Full Release by Marshall Thornton (classic books for 11 year olds txt) 📕

“Are you saying you don’t want to sell?”

“No, I don’t want to sell. I want a kitchen.”

“But...” He paused, seeming about to say something very impolite.

“But what?”

He lowered his voice, as though the neighbors could hear. “Aren’t you going to prison soon?”

I threw Rip out and was not especially polite about it. I couldn’t believe Jeremy would do something like that. Trying to take advantage of my situation. If you thought about it, it was a total con. If I did go to prison, Jeremy would be left owning the house. He and Skye could move in and make the payments. Except, Jeremy was working the situation. Basically, he’d end up owning the house --Skye would put his name back on the deed after the purchase -- owning a house he already owned and owing at least fifty thousand less on it in the process. What a scammer!

My two clients that night were both overweight. I didn’t mind, except that it was hell on my hands. A layer of fat made muscles harder to get at -- I felt obligated to at least make an attempt at massage -- so now the muscles in both of my hands could use a massage of their own.

I wasn’t able to even try Jeremy until nearly ten. I’d gotten myself a glass of wine and sat out on my patio. It took three tries before he picked up. When I finished screaming, he said, “None of this is my fault. I didn’t make the real estate market collapse. I didn’t kill someone in your garage. I’m not trying to put you in prison.”

“No, you’re just trying to make a buck off my misfortune.”

“You don’t want me to be happy, do you?”

“Right this minute, no. I don’t.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“With my new prison boyfriend?”

Jeremy was silent for a moment. “Do people actually form meaningful relationships in prison?”

“NO, THEY DON’T!” I screamed into the phone, and hung up.

Then I finished the bottle of wine.

Chapter Nineteen

The next morning, I was up early. Flush with cash, I decided to take myself out to breakfast. I grabbed my Los Angeles Herald and brought it with me to the restaurant. After I ordered my egg white scramble, turkey bacon and dry toast, I scanned the newspaper for articles about my case. Nothing had happened, so I wasn’t expecting any real news. I was wrong.

There was a story with the headline, DEVIANT SEX SUSPECTED IN MURDER. The byline belonged to Alan Moscowitz. The article described scarfing, and from the wording he used, it seemed Alan had read the exact same Internet sources I had. The article also stated that “an extensive collection of pornography was removed from the home of Matthew Latowski, including depictions of extreme fetish behavior.”

I was confused. I thought the police didn’t comment or provide information to the press on active investigations. They certainly didn’t on TV. But this reporter seemed to know everything. They’d obviously given him my mug shot. And they’d told him about the porn. Though, I wouldn’t describe it as an extensive collection. It was just one box, one box that wasn’t even full. In my mind, that was hardly extensive.

My breakfast came, and I did my best to choke it down past my anger. I scanned through the rest of the paper looking for something to distract me. In the lifestyle section, I found a story on Carlos Maldonado, also written by Alan Moskowitz. They’d been profiling the leaders of various L.A. communities. Today was the Latino community.

The photo heading the article showed him with his wife and their two small children. The flowery article covered his background, growing up in poverty, joining the police force, rising quickly through the ranks. It mentioned his work with Adventure Scouts. I remembered him saying that Eddie had been an Adventure Scout. That was how they’d met.

The article talked about his position with the Latino Community Development Agency and the ways in which he’s acted as a liaison between the Hispanic community and the police department. The article made it clear Maldonado had political ambitions and was planning a run for city council that was likely to be successful. It quoted him as saying, “Our society is too focused on the individual. Sometimes, most times, we have to do what is best for all, for the community. Having been a police officer, I have a strong sense of community.” I yawned. Obviously the guy was a politician; it was there in every word.

The article also mentioned, and then quickly dismissed, rumors that Maldonado played fast and loose with the Latino Community Development Agency. When asked about the allegations, he said, “In politics you always make enemies, and enemies do what they can to tear you down.”

My job interview with Bobby Sharpe was that morning at eleven. After breakfast, I hurried home to get ready. It was nearly nine-thirty by the time I got home. I had to shave, shower and dress and get out the door before ten o’clock. I wanted to get to Monumental Studios with plenty of time to park and make my way through security.

As I hurried to get ready, I anticipated the rest of my day. I had a client in the late afternoon, then four more appointments booked for the rest of the week. I hopped into the shower and toyed with the possibility that I might actually find the killer this weekend. And if I didn’t, I’d pick up nearly a thousand dollars. Money I desperately needed.

In a week or so, I’d have enough money to hire a lawyer. I hadn’t called around to price them yet, but I figured a lousy defense attorney was going to want a retainer of at least twenty-five hundred. A good defense attorney would want five grand. That seemed reasonable, and actually do-able.

Wearing my black suit, I got into the car at ten after ten. I’d already broken out into a