Death Du Jour

my nose north.”

Harry beamed at me with clear, blue eyes surrounded by gobs of mascara.

“You’re here for a workshop?”

“Exactamundo. All expenses paid. Well, almost all.”

“I want to hear all about it,” I said, hoping the course was short. I was unsure if Quebec Province and Harry could survive each other.

“This shit is awesome,” she said, rephrasing her initial assessment, but adding little additional information.

“Let’s go upstairs and I’ll wrap up. Or would you rather wait here?”

“Hell, no. I want to see where the great cadaver doctor works. Lead on.”

“You’ll have to submit a photo ID to get a visitor’s pass,” I said, indicating the guard at the security desk.

He was observing the scene, a half smile on his face, and spoke before either of us could make a move.

“Votre s?ur?” he bellowed across the lobby, exchanging looks with the other guards.

I nodded. Obviously everyone now knew that Harry was my sister, and found it terribly amusing.

The guard gave a sweeping gesture toward the elevators.

“Merci,” I mumbled, and shot him a withering glance.

“Mercy,” Harry drawled, giving each guard a radiant smile.

We gathered her bundles and rode to the fifth floor, where I stacked everything in the hall outside my office. No way to fit it inside. The quantity of her gear raised apprehension as to the likely length of her stay.

“Hell, this office looks like a twister just traveled through here.” Though she was only five feet nine and thin as a fashion model, Harry seemed to fill the small space.

“It’s a little messy right now. Let me shut down the computer and collect a few things. Then we’ll head out.”

“Take your time, I’m in no hurry. I’ll just chat with your friends.” She was looking up at a row of skulls, her head tipped back so that the ends of her hair brushed the bottom fringe on her jacket. It looked blonder than I remembered it.

“Howdy,” she said to the first, “decided to quit while you’re a head, did you?”

I couldn’t help but smile. Her cranial friend did not. While Harry worked her way along the shelf, I logged off and gathered the ledgers and books from Daisy Jeannotte. I planned to be back first thing in the morning, so I didn’t pack my unfinished reports.

“So, what’s new with you?” Harry spoke to the fourth skull. “Not talking? Oh, you’re so sexy when you’re moody.”

“She’s always moody.” Andrew Ryan stood in the doorway.

Harry turned and looked the detective up and down. Slowly. Then blue eyes met blue eyes.

“What the hey?”

My sister’s smile for the security guards was nothing compared with the one she now beamed at Ryan. In that moment I knew calamity was predestined.

“We were just leaving, ” I said, zipping my computer case.

“Well?”

“Well what, Ryan?”

“Out-of-town company?”

“A good detective always notices the obvious.”

“Harriet Lamour,” said my sister, sticking out her hand. “I’m Tempe’s younger sister.” As usual, she emphasized the birth order.

“Reckon you’re not from around these parts,” Ryan drawled. The fringe went to town as they shook hands.

“Lamour?” I asked, incredulous.

“Houston. That’s in Texas. Ever been there?”

“Lamour?” I repeated. “What happened to Crone?”

“Once or twice. Mighty pretty country.” Ryan was still doing Brett Maverick.

“Or Dawood?”

That got her attention.

“Now why would I ever go back to using that retard’s name? Do you remember Esteban? The only human being ever fired for being too dumb to stock the 7-Eleven?”

Esteban Dawood had been her third husband. I couldn’t summon an image of his face.

“Are you and Striker divorced already?”