Chapter 210
"You want me to meet you? I'm way on the other side of town," Rohan said.
"I'll handle it. Just keeping you in the loop."
"Thanks, Boss."
"Most Superior Goddess works, too."
"Goof," he said, and hung up.
About twenty minutes later, I pulled up to Rocco's Pizzeria, a squat brick storefront off West Tenth Avenue that wasn't too far from our mansion. Close to the University of British Columbia, it was a popular student hangout for its huge portions. I salivated just thinking about their pesto pancetta slices.
Yes, pancetta, my not-so-secret love. I was a bad Jew. Jew-ish.
I slung the laminated press pass identifying me as one of the reporters for The Vancouver Sun newspaper over the business casual blouse and linen pants that I'd changed into, and fished a spiral bound notebook and pen from my purse.
Crime scene tape had been strung across the open door, allowing the scent of baking dough and spicy tomato sauce to drift out into the street. Cops milled about.