Trying to figure out how much should be smut and how much should be plot. Mostly plot in this chapter. The next chapter is a lot racier.

Rusty wondered where Sharon was. Well, he didn't wonder for long. She must have gone back to his place. She must have been really horny. Rusty laughed and flipped on the TV. Time to veg out.

Brenda could barely lock the door before Fritz hurried her to bed. His mouth found hers and he could taste the ice cream. Leave it to Brenda to find the one place in LA that sells ho-ho flavored ice cream. He quickly pulled her dress over her head, leaving her in her matching demi-cup bra and lace panties. She returned the favor, pulling the undershirt off him.

He started nibbling on her neck. She moaned in his ear as he hurriedly moved down her body. His mouth found his favorite place, right between her breasts, and he kissed her tenderly.

"You always settle there," she said with a laugh. He pushed her onto the bed and continued to kiss her slender frame.

He kissed her thighs, calves, ankles and worked his way back up until he reached her hip bone. He bit it, causing her to give a little yelp. He pushed her knees outwards and settled beneath her golden curls.

He plunged in, his tongue making wide, swooping motions across her tender folds, getting her wet very quickly.

"Aahhhh" she gasped aloud as he got to work. She wriggled and writhed beneath him. Her calves pushed him further into her as her shoulders pinched together, forcing her hips upwards.

Fritz loved being in control. Normally, Brenda was quite bossy, but now, she was at his mercy. He used his thumb to slowly rub her clit as she thrashed about. She wanted it quickly, but he was determined to take his time with her.

Brenda was rather impatient. She came home expecting to lie on the couch with her food baby, but Fritz grabbed her and kissed her the moment she walked through the door. He gets her all hot and bothered just to toy with her. What a jerk! She moaned loudly as he pushed his fingers into her throbbing wetness.

Brenda got combative as her arousal built, but Fritz was not giving up control. Eventually, she relented, stopped bucking her hips and trying to push herself over the edge. She sighed and lay on the bed, waiting for Fritz to finish her off. Satisfied with her surrender, Fritz sucked her clit into his mouth.

"OH GOD!" In Brenda's head it was a shout, but out loud, it was a throaty whimper. Her hands dug into the sheets, gripping them tightly. Her breath was heavy, causing her breasts to heave. Fritz kept the pressure on her until she erupted. Her entire body tensed and then she sank into the sheets.

Across town, Sharon was enjoying her power nap. She rolled over, her head resting on Craig's shoulder. His arm slipped around her back, and he gently pulled her closer to his chest. He enjoyed having her close. It was starting to get late in the afternoon. Eventually, Sharon would wake up and head home, but for now, they could just lie side by side.

About twenty minutes later, Sharon opened her eyes. Again, she woke up in his bed, but she remembered falling asleep in it this time. She looked up at Craig and kissed his nose. "Hey, Baby."

"Hello yourself." He smiled. They shared a quick kiss.

"I should get going," she told him. He kissed her again, hoping to convince her to stay. "If you keep kissing me, I'll never get out of here."

"That's the idea," he said as he kissed her again.

Eventually, they got into the shower and put their clothes back on. He drove her home and kissed her one last time as she left his car.

"I'll call you about Saturday," he said as he drove off.

Sharon headed inside. She had a pip to her step and a grin on her face.

"Rusty, I'm home."

"You still live here?"

"Very funny."

"Craig must have a great house. Have you made it past the bedroom?"

Sharon didn't dignify that with a response, well other than sticking out her tongue.

Rusty laughed. He also sent a text to Brenda. "Guess who just got home from brunch." It was 5PM at this point.

Brenda couldn't say anything about Sharon. She spent her afternoon in bed as well. She texted Rusty.

"Go easy on her."

"Too late."

Monday

Monday of course was a day for murder. A cocktail waitress was found dead her car, which was parked in the Hollywood Hills, in the back of a 5-star restaurant. She didn't die in the car. There wasn't enough blood for that and there was no blood trail to the car. It looked like she was murdered elsewhere and someone brought her here, so she would be found. "Why drive a dead woman to her job?" Sharon pondered.

The media was all over the case. Provenza was fussing with them to respect the perimeter. Sharon was trying to get out of there before Taylor saddled her with a media liaison, again.

Naturally, the victim's husband was the first suspect, but when they got to their house, he was long dead. This was going to be a doozy. Sharon sighed.

