Mr. Wolfe

that she had been tweeting relentlessly over her bidding war on the costumes of recently murdered pop singer, Bobby Beckett.
"You've got no idea, Mr. Wolfe! I only found out an hour ago that Sotheby's was auctioning his collection and I sent Virginia there. The bids are up to four million dollars now. She's about to have a heart attack bidding so high."
He could hear her talking on the other line to her assistant. "Do it!" she yelled. "Do it, Virginia. Don't wimp out on me!" A pause. "Come on, woman, it's my money you're spending. This is your chance to blow my fortune." She posted one final tweet as she screamed in Mr. Wolfe's ear; "Oh, my God! I won! I won!"
She posted Just won the bid. I have Bobby Beckett's entire costume collection. Bought for $4.2 million. Will put into the hands of my archivist!
Mr. Wolfe stared at the screen. No, you won't!
"I need your help," she said to him. "I need you to assess the costumes I just bought."
"When?" he asked.
"Right now."
"I can't do that! I have my hands full here." He never let his temper get the better of him, but it had been a long, hot day and he hadn't allowed himself even a bite of food for lunch. He surveyed the huge pile of clothes he'd intended to spot clean before leaving.
"Please," she wheedled.
She kept going on in this whiny way and the truth was, it fascinated him to no end to be the one going through Beckett's collection.
"I want to bring Ambrosio with me," he said.
"Who?" she sounded distracted.
"My right-hand man."
"The cute one with the swagger?" The purr returned to her tone. "By all means bring him with. I'll meet you at Sotheby's loading dock in the alley behind Sunset. I'll text you the exact location as soon as I hang up."
She was as good as her word.
Mr. Wolfe got to his feet, covered all the garments in white sheets, packed up his trunk and called out to the others to head home.
They all seemed surprised, but pleased. They'd done an outstanding job and almost all the shelves and drawers had been constructed. He looked up at the space on the wall where the missing clock should have been, then gestured to Ambrosio.
"We have an assignment in Hollywood. You want to ride with me?"
"Sure, boss."
They packed their gear and everyone left.
"I'll drive," Ambrosio told him. "You haven't stopped all day."
"Thank you." Mr. Wolfe liked the way Ambrosio looked out for him without overdoing it. He waited until the others had driven away and Ambrosio was in his shiny, black SUV waiting for him.
Mr. Wolfe moved swiftly to the work desk once occupied by Linda East and now under the command of his pixies. He uncapped the large bottle of maple syrup he'd brought with him this morning and poured it into a glass dish he extracted from his messenger bag.
"There you are, my lovelies," he whispered, turning off the lights.
* * * *
Ambrosio became excited as he drove toward the West Hollywood location of Sotheby's auction house.
"She paid four point two million?" he asked. "Man, she must have money to burn."
Mr. Wolfe smiled. "Apparently."
"She's going to want you to archive them." Ambrosio sounded apprehensive. "Do you have time for such a huge project?"
Mr. Wolfe no longer wished to discuss the subject. He wanted to inhale Ambrosio's manly scent, the faint whiff of his aftershave. Burberry, he thought. He also wanted to quietly study the man's sexy profile and the faint six o'clock shadow across his jaw line.
His gaze flickered over to Ambrosio's hands on the wheel and the white patch on his wedding ring finger.
He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the cool confines of the SUV and Ambrosio's smooth driving.
His whole body felt hot. He should have eaten. He'd have to find a way in the next few days to make sure he consumed something.
"Right after we see the clothes, how about we have some dinner? Would you like some shabu-shabu maybe? It wouldn't take us long to zip down to Little Tokyo."
"That sounds perfect," Mr. Wolfe said and began, finally, to relax.
He almost drifted to sleep but enjoyed the comforting state in which he remained for the rest of the journey. His thoughts were good ones. All of work. And Ambrosio's sexy tush.
Mr. Wolfe almost laughed aloud.
Virginia called him as Ambrosio turned off Sunset and told him to park in the loading dock beside her Prius. Mr. Wolfe repeated all of this to Ambrosio. They saw her waving as they inched down the tiny laneway and parked as she had suggested.
As soon as he hopped out of the SUV, the sweltering temperatures hit him. There was no breeze at all, unusual for this time of year in Los Angeles. Normally they had June Gloom; cool, cloudy days followed by searing heat from July until the end of October.
He smiled at Virginia, who came racing toward him. Mr. Wolfe liked the woman but was not the kind of man to dispense hugs willy-nilly, so it shocked him when she rushed forward and squeezed him in an affectionate embrace. He caught Ambrosio's swift, amused glance, then the three of them stood in the encroaching darkness awaiting their superstar.
"Did you see any of the costumes?" Ambrosio asked.
A very good question.
Mr. Wolfe gazed at her now as she said, "Only a few of the new ones but the entire place was in an uproar when they brought out all his stuff from his time as a child in the Beckett Brood."
"That was in the seventies," Ambrosio said. "How did they look?"
She shrugged. "Tacky. A lot of glitter and stiff collars, but man it took me back to my childhood."
They all grinned at one another. Mr. Wolfe remembered the high collars all the Beckett children had worn on stage. The wide belts, the bell-bottom pants.
He felt even warmer just thinking about those cumbersome get-ups. The heat was really starting to bother him.
Just as he was about to call