Leann Sweeney полностью

“Nope, I am not kidding. Word around town is that the judges might have been drunk when they crowned her.”

Lydia had been conferring with Baca but now started talking to the crowd again, and it was impossible to ignore her.

She said, “Now that I have been briefed, ladies and gentlemen, we can officially classify this as a homicidal death. Any suspects?”

“We’re still investigating.” Baca glanced my way.

I stared right back, feeling defensive. But I did have a connection to the victim. I’d shown up here yesterday and again today. And I’d walked into the house on my own when I should have known better. Oh, I’d invited this trouble. That was for sure.

Lydia’s hands were on her hips, one bright blue spike-heel tapping the oak floor. “Glad you left me the body, seeing as how it’s my job to coordinate this investigation and purserve the evidence.”

“Huh? Why wouldn’t they leave the body?” I whispered to Candace.

“Quiet,” Candace answered from the side of her mouth.

I caught Baca rolling his eyes. “We know what your job is, Lydia. Where’s Bob?”

“He went over to that house fire. You folks got more stuff happening here in Mercy than we’ve had in the entire county all year,” she said.

“No one died in that fire, so what is your assistant doing over there?” Baca wasn’t bothering to mask his irritation anymore.

“Are you telling me how to allocate my resources?” She’d moved close enough to him that her breasts were an inch from his chest.

“Your resources happen to be one assistant—that is, unless the county’s added staff that I don’t know about. We need him here.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Look at all this blood. You’ve got to collect specimens, cart stuff to the forensics unit and get this body out of here for autopsy so we can get going on this investigation.”

“I see you are intent on telling me how to do my job, Mike Baca. Guess that means you’ve been to coroner school since we last crossed paths.” She smirked at him and in her heels was tall enough not to have to look up. “ Course we all know that isn’t true, is it, Mike?”

Baca handed Lydia a pair of shoe protectors. “I believe you’ll be more comfortable in these.”

Indeed, those heels aren’t exactly crime-scene-friendly, I thought.

She snatched the protectors. “I got my tennies in the truck. Now be a good boy and fetch them. And while you’re at it, can you get me the crime scene kit, too?”

Billy Cranor piped up. “I’ll go, Mike.”

Lydia removed her shoes and handed them to Billy before he eagerly took off through the entry to the kitchen. A minute later she was wearing the tennis shoes, the protectors and latex gloves. She stepped toward the body, but then spotted me. “Who is she?”

“The woman I told you about. She found the body,” Baca said.

Lydia’s red lips spread in a smile. “Is that so?”

She slowly walked into the parlor, her eyes intent on me. “I’m Lydia Monk and you’re . . .”

“Jillian Hart,” I said.

“And you found this man dead? Must have been very traumatic for you, Ms. Hart.” Her tone dripped with concern that I found bewildering.

Why is she being so nice? Is this some kind of trick?

“Yes . . . my cat . . . Well . . . it’s kind of a long story and—”

“I’m sure it is. Did you know this man?”

“Not really. I came by because I believe he stole my Abyssinian and I—”

“That some kind of Egyptian artifact?” she said.

“Um, no. It’s a cat and he’s—”

“Whatever. You don’t need to be staying here, Ms. Hart. You need to get away from this awful place. Candy will take you on home and get your statement there.” She beamed at Candace, pageant style. “I’m sure she’s spoken with you or the chief, but we need her statement in writing. You can do that, can’t you?”

Baca walked over to join us. “But Ms. Hart is—”

Lydia jerked her head in Baca’s direction. “I can read your mind, Mike Baca. You think this poor woman had something to do with that man’s death. But unless she went home and changed her clothes, that’s not what happened.”

Mike tried again. “But—”

“Did you notice the interrupted arterial spray on that dining room wall?” she said.

“Yes, I did. But we were waiting on you to—”

“And I’m here now. You let me do my job or I might have to discuss this with my boss. See, I am a trained investigator—but then, you already know that. You know everything.”

Oh, I was beginning to get it. She must have a history with Mike Baca. A history that probably had ended unpleasantly.

She went on. “Look at this woman. You see any blood all over her? No, you don’t. You gotta find a messy suspect somewhere or discarded bloody clothes. See, that dead man took it in the abdominal aorta. And my, my, my, aortas do like to spread their wealth when you poke ’em with a knife.”

Baca said, “I planned on taking Ms. Hart’s formal statement myself after you arrived and—”