The Hollywood Doll (A Carl Porter Mystery) by Sam Stone

which included pepper jack cheese and a spicy chipotle mayo. I usually like spicy food and I blame my discomfort on all the travel. A dashboard mounted GPS guides me off the Golden State Freeway and onto the 101. Then I turn onto Sunset Boulevard. Sunset is populated with tourists and fun seekers. Like Vegas, advertising here can take up the entire side of a building and there seems to be a billboard for every major studio release. I try to pay attention to my driving but it’s hard not to rubberneck iconic watering holes like the Whiskey A Go Go or the Comedy Store. These are places I’ve only read about in magazines or seen on TV. I take a right near the Sunset 5 Theater and locate the Sanford Apartments just off Laurel Canyon Boulevard. The building is essentially four floors of fading lime green stucco but it’s old and charming rather than old and shabby. I park near the entrance. A man is waiting patiently by the door for me. “Gregg?” I offer a firm handshake, “Carl Porter.” “Gregg Owens,” he says. “I got caught in traffic, I hope you weren’t waiting long.” He gives a dismissive wave. “Just got here myself. Let’s go in, I’ll show you the apartment.” We step through a single glass door and wait for an elevator. “How long since you’ve worked homicide?” he says. “Seven years.” A bell pings and we walk into the elevator. Gregg presses a button and we start our ascent. “I checked your references,” he says. “You sound like a great detective, why did you leave?” “My wife was diag