We’re in San Francisco now. Amazing views. But no time to enjoy them. This case is complicated, all about some painting that turned up and then vanished, a painting that might be by a dude called Martin Ramirez. I saw a photo of it – looked like a train going into a tunnel. You wouldn’t think that would be scary but it was. Bernie and I had to hop a train once, out in the middle of nowhere and in kind a hurry. That almost turned out not good.
Bernie’s mom lives in San Francisco. Last night we had dinner at her place, met the new husband for the first time, a little guy with a pencil mustache. I preferred the one before the last one. He was a good patter. This guy doesn’t pat at all. Neither does Bernie’s mom. Also she calls me Shep. And she calls Bernie Kiddo. What’s up with that? The skin on her face is amazingly tight, kind of scary, but not like the Ramirez painting. I found a forgotten burger on her patio. Almost certainly forgotten, and very tasty.
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