock in that parklet near our building? I’ll bring hot dogs and Cokes.”
    “See you then.”
    9:41 a.m.
    I’d decided to deliver the gold lighter to Richman Labs myself, knowing it would expedite my request to analyze the remains of its contents and identify any prints if I asked in person. I was just leaving there when Mick called.
    “You all set for our evening with the Night Searchers?” he asked.
    “I guess. But what if Givens shows up and recognizes me?”
    “Jeez, I’d think you, of all people, would know how to disguise yourself.”
    “Of course I do, but the man’s seen me up close and recently.”
    “It’ll be dark. Givens might not even show, and if he does, you just slip into the shadows and abort your involvement.”
    “Sorry, I’m not tracking too well.”
    “Late night?”
    “Late and bad. Dreams, you know.”
    “Yeah, I do.”
    We made arrangements for meeting that night, and then I touched base with Julia.
    “Chad loves Italian food,” she told me. “At lunchtime yesterday I followed him to a restaurant named Bella near his office building on Sacramento Street, where he ate for three hours: antipasto, scampi cocktail, soup, pasta, fish, roasted lamb, and a gooey, disgusting dessert. And wine, lots of wine.”
    “You were right there in the restaurant?”
    “In a small booth across the aisle.”
    “Did he notice you?”
    “Nope, he was too busy eating.”
    “What did you have?”
    “Are you worried about my expense account?”
    “No, I’m just curious.”
    “Minestrone, garlic bread, and a gooey, disgustingly wonderful dessert.”
    “No wine?”
    “I was working a case…well, yeah, two glasses of Chianti. But during three hours of observing a pig, I felt entitled.”
    “Rightfully so. Where’d Kenyon go