Chapter Five

City Lady Country Killer

The door opened.

“Who the hell are you?” The man was in an evening suit, pressed and freshly cleaned. His breath stank of Islay.

“David York?” I asked. “Rita is in the hospital.”

The color drained from his face. He shuffled aside.

The apartment was minimalist. It was out of place in the old wonder of the Descartes. A gray couch and gray coffee table on a gr…