Trunk Music

know, until I can figure out what I’m going to do. I left my car in Vegas.”
    “I guess we could go over and get it, drive it back. You know, get in and out, not hang around.”
    She nodded.
    “Oh, I got a bottle of red wine, too. You want something? Or another beer?”
    “I’ll have what you’re having.”
    “I’m going to have a glass of wine. You sure you want that?”
    “I’m sure. I’ll open it.”
    He followed her into the kitchen and opened the wine and took down two glasses from a cabinet and rinsed them. He hadn’t had anyone who liked wine over in a long time. She poured and they touched glasses before drinking.
    “So how’s the case going?” she asked.
    “I don’t have a case anymore.”
    She creased her brow and frowned.
    “What happened? I thought you were bringing your suspect back.”
    “I did. But it’s no longer my case. Not since my suspect turned out to be a bureau agent with an alibi.”
    “Oh, Harry.” She looked down. “Are you in trouble?”
    Bosch put his glass on the counter and folded his arms.
    “I’m on a desk for the time being. I’ve got the squints investigating me. They think-along with the bureau-that I planted evidence against the agent. The gun. I didn’t. But I guess somebody did. When I figure out who, then I’ll be okay.”
    “Harry, how did this-”
    He shook his head, moved toward her and put his mouth on hers. He gently took the glass out of her hand and put it on the counter behind her.
    After they made love, Bosch went into the kitchen to open a bottle of beer and make dinner. He peeled an onion and chopped it up along with a green pepper. He then cleared the cutting board into a frying pan and sautéed the mixture with butter, powdered garlic and other seasonings. He added two chicken breasts and cooked them until the meat was easy to shred and pull away from the bone with a fork. He added a can of Italian tomato sauce, a can of crushed tomatoes and more seasonings. He finished by pouring a shot of red wine from Eleanor’s bottle in. While it all simmered, he put a pot of water on to boil for rice.
    It was the best dinner he knew how to cook in a kitchen. He would have preferred grilling something on the deck, but the grill had been hauled away when the original house was demolished after the earthquake. While he had replaced the house, he had not yet gotten around to getting a new grill. He decided as he mixed rice into the boiling water that if Eleanor chose to stay for a while, he would get the grill.
    “Smells good.”
    He turned and she was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in blue jeans and a denim shirt. Her hair was damp from the shower. Bosch looked at her and felt the desire to make love to her again.
    “I hope it tastes good,” he said. “This is a new kitchen, but I don’t really know how to use it yet. Never did much cooking.”
    She smiled.
    “I can tell already it will be good.”
    “Tell you what, will you stir this every few minutes while I take a shower?”
    “Sure. I’ll set the table.”
    “Okay. I was thinking we’d eat out on the deck. It doesn’t smell like paint out there.”
    “Sorry.”
    “No, I mean it will be nice out there. I’m not complaining about the paint. In fact, that was all a ruse, you know, to leave the wall half painted like that. I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.”
    She smiled.
    “A regular Tom Sawyer, detective third grade.”
    “Maybe not for long.”
    His comment ruined the moment and she stopped smiling. He silently chastised himself on the way back to the bedroom.
    After his shower, Bosch put the last part of his recipe into the frying pan. He took a handful of frozen peas and mixed them into the simmering chicken-and-tomato stew. As he brought the food and wine out to the picnic table on the deck, he told Eleanor, who was standing at the railing, to have a seat.
    “Sorry,” he said as they settled in. “I forgot about a salad.”
    “This is all I need.”
    They started the meal in silence. He waited.
    “I like it a lot,” she finally said. “What do you call this?”
    “I don’t know. My mother just called it Chicken Special. I think that’s what it was called in a restaurant where she first had it.”
    “A family recipe.”
    “The only one.”
    They ate quietly for a few minutes during which Bosch surreptitiously tried to watch her to see if she really enjoyed the food. He was pretty sure she did.
    “Harry,” Eleanor said after a while, “who are