Rusty had yet more summer school. It sucked but he was two years behind. Sharon thought if he kept his grades up, he might be able to make up a year, or at least get some college credit. It was time for Algebra. Algebra and summer did not mix. Rusty pulled out his notebook and got ready to take notes/stare out the window.

Craig worked out before going to work. He lifted every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Saturday. His routine was consistent. Wake up, drink coffee, get clothes and shoes on and head downstairs.

Craig started lifting in his twenties. His wife had left him with two young boys, and he needed some type of physical activity as he was often home with them. He didn't really notice any difference in his physique at first, but he did notice that women paid more attention to him. He liked the attention, and over the next two and a half decades, he added a lot of muscle to what was once a scrawny frame and netted a lot of ladies. But something was different now.

For the first time in a long time, Craig saw himself with one lady. It could easily be a time to slow down and slack off with the workouts, but Craig went into overdrive. He wanted to look better every time Sharon saw him. He started with jumping rope, then pushups, and then lifting time. His routines were carefully planned, mixing barbell lifts, dumbbells, bodyweight exercises and his cable machine to hammer his muscles every way he could.

Today was military press, pullups, dumbbell bench, dips and weighted crunches. After his session, which was gruelling, he ate breakfast, scrambled eggs, avocado, bacon, buttered toast and orange juice, took his shower, got dressed and headed to work. He got to his office, his secretary, Margaret, at her desk.

"Your coffee's on your desk."

"Thanks. Any calls?"

"No."

Craig went into his office and turned on his laptop, time to plan his course list for the fall. For the first time in a few years, he was teaching freshman English. He sighed. You never knew what you would get with freshman. Maybe a few would be great writers. Others wrote gibberish. Some would be too busy kissing his ass to read and then there were the party-hard kids who managed to be hungover every week.

Craig wanted to have a fun class, but a challenging one where everyone could grow. He needed 3-4 books depending on how long they were and he didn't want any of the usual suspects. No Shakespeare. He wanted there to be something knew for everyone. The first book would be the easiest book and would give Craig a chance to see how the class fared.

Time to think, but first, read Dilbert.

Brenda sat at her desk. She didn't have that much to do. They had a robbery suspect who was supposed to go to trial next month. She was supposed to meet with the ADA on the case and help with the strategy/last minute investigating, but the suspect copped a plea and ratted on his accomplices, so Brenda's work was done before it began. She looked out her office and saw Gabriel typing away. She needed to find away to get him to cross paths with Angela. How could she get him to the restaurant?

Tuesday

Craig was making plans for Saturday. He called Sharon, but she sounded stressed, the tired and hungry kind of stressed. There was someone- Chief Pope- as it turned out, yelling in the background. Craig said he'd call when she was less busy. Apparently, the body was found outside one of his favorite restaurants and the owner was not pleased that Sharon wanted to talk to every employee and a copy of the guest list.

"How could it be one of the guests or one of my employees?" the owner insisted.

Sharon sighed and resumed working. She could really go for something to eat.

"Well, do you know of any reason why someone would kill your employee, stuff her in her car and drive her to your restaurant."

"Obviously someone trying to ruin me."

"Like whom."

"One of my many competitors. I am quite successful," he said with an arrogant flair and a clearly fake French accent.

About an hour later, a man with a cart appeared.

"I'm looking for Major Crimes," he said as he walked into the murder room. Provenza looked up.

"What you got there?"

"Thai lunch boxes, eight in total."

"Did you just say lunch?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Already paid for Sir. Courtesy of a Craig Archibald."

"The writer?" Tao failed to see the connection.

"Sure, whatever. Where do I put these?"

Sanchez pointed to a table. Sharon heard the commotion. "What's going on?"

"Some Craig guy sent us lunch. Maybe he's trying to bribe us. I'm okay with that." Provenza looked at the labels. There were 3 chicken, 2 pork, two beef and 1 vegetarian. He went for the pork.

Sharon looked at the receipt. "He shouldn't have." She smiled.

"You know this guy?"

"I do." Sharon took a chicken lunch box and went back to her office. She should call him first, but it smelled delicious, and she was famished. It tasted amazing. There was a spring roll with dipping sauce, chicken curry, a salad, and steamed rice.

Sharon gave him a call. "Lunch for my whole team. You shouldn't have, although it's greatly appreciated."

"Well it sounded like you hadn't eaten in a while. I could hear your stomach growling over the yelling in the background, and I figured if I sent over only one lunch it would be like Lord of the Flies."

