The Concrete Blonde (hb-3)

Valley. After exiting on Bouquet Canyon Road he wound his way through a series of residential streets, past a seemingly endless line of California custom homes. On Del Prado, he pulled to the curb in front of the house with the Ritenbaugh Realty sign out front.
    Sylvia had been trying to sell the house for more than a year, without luck. When he thought about it, Bosch was relieved. It kept him from facing a decision about what he and Sylvia would do next.
    Sylvia opened the door before he reached it.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey.”
    “What do you have?”
    “Oh, it’s something from work. I’ve gotta make a couple calls in a while. Did you eat?”
    He bent down and kissed her and moved inside. She had on the gray T-shirt dress she liked to wear around the house after work. Her hair was loose and down to her shoulders, the blonde highlights catching the light from the living room.
    “Had a salad. You?”
    “Not yet. I’ll fix a sandwich or something. I’m sorry about this. With the trial and now this new case, it’s... well, you know.”
    “It’s okay. I just miss you. I’m sorry about how I acted on the phone.”
    She kissed him and held him. He felt at home with her. That was the best thing. That feeling. He had never had it before and he would forget it at times when he was away from her. But as soon as he was back with her it was there.
    She took him by the hand into the kitchen and told him to sit down while she made him a sandwich. He watched her put a pan on the stove and turn on the gas. Then she put four strips of bacon in the pan. While they cooked, she sliced a tomato and an avocado and laid out a bed of lettuce. He got up, took a beer from the fridge and kissed her on the back of the neck. He stepped back, annoyed that the memory of the woman grabbing him in the booth intruded on the moment. Why had that happened?
    “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing.”
    She put two slices of sunflower bread into the toaster and took the bacon out of the pan. A few minutes later she put the sandwich in front of him at the table and sat down.
    “Who do you have to call?”
    “Jerry Edgar, maybe a guy at Ad-Vice.”
    “Ad—Vice? She was porno? This new victim?”
    Sylvia had once been married to a cop and she made leaps of thought like a cop. Bosch liked that about her.
    “Think so. I have a line on her. But I’ve got court, so I want to give it to them.”
    She nodded. He never had to tell her not to ask too much. She always knew just when to stop.
    “How was school today?”
    “Fine. Eat your sandwich. I want you to hurry up and make your calls because I want us to forget about court and school and your investigation. I want us to open some wine, light some candles and get in bed.”
    He smiled at her.
    They had fallen into such a relaxed life together. The candles were always her signal, her way of initiating their lovemaking. Sitting there, Bosch realized he had no signals. She initiated it almost every time. He wondered what that meant about him. He worried that maybe theirs was a relationship solely founded on secrets and hidden faces. He hoped not.
    “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” she asked. “You’re really spaced.”
    “I’m fine. This is good. Thank you.”
    “Penny called tonight. She’s got two people interested, so she’s going to have an open house on Sunday.”
    He nodded, still eating.
    “Maybe we could go somewhere for the day. I don’t want to be here when she brings them through. We could even leave Saturday and go overnight somewhere. You could get away from all of this. Maybe Lone Pine would be good.”
    “That sounds good. But let’s see what happens.”
    After she left the kitchen for the bedroom, Bosch called the bureau and Edgar picked up. Bosch deepened his voice and said, “Yeah, you know that thing you showed on TV. The one that gots no name?”
    “Yes, can you help us?”
    “Sure can.”
    Bosch covered his mouth with his hand to hold back the laughter. He realized he hadn’t thought of a good punch line. His mind raced as he tried to decide what it should be.
    “Well, who is it, sir?” Edgar said impatiently.
    “It—it’s-it’s...”
    “It’s who?”
    “It’s Harve Pounds in drag!”
    Bosch burst out laughing and Edgar easily guessed who it was. It was stupid, not even funny, but they both laughed.
    “Bosch, what do you want?”
    It took him some time to stop laughing. He finally said, “Just checking in. Did you call Ray Mora?”
    “Nah, I