Tourist Trap (Rebecca Schwartz #3) (A Rebecca Schwartz Mystery) (The Rebecca Schwartz Series)

Castro, they seem to think it was a freak who hates gays.”
    “But you’re not convinced.”
    I shook my head. “I’m not even sure either one of them was gay. The killer—Lee or whoever he is—dumped the beauteous Terry Yannarelli for poor old Sanchez. I think maybe he already knew him. If Lee wasn’t gay and had simply arranged to meet Sanchez at the Yellow Parrot—maybe not even knowing it was a gay bar—that would explain it, wouldn’t it?”
    “You mean they had a date and Terry horned in? But couldn’t that have happened if they were both gay?”
    “Yes, but Terry thinks Lee was straight. It could just be ego, but there was a woman on the hill who said Sanchez was her man.”
    I explained about Miranda, and then Chris left me to a pile of messages from various reporters in competition with the
Chronicle
. Out of loyalty to my true love, I declined to return their calls. Instead, I phoned Rob to brag about my faithfulness—and just happened to ask what was new.
    “He was definitely gay. No question about it. Item one—he was staying at the Oscar Wilde Hotel. What does that tell you? Item two—I talked to his family in Gallup this morning. He had never once, not even in junior high, been known to have the slightest interest in females. Even a female horse. Item three—I had his sister poll the whole family and not one of them ever heard the name Miranda.”
    “So who is she?”
    “That would seem to be the key question—but for one. Dinner tomorrow?”
    “Sure.”
    And then I applied myself to my thriving practice. I’d been involved in a couple of murders before and noticed that they played hell with getting my work done. I thanked my stars I wasn’t really in the middle of this one. But the next night over Hunan food so hot I had to drink three beers, Miranda was still on my mind.
    We were walking back to my place when I had my great idea: “Suppose she wasn’t Sanchez’s lover.”
    “I have been. Haven’t you?”
    “I mean, she has to fit in someplace. Maybe Lee was her man.”
    Rob quit walking and stared at me. “Miss Schwartz. You may have something there.”
    “So maybe she caught Lee with Sanchez and killed him out of jealousy.”
    “Unlikely. She was too drunk, don’t you think? And not strong enough to get him on the cross.”
    “That’s not the half of it. She’d have killed Lee, not Sanchez. At least I would. Kill you, I mean.”
    He kissed my ear. “Um. Would you? With the knife or the candlestick?”
    “The knife. Naturally. But suppose she lied about the way it happened.”
    “You’re brilliant tonight. Like I said, I’ve been so supposing, haven’t you?”
    “What if she were Lee’s woman and for some reason Lee thought Sanchez was having an affair with her, which he wasn’t, being gay. But anyhow, that’s why Lee killed him.”
    “You’re drunk.”
    “Chris says that, according to southern tradition, if you’re drunk and get laid, it doesn’t count. She says lots of southern women who’ve been to bed with half the men in the county still haven’t lost their virginity.”
    “So if we make love it won’t count?”
    “Nope. We’ll wake up as pure as Mormon missionaries.”
    “I just remembered a previous engagement.” Sometimes Rob didn’t like it when I acted silly.
    On the other hand, he did like it when I’d had a few beers and felt like staying up making love far too late on a weeknight. Which was what we ended up doing and why we decided to spend the next couple of nights recuperating instead of seeing each other. So naturally when Rob phoned Friday morning, I assumed he was merely missing me and eager to confirm our mud-bath date. But then I realized he sounded far too excited. “I want to read you something.”
    “Okay.”
    “It just came in the mail. I think it’s from the killer.”
    “Read.”
    “‘Dear Mr. Burns: I’m glad you were the one who discovered the body. You have always been my favorite
Chronicle
reporter; so here is a tip. Look for action at Pier 39.’
It’s signed,
‘Tourist Trapper.’
”
    “Tourist Trapper! Sanchez was a tourist.”
    “And Pier 39 is tourist heaven. I don’t like to think about the implications.”
    “You really think it’s real?”
    “I’m afraid I do. You’re always hearing about the police getting crank letters, but reporters don’t. The last time I remember anything like this was back in the sixties.”
    “The Zodiac?”
    “Yeah. Paul Avery was the reporter who covered