Sharon laughed. "Well, it might have been anyway, but this was really great."

They had a quick chat, and then she headed back to her case. She wanted to finish this asap. She was getting on that boat.

After lunch, she went down to see Dr. Morales. Flynn accompanied her.

"So your female victim was stabbed several times with long, very sharp knife, possibly a chef's knife, but I would need to do some tests to figure out more. It would be great if I had some knives to test with."

"I'll talk to Chief Taylor."

"Anyway. The killer was probably really mad. She was stabbed 30 times; the first one would have been fatal. I saw no signs of a struggle on her part, so she was either ambushed or wasn't expecting violence. She died somewhere between 10PM and midnight Sunday night. Her last meal was probably around 9PM and it was nice, chantarelle mushrooms, Bordeaux, foie gras."

"I thought foie gras was banned." Flynn did not understand the appeal of an obese duck liver. It didn't help that he was a vegetarian or on a new health kick.

"It is for restaurants to sell it, but people can make it at home. Perhaps, she was seeing a chef on the side."

"Or perhaps the restaurant sells it illegally," Sharon commented. "Is there a black market for foie gras?" Now this could be the scandal of the century.

"Can you tell us about how her husband died?"

"Still working on that. I sent his blood work to toxicology. His fingernails were discolored. It might have been poison. TOD was at least two days before his wife."

"Wonder why she didn't call?" Flynn asked, sarcastically.

After a long day at work, Sharon headed home. Rusty had another paper to write, this one on A Room with a View.

"What did you think of the story?" Sharon asked him over a plate of spaghetti and meatballs.

"Uh, it was okay, I guess." Rusty kind of skimmed it.

Sharon could tell he hadn't read it. She hadn't either, but it wasn't her assignment. "Do you know what you want to write?"

"Not a clue." Rusty didn't want to think about it.

Craig texted Sharon. "I know you're busy, but I was hoping I could see you before I go, lunch?."

Sharon wanted to see him too, but if she was going to get this case out of the way, she needed to focus.

"I want to see you tomorrow, but I want to get on your boat on Saturday more."

"Fair enough. Maybe I could bring you some ice cream? Ice cream is important for thinking, and it's a food group."

"A food group?"

"I'm a Professor. Everything I say is true."

"Well, Rusty could use some help with his paper, so if you want to visit, I'm sure he can keep you busy."

"I'd like that."

Sharon told Rusty. "Craig said he'd help you with your paper if you're up for it."

"If I'm up for it? A world-renown novelist is ready to help a street-rat with remedial English. Of course I'm up for it. Thanks Sharon."

"World renown?" He said he wrote novels, but I'd never heard of them before.

"You didn't google him before you slept with him?"

"Rusty!"

"I'm kidding, well kind of. Anyway, his books are a big deal." Rusty, of course, googled him before he and Brenda arranged the date.

Sharon googled "Craig Archibald," and was surprised to find that he was one of the best selling authors from 1999-2005 and his short story won a Pulitzer Prize in 2007. It was called Drive, telling the story of a exiled Russian doctor who came to America with family, earning a living as a taxi driver in Manhattan. Sharon ordered it. She wanted to see into Craig's mind.

Speaking of Craig, he went home, still unable to finish his course list. His shortlist contained, Persepolis, the Metamorphosis, Mrs. Dalloway, The Sound and the Fury, Don Quixote, The Castle and Dead Souls. He had a bunch novels that could be taught, but he needed a theme, something to tie them together so they weren't just a list of books he liked. He got tired of thinking about it and went home.

Wednesday

Sharon was trying to figure out why the two victims were killed. Were they killed by the same person? Did the waitress kill her husband before she met her own demise?

They started a list of common reasons for murder: money, adultery, jealousy/hatred. A random killing seemed unlikely. A chef's knife was not a mugger's typical weapon of choice. Morales said the knife was very sharp, likely taking out the casual homeowner's knife.

The team got subpoenas for her life insurance policy and that of her husband's, her phone records, gps data from her cell phone and car, her bank accounts, and Facebook account, looking for anything and everything that would lead to a cause of death.

As expected, she and her husband and insurance policies on each other, which gave her a reason to kill him, but who benefited from her death? Maybe she got someone to kill her husband for her, she wouldn't pay and he offed her too?

"This is interesting, Captain," Tao started.

It probably isn't Raydor thought to herself. "What is it Lieutenant?"

