beside us. “I’ll bet you can.”
Chapter 6
All of the cops on site help with the evidence collection, so it takes just over two hours to swab, seal, and label what we need. Arnie offers to stay with the body to await transport—a service provided by one of two local funeral homes—and I’m more than happy to help Izzy take the evidence packs back to the office, where I keep a change of clothes.
By the time we finish loading everything into Izzy’s car, I note there is a growing crowd of bystanders lurking on the edges of the property and cars parked down the side of the road as far as I can see. Despite the fact that there is police tape strung up around the perimeter of Shannon’s yard, the onlookers have been difficult to keep out. Because it’s Halloween, everyone seems to think the goings-on are some kind of holiday performance art. As a result, three extra police officers have been called in to help patrol the yard and keep the lookie-loos out. The cops performing this duty don’t appear very happy; no doubt they’ve been called in on their day off. Not that that’s unusual. In a town this small there are only two or three cops on duty at any given time, and whenever reinforcements are needed, it generally means calling in the off-duty crew. Normally they don’t mind, but I know most of them would feel better about giving up their free time if they could at least get close to the crime scene instead of being forced to play sheepdog to the nosy herd.
Hurley gives Alison permission to shoot a few pictures of the nosy brigade, knowing it’s possible the killer might be in the crowd, but caveats it by saying that he wants to see all the shots she takes and approve any that might be used in the paper. A couple of times I catch her aiming her camera at stuff other than what Hurley instructed but I can’t tell if she’s shooting surreptitious shots of the scene or not. I do know that if any unauthorized photos appear in the paper, Hurley will be royally pissed off. It’s almost enough to make me encourage Alison to misbehave.
As we are about to leave, Hurley walks over to Izzy and me and says, “You’re not going to post her tonight, are you?”
Izzy glances at his watch—it’s going on eleven o’clock—and shakes his head. “How does noon tomorrow sound? Sunday is my one day to sleep in if I can.”
“That works for me,” Hurley says. “That will give me some time to do a little legwork to see what I can turn up.”
“What kind of legwork?” I ask.
Hurley smiles and eyes me with a look that makes me imagine a very specific type of legwork—in bed and intertwined. “Why?” he asks. “Are you looking for a date?”
“No, thanks, I’ve already had one of those tonight.”
His smile fades. “You were on a date?” His voice goes all huffy as he zips back into detective mode. “You didn’t tell me you had a date tonight.”
“I didn’t know I was supposed to. Do I need an alibi or something?”
“It’s hard to know with you, given past experience.”
As comebacks go, it’s a pretty good one. Better than I expected.
“So just in case,” he goes on, taking out his little notebook and his pen, “why don’t you tell me who it was.”
“William,” I say, being purposefully evasive. I glance at my watch, then turn to Izzy and add, “And if we hurry and get this stuff back to the office I might be able to join him for a late-night drink to salvage some of our evening.”
Izzy blinks hard several times and stares at me. I can tell he’s confused so I take his arm and steer him toward the car, effectively dismissing Hurley’s nosy inquiry and escaping before Izzy can blow my story.
As we pull away from the house, I see Hurley standing there watching us, a scowl on his face, notebook and pen in hand. I can’t help but grin.
“A late-night drink?” Izzy says as we turn the corner. “You’re not really going to—”
“Of course not,” I shoot back. “But Hurley doesn’t have to know the guy is as exciting as a blank wall. That’s what he gets for agreeing to go out with Alison.”
“Whose clutches you left him in,” Izzy points out.
I frown, realizing I haven’t thought things through all the way. “You don’t think they’ll actually stay together, do you? It sounded to me like Hurley planned to spend the rest of the night doing investigative work.”
“And Alison is an investigative reporter.”
“Damn,” I mutter.
Izzy shakes his head and sighs. “You really are rusty when it comes to this flirting stuff.”
“Well, what do you expect? I spent the last seven years married to David, and while
“Well, if Hurley is truly interested, and I think he is,” Izzy adds, making me flush with delight, “he’s going to spend some of his time tonight investigating you. That means you should try to hook up with William again for real. Otherwise it undermines your whole ploy. Hurley will know you were just yanking his chain.”
I look over at Izzy, hoping to see a sly grin on his face, but he looks deadly serious. “Are you kidding me? I’d rather have leech therapy than spend another minute with that loser.”
“Hey, don’t blame me,” Izzy says with a shrug. “You got yourself into this mess.”
“Besides, I couldn’t hook back up with William-not-Bill even if I wanted to. I don’t have his number.”
“I do.”
“I’ve got ten bucks says he does. In fact, just to guard my bet, how about if Dom and I go with you? We can make it a foursome.”
I consider what he suggests and realize that Izzy and Dom can provide a good buffer zone between me and Mr. OCD. What the heck. I can use a drink and it will be interesting to see if Hurley does show up.
“Okay, you’re on,” I tell him, secretly hoping I’m going to lose. “But I have to warn you. If William-not-Bill starts counting the swizzle sticks, I’m either going to kill him or bail.”
Chapter 7
Once we arrive at the office and secure all of our evidence, I take a quick shower in the unisex bathroom and put on the change of clothes I have in my office: a pair of jeans and a blue cowl-neck sweater.
Beneath it all is my brand-spanking new underwear, much sexier than my old stuff. During the Karen Owenby case, a slight dressing mishap led to a pair of my old undies getting mistakenly tagged as evidence, but not before Hurley held them up before a crowd of cops and likened them to a schooner sail. There isn’t much I can do about the size, but at least my elastic is now intact and there are enough frilly enhancements to hopefully distract one from the quantity of cloth involved.
I look in the mirror and decide I’ll pass muster. The blue in the clothes sets off the blue of my eyes, and my hair—thanks to the miraculous ministrations of my new hairdresser, Barbara—looks passable. As a final touch, I throw on a minimum of makeup and a tiny spritz of perfume to cover up any lingering smells of blood, formaldehyde, and death.
By the time I’m done, Izzy’s life partner, Dom, has arrived at the office and Izzy is cleaned up and changed. Izzy looks understated in a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of black pants. In contrast, Dom, who is reed thin, fair-skinned, auburn haired, and not afraid to advertise his lifestyle, is dressed in a pair of skintight leather pants and a glossy shirt that looks like the lights on a disco ball. Dom’s flamboyance is a definite detriment to his and Izzy’s social life. While Izzy hasn’t ever tried to hide his sexual orientation, he is a government official and
