Chapter 13 - Vanilla Malt   It didn’t take long to unload our meager groceries and to give C.C. and Detective Pearson a “nickel” tour of the grounds and the condo.  We had a three bedroom unit that opened to the beach.  The kitchen was more than ample, and the living area was comfortable. It was just as I remembered from the mid July retreat our company had to celebrate a come back in sales except there was no boasting or laughing at bad jokes.  “I have to admit,” I said to C.C., “it does seem a little empty around here.” Pearson smiled and assured us , “That’s just  what you need right now.  Grab a bite to eat and get a good night’s rest. Where’s the list of things you need from your apartment?” “Here it is.  You won’t have any trouble finding things.  Just look for where you would keep your stuff.” He smiled and replied , “Oh I get it, your possessions are things and mine is stuff ; furthermore, I keep most of my clothes organized on the floor by my bed, work suits on the right and comfortable “stuff” on the left. Just give me the list and your keys; I kind of like the idea of rifling through your drawers to find what you need.” “Hey Justine!” C.C. called from the kitchen, “ready for that Vanilla Malt?” “Dish it up Maestro.  Detective Pearson, will you have some?  C.C assures me it‘s delicious.” “No, thanks Ms. Foster, I had a night full of taking in what C.C. Dished out .  Actually, I have an appointment with the coroner when I get back.  You  kick back and relax; shake off the hassle of the last couple days.  I’ll be back before noon tomorrow.  Here’s my cell number; call if you think of anything or need anything.  I have your number and assure you I’ll call if I learn anything you need to know.” “Hey C.C.!” he called.  “Keep out of trouble.” He left and drove down the road exiting West Wind.  I had to admit to myself that I felt much safer when he was near.  I plopped on to the couch, put my feet on the ottoman , and called to C.C., “Where’s that Malt?”