"She's friends with a lot of waitresses on Facebook, but not all of them work for the same restaurant. On Wednesday, four days before she died, she became Facebook friends with three waitresses, all of them work for The Prickly Pear, and our victim received two phone calls from a payphone while she was at the Prickly Pear on Saturday night.

"How do we know she was there and not just in the area?"

"They're right by a cell tower."

"Let's see why she was at that restaurant."

Tao called them. As it turned out, she was their new waitress and had just begun Saturday night. Sharon arranged for the owner to come for an interview. While she was at the station, Sharon sent Flynn and Provenza to visit the restaurant and see if they could find out anything interesting. "Be on the lookout for foie gras," she told them.

"Yes 008," Provenza answered.

She looked at him.

"What? Chief Johnson's already 007."

Sharon shook her head. While they went to the Prickly Pear, their owner came to the station.

She was quite a looker, tall, thin, fancy clothes and top of the line accessories, purse, watch, earrings, etc.

"Are you Captain Raydor?" Now they were only a few feet apart. She spoke with a calm but confident voice."

"Angela Marshall. Thank you for coming. Shall we go to the conference room?"

Angela took out her phone and answered a text. "This will just be a moment, sorry. We had a shortage of bacon today, and my chef is trying to make some more."

"You make the bacon in the restaurant?"

"We make everything, well except the booze and cheese, in house." She smiled. She was quite proud of her restaurant, and it was a booming success.

"Well, let's make this quick, shall we. I'm sure you have a lot of work ahead of you. I understand Sarah Hinckley was at your restaurant on Saturday night."

"Yes. It was her first day as a new waitress. It's a shame too. She got along with everyone so well."

"Did you know she also worked at the Berkshire?"

"She was going to quit that job to work for me."

"Why would she do that?"

"Better restaurant, better pay, better work environment."

"Could you elaborate on the last one?"

"Everyone knows Chef Raul (the owner) is a total tyrant. He yells and screams at everyone, except his customers (I hope). I offer a much better work environment for my employees. At the Prickly Pear, everything runs smoothly from the top down. Everyone works to make it a success."

"And how do you do that? If you don't mind me asking."

"Easy. Everyone's pay is tied to the restaurant's success. I pay each employee a specified percentage of the profits and a bonus if we get over our target. The more the restaurant makes, the more they get paid. Having people work for tips doesn't work. They don't try any harder and service doesn't get any better. But if their success is linked to mine, then they'll bust their tails, and they do."

"And how's business lately."

"Couldn't be better. The restaurant has been packed non-stop. Customers love it and keep coming back for more. My reviews have been fabulous. You'll have to try it for yourself."

"Maybe I will." Maybe Flynn and Provenza were getting somewhere. Her interview felt more like a marketing campaign than a murder investigation.

"When she decided to work for you? Did her boss know she was leaving?"

"Well, I have no idea, but if he did know, he would have flipped his top. He hates it when people 'poach' his employees."

"Is that deemed uncouth in the industry?"

"Oh no. The restaurant business is built that way. Everyone is looking for the best opportunity, they are few and far between and when you get one, you must jump on it. Just last month, my sous chef got offered an executive chef in New York. He thought about turning it down on my behalf. I told him if he didn't take the job, I would fire him for being an idiot. You can't turn down a chance to make yourself a star, not in my restaurant anyway."

"But doesn't that hurt your business when people get taken."

"Not really. If anything, it elevates it. Everywhere he goes, every milestone he achieves, is a testament to my skill. It gives chefs a reason to want to work for me, and it puts the world on notice that people who work with me make it. After he left, a bunch of great chefs applied for his old job. I had pick of the litter, as they say. Restaurants need new blood. If everything's the same too long. It gets stagnant. I like to stay fresh."

"Did it ever occur to you that Sarah might have been a plant, sent by Chef Raul to get intel on your business?"

"What is this? James Bond." Angela laughed, then she realized it was a serious question. "There's no way he was trying to steal my recipes or anything like that. He's too arrogant to think that anyone else could make better food. He's also too smart to think he'd find something uncouth about my restaurant. Check it out. I follow every health code and procedure. My premises are pristine. My chefs very well trained. I got nothing to hide."

"What about sabotage? I know this seems bizarre, but we have two murders here and they're not quite normal."

"Two murders?"

"Her husband was killed three days before she was."

"How odd? Well, if she was supposed to sabotage me, she never did. Saturday night was perfect."

The interview ended.

