On the way out of Death Valley, we stopped for a picnic. Love picnics myself, and so does Bernie. He had a ham sandwich. Me too, without the bread. We sat on this high lookout, the floor of Death Valley spread out below. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. Kelo Printz, Hollywood producer and our client, missing. Some story about Louis B. Mayer and Erich von Stroheim, possibly fighting over a can of film. And the can itself, thanks to you, but no film, instead a painting I’m almost sure is by Martin Ramirez, and so maybe tied to another case of ours from the past.”
Wow! We knew all that?
“So what do you think, Chet? What’s going on?”
I finished up the last of the ham and felt the nice breeze that blew up at the lookout, waiting for a thought to come. And then I kind of had one: I remembered that human skull way back in the cave, just before everything came falling down.
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