Page 10 of Dirty Looks

“What do you think the chances are that Sheldon and Lily will keep the news to themselves that the victim could be Councilman Lidle’s daughter?”

“Honestly, I think Sheldon has already called his mother and Lily has already texted Cole.”

Detective Cole and Lily had been dating for about a year, and they’d recently taken the step of moving in together. About a week ago Cole had proposed to Lily and she’d turned him down. It had been touch or go for a couple of days because Cole hadnever asked a woman to marry him, and he wasn’t used to being turned down for anything. But Lily had told him to ask her again in a few weeks once he had a chance to decide if he hated seeing her makeup on his counter or the way she chewed her food in the mornings. Lily had a lot of wisdom for someone her age. Cole had agreed with her, so as of now, the relationship was still going strong.

Cole wasn’t known for his long-term relationships. Not to mention the fact that he was seventeen years older than Lily. But they were managing to make it work. And no one had been able to claim the pool at the sheriff’s office that Cole would move on to the next twenty-something model and leave Lily in the dust. I loved Cole like a brother and he was one of Jack’s closest friends, but he was hell on women. Apparently, that was a quality certain types of women looked for in a man. Go figure.

Martinez sighed and said, “Yeah, I figured as much. But I was holding out hope.”

“I’ll get you an identity fast,” I promised him. “I should be able to finish the autopsy before lunch.”

“Good,” he said. “You’re buying.”

CHAPTER THREE

The first dropsof rain started to fall just as I turned onto Catherine of Aragon. Lily had parked the other Suburban under the portico so they could transport the body inside, so I parked right behind her and made a quick dash to the side door.

I let myself in and hung my jacket and bag on one of the hooks in the mudroom, and then walked into the kitchen. It was still early, just after seven thirty, and the funeral home wouldn’t open for another couple of hours. Fortunately, there were no funerals on the books for the next couple of days and I could devote my full attention to my job as coroner.

My receptionist, Emmy Lu, wasn’t in yet. There was no coffee made and the thermostat hadn’t kicked on so the kitchen felt cold and sterile. I made my way to the coffeepot and went through the monotony of measuring grounds and pouring in the water. Jack normally made the coffee in the mornings and left a cup on the bedside table, but with the trial and other things, the coffee had been absent for several days.

The morning was starting to catch up with me, and I stifled a yawn. I’d been dead to the world when the call from dispatch had come in. I looked down and realized I was still