Flynn and Provenza were chatting up the head waitress at the Prickly Pear. She was pretty, well-dressed, polite, hair neat and pristine. She had a great smile, long black hair, and big brown eyes.

"So Candice, how do you like working here?" Provenza asked before he bit into a chicken BAT (bacon, avocado and tomato) sandwich, put on homemade sourdough that was toasted and brushed with butter. It was fabulous.

"It's great. Everyone's nice. Service always runs smoothly. It's a lot of work though. There's always people here, people trying to get in here. On Saturday night, we had this one guy trying to pretend he had made a reservation. It was clear he didn't have one, but he kept trying."

"Do you remember what he looked like?" Flynn asked her.

"He was short, kind of fat, kind of bald, had a clearly fake French accent. That's about all I remember."

Flynn and Provenza looked at each other, sounded like Chef Raul came to pay a visit.

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?" Flynn was about to dive into a beautiful salad: grilled portabello mushrooms, tempeh, fire-roasted peppers, onions, cilantro, and crushed garlic with a mango-tomato chutney on top. It was served with a side of fresh breadsticks .

"I think so."

Another waitress came by. "Chef Paul says he needs to talk to you. They might need to 86 something for dinner, again." Candice went to the back. (86 means they're out of a certain dish.)

"Can I get you gentlemen anything?" The new waitress offered.

"A mango Italian soda would be great," said Provenza.

"Mint tea," said Flynn.

The woman returned with their drinks.

"Did you know Sarah?" Provenza asked her. "She was a waitress here on Saturday night."

"Not very well. That was the only day we worked together. It's a shame, getting killed like that."

"Do you remember anything about Saturday night?"

"I remember she got a phone call. It must have made her upset because the smile on her face quickly disappeared."

"Do you know who it was she was talking too?"

"No. I asked her if she was okay. She said it was nothing, but I could tell she was lying."

The men paid for their lunch and headed back to work.

"Tell me you got something useful," Sharon pretty much pleaded with them. At this point, Rusty was here, waiting for Craig to come by. She needed some good news. She wanted this case over with.

"Well, it appears that Chef Raul tried to fake a reservation to get into the Prickly Pear the night Sarah was working. It didn't work. And whoever called her on Saturday night, said something to upset her, but no one knew who she was talking to or what he said."

Sharon sighed. "Well, that's something. Let's have Chef Raul return."

"Sanchez, Sykes could you visit his restaurant while he's here. I have a feeling there's something going on there that we're missing."

Just as Chef Raul arrived, angry as hell that he was pulled away from his restaurant, Craig appeared at Major Crimes. "Hey Rusty. Ready to get to work."

"Craig, you made it."

Tao did a double take. What was a top-selling writer doing tutoring Rusty and why had he sent us that food?"

Craig quickly introduced himself as a professor at UCLA and then headed with Rusty to an empty room.

"So you're reading A Room with a View."

"Yeah. I'm supposed to write this essay, but I have no idea where to start."

"Well, let's start with the story." Craig pulled out a pen and a piece of paper. "What was the story about?"

"Well, this girl went on vacation with her cousin and the cousin got mad over some room, and this guy offered her his room, but she got mad for some reason, and then the girl and the guy's son started hanging out and they fall in love or whatever and get eloped."

Craig knew that Rusty skimmed the book. He's a teenager and well, most of his students do that anyway.

"Well, that's the plot, but the plot isn't really the point of the book."

"It's not?"

"No. The plot is a tool that the author is using to deliver a message. It provides a way to discuss themes and motifs without expressly saying them."

"Why not just come out and say it?"

"That would be an essay. The plot and the underlying issues combine to create a work of art. We're going to work through the book and talk about why Foster might have made the choices he did, figure out what he was saying when he wrote his story."

"Okay."

"How about the beginning?"

After working through the story with Craig, Rusty realized there was a lot more to this book than he thought. Underneath the plot was a story about social status and how it influences how people interact and treat each other, freedom from religion and repressed sexuality.

"Know what you want to write about?"

"I think I have some reading to do before I answer that. I'm thinking about Charlotte."

"An interesting choice, what about her?"

"She was a brat the whole time, but out of no where, she decided to help Lucy and George run away and get married. Why?"

"That's a good question. I suggest you also look at Mr. Beebe. Looking at how Forster treated him might give you the answer to that question." He told Rusty he'd look at a draft once it was ready. "I think we've done enough work for today. How about some ice cream?"

Rusty never turned down ice cream, especially free ice cream. "You paying?"