Sedona Law 4 Dave Daren (books for 6 year olds to read themselves .txt) 📖

a chrome staircase that led up to a glass walled loft.

A brown Yorkshire terrier greeted us with yippy barks, and Marvin wasn’t far behind.

“Hi,” he smiled at us, and Vicki and I both shook his hand. Marvin at home was different from what I imagined. He actually was in white cotton pajamas, and a silk purple bathrobe, with brown house shoes. He still wore his purple tinted glasses, though.

“Good of you to come,” he said in a slow soft-spoken manner so unlike his professional image. “I thought we could talk here. It’s more comfortable, more intimate, than a sterile office with ringing phones and busybodies peeking in and out.”

He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. “I’m old, my nerves aren’t what they used to be. I like it quiet, warm, and inviting.”

I had a feeling that wasn’t why he invited us here. It had a deeper, more manipulative feel to it.

“Definitely a gorgeous place,” I whistled.

“I like nice things,” he said. “I don’t apologize for them.”

The dog kept yapping at us, so Marvin picked it up. “This is Gilbert. Say hello, Gilbert.”

Gilbert yapped, and Marvin put him down again. “I named him after the first town I owned a newspaper in.”

“Gilbert,” I said. “Yeah, it’s near Phoenix.”

“Yes,” he said. “I bought it in 1972, it was called The Post then. I started out there as a newspaper boy on a corner. I was just a kid, then. But then the paper had an opening in ad sales. So I moved up, and from there I worked my way into a reporter for the news desk, and then became the news editor, until I got a job in Tulsa, Oklahoma as a managing editor for a paper called The Tribune. I worked there for a while, until I heard that The Post back home was struggling. So, in ‘72, I took a giant leap, and moved my wife and our newborn son back to Gilbert, and I invested everything I had and bought The Post. My wife hated it, and putting our family at risk eventually led to the divorce, but that was the beginning of Starbright.”

“Wow,” Vicki said. “Sounds like you put in your dues.”

“Indeed,” he said.

He gestured toward an all-white sitting area. “Come. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink? Scotch, bourbon?”

“Water would be fine for both of us,” I said.

“Two waters?” he repeated, and Vicki nodded, and he went into the kitchen area. Vicki and I sat down and took in the view. I looked at Vicki wide-eyed.

“Wow,” she mouthed.

It was breathtaking. From six stories up, the southwest landscape of Red Rocks, Grand Canyon territory, and the city of Sedona in the distance, spread out from all sides.

“Sedona of all places,” I asked when Marvin returned with two glasses of water and a glass of scotch for himself. “Why did you choose that?”

“I didn’t really,” he said. “It chose me. My ex-wife was here, with our son. I moved here to be near them, but I didn’t realize I had put it off so long, that it was only another year before he moved off to college in Scottsdale. But, I’ve grown roots here, and it’s home. Well, one of three places I call home, anyway.”

He settled into the couch adjacent to us. He crossed his legs primly and took a sip of his drink and set it on the coffee table.

“So,” he said, as he draped his arm around the back of the couch. “What can I do for you?”

I opened my notepad on my lap and clicked a pen. “We want to know everything you can tell us about the night of the murder.”

He nodded slowly. “You’ve talked to John Malone.”

I didn’t expect to get into that territory this early on.

“Yes,” I said. “He was there that night. I spoke to him about what he knew.”

Marvin smiled and toyed with the fringe on a couch pillow before answering.

“Diplomatic way of putting it,” he remarked.

“Legally I can’t put it any differently,” I said.

“And you’ve spoken to Judith Klein,” he stated.

“This is correct,” I said.

This could go either way, and I wasn’t sure how I stood in this meeting.

“And you want to know how I fit into their little coven,” he said.

“In a sense, if you could divulge that,” I said.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling in thought. “John Malone. What can I say about John Malone?”

He chuckled and then spoke quickly. “John Malone has been a thorn in my side for years.”

“I’m surprised,” I said. “My information said you two work hand in glove.”

“We make it appear that way,” he said. “He was on our board before he was elected. He was a sniveling little kiss ass, but he could get the job done, and he could get it done well.”

“Did you help him get elected?” I asked.

“I did,” he said. “It was in our best interest to do so. You’ve heard of SB1110?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ve been working on getting that piece of legislation through for many years,” he said. “I started working on it as early as 2006.”

“Really?” I said. “I didn’t realize that.”

“When Google and Facebook first emerged as the powerhouses they are today,” he said, “I saw the future. I knew then where new media was going. Social, digital, subjective, and civilian driven. I knew we were in a new era, and it was exciting and mesmerizing, but very, very dangerous.”

“I think most people saw it that way,” I replied.

“Most people had the basic knowledge to put it into terms of a dystopian novel,” he said. “They would throw around words like, ‘Orwellian,’ and ‘brave new world,’ and such.”

He shook his head in slight irritation. “But I saw those philosophical and