“I wonder what they have on her,” I mused out loud.
The officer started up her cig and took a puff. “What they have on who?”
“You know. The woman they brought in. For murder. Portia Wren.”
“Oh, her. The one you were talking to the detective about? Something about fingerprints.” Her eyes widened as she realized her slip. “You didn’t hear that from me, though, okay? I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I batted my lashes.
She grinned. “Thanks. I’d hate to lose my job so soon. Especially after last time.”
“Last time?” “Used to work down at the Safeway,” she explained, pointing vaguely in a northerly direction. “I accidentally short-changed a customer. I didn’t mean to. It was an honest mistake, but he complained, and they had to let me go.” She looked sad for a moment, then perked up. “Lucky my uncle is friends with the chief. He was able to get me this job, so I better not screw it up.”
“Oh, I’m certain you won’t. I think you’re quite good at it. Very professional.”
She smiled at me through a cloud of vapor. “Thanks.”
“I don’t suppose you know any more about the fingerprints? Like, what they were on, for instance?”
“I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re a nice lady and I know she’s your friend. I also know what it is to be kept in the dark just because you’re new. And female.” She gave a snort of disgust then glanced around before leaning closer. I could smell the sweet scent of cloves in her smoke, which was marginally better than coffee breath. “It was the statue. The one of some Greek god or something. They found it next to the body, and Portia Wren’s fingerprints were the only ones on it.”
Chapter 4A Clue in Pink
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY think Portia capable of murder. I’ve only met her a few times, but she’s a lovely girl. Then again, darkness can lurk in the most unexpected places.”
I jerked my cell phone away from my ear and glared at it, even though I knew Lucas couldn’t see me. Was he serious? Slapping it back against my ear, I practically shouted, “Listen to me, Lucas Salvatore. Portia did not kill that...jerk. There is no doubt in my mind. And you can take your ‘darkness’ and...and...shove it.”
It was a dumb idea to call Lucas. I thought he’d be supportive. After all, he’d totally had my back at the writer’s conference in Florida. Plus we were dating. Kind of. I was hesitant to call him my boyfriend. It seemed like such a juvenile word. Right now, though, his name was mud.
“Hey, hey,” he soothed, his voice a rich baritone in my ear. “I didn’t mean to upset you, but you know as well as I do that people can surprise you. They can be very good at keeping secrets.”
“Not Portia.” Though a seed of doubt had already niggled its way into my brain, which annoyed me to death. No. Portia was innocent of The Louse’s murder. Of that I had no doubt. Some people thought she was snobby or whatever because she always dressed like a runway model rather than in jeans and flannel shirts, but she was a sweetheart. She happened to like pretty clothes and dressing up. What was wrong with that?
“I hope you’re right.”
“Of course I am,” I snapped. “I was right last time, wasn’t I?” Last time being when I found a dead body on the beach in Florida, and Cheryl and I ended up suspects. Fun times.
“Speaking of last time, maybe you shouldn’t get involved this go ’round. You nearly got yourself killed. Perhaps you should step back and let the police handle it.”
I snorted. “As if. I’m not letting my friend rot in jail any longer than necessary just because the police think they know something.” I turned on the tap and rinsed out my coffee mug. “They have no evidence.”
He cleared his throat. “Fingerprints on the weapon seem like a pretty solid piece of evidence.”
“Sure. They seem that way,” I admitted. I swung open the fridge door and stared inside. Empty. I hadn’t had time to go grocery shopping what with my deadline and everything. “But these things can be faked, you know.”
“It’s true,” he admitted. “But according to my research, in most instances—”
“Listen, I’ve got to go,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t want to hear anything negative from him. It would only piss me off. “Need to hunt down some lipstick.”
“That’s a new one.”
I laughed. “I’ll tell you all about it later. By the way, when are you headed this way next?” I fidgeted with the blue and white dish towel hanging from the fridge handle.
“I was thinking I’d come by this weekend. We could have some dinner. Maybe a bottle of wine. If you’re not too busy trying to solve another mystery.”
“We’ll see,” I said slyly. “If you’re lucky.”
THERE WERE EXACTLY five places in Astoria a woman could buy cosmetics. For inexpensive to downright cheap stuff, there was the local grocery store and two independent pharmacies. The selections were small and the prices exorbitant. Then there were two salons that sold higher-end cosmetics. Based on the neon-pink color of the lipstick on the second wineglass, I was guessing cheap. But then, I tended toward neutrals, so what did I know?
I hoped that if I could find out who carried lipstick that color, I might be able to find out who bought it. That particularly shocking shade of pink hadn’t been popular since the eighties, so I couldn’t imagine too many women in Astoria wearing it. I hadn’t found it online, so I was hoping I’d have better luck in person. Maybe it was a fool’s errand, but I had to try.
A quick stop at the grocery yielded nothing. They had six colors, none of which
