W is for Wasted (Kinsey Millhone Mystery)

tried again. “Neighborhood dog. He’s always wandering into the yard.”
    He closed his eyes, testing the truth value of the statement. For once I was lying outright and Linton missed it, so maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought. Maybe I wasn’t that smart either because Anna might have helped me if I hadn’t read her the riot act.
    I said, “You know what? Why don’t we forget all this and start from scratch? Somehow I gave you the wrong impression and I apologize.”
    “Impression? We’re not talking about impressions . We’re talking about the truth of what’s going on.”
    “Which is what? I’m not getting this.”
    “You’re ruining my life. You’re tearing down everything I worked so hard to achieve.”
    I shook my head, saying, “I’m not. I wouldn’t do that.”
    He smiled slightly. “Well. Perhaps you’re right. I suppose there’s no point in arguing since it won’t change anything.”
    For a moment, I was quiet. Linton Reed was about to declare himself. Then again, so was I. “You know what your problem is?”
    He fixed his attention on me. He’d been in that strange little twisted world of his where he was the king. “What’s that?”
    “You don’t know a Ruger from a Glock.”
    His smile faded and his eyes went dead. He removed a flat silver case from his coat pocket and triggered the lid.
    I couldn’t bring myself to look. I kept my eyes locked on his. Was there anyone alive in there? My heart had started to bang as though I’d just climbed a flight of stairs.
    “Look what I brought for you,” he said.
    I looked down. The interior was lined with black velvet. In the center was a scalpel. A jolt of ice moved down my spine, chilling every nerve it touched. The effect was odd, like that spritzy jangle you feel when you contact a hot wire.
    “This was my specialty. My first love,” he said.
    He plucked the scalpel from its velvet bed, snapped the case shut, and returned it to his coat pocket. He held the surgical instrument so it caught the light. “I call him ‘the Biter.’ He’s quick and sharp. This blade is my favorite. A number twelve. You see how this portion curves. That’s his music. A sweet high note you’ll hear when he whistles through your flesh.”
    His eyes met mine. “No need to be apprehensive. You won’t suffer. He’ll see to that. A burning sensation, but so brief. Think of it as lightning, illuminating your soul. A starburst followed by quiet.”
    I felt tears well. “I bet you introduced him to Terrence Dace when he was admitted to the CCU.”
    “He was very sick. He was doomed. I offered him a better death. The aide came in so I said good night. I said we’d come back for him.”
    He lashed out at me so abruptly, I could feel the blade displace the air as it whipped across my face. I jerked back. I put my hand behind me, grabbing the arm of the aluminum lawn chair to keep from stumbling. I glanced down and then swung the chair in a hard arc. I caught Linton by surprise, though he managed to get his arm up to soften the impact. He focused on me with curiosity, perhaps with a touch of respect. I wondered if he thought I’d go down without a fight.
    I held the chair in front of me, the four legs keeping him at bay. He paused to consider his options and then lashed out again. He was quick in the way a striking snake is quick. Out and back, hoping to bury his blade in me. I struck him with the chair, driving at him with all four legs. A hard bang as the two front legs jabbed his chest. I backed up and to my left, forcing him to shift right to keep me in range. From the corner of my eye, I saw a touch of white.
    The cat was out.
    Linton saw him at the same time I did and I watched his eyes flicker toward Ed. I struck again to distract him. Ed paid no attention to either one of us. He sat down and licked his paw, grooming his face with a curling gesture that broke my heart.
    Now it was Linton who moved. I knew what he was up to. A demonstration. The Biter cutting to the bone. The simplicity of math. If not me, the cat. My only advantage was that I could devote both hands to the chair I held while his left hand was occupied. A leftie. I’d forgotten. He had his little friend to protect. I lunged, snapping the chair in front of me like a lion tamer. It was too light to do him any harm, but it created a buffer zone between us.
    He snatched at the chair and I pushed abruptly, causing him to stumble backward by one step. I leaned left and I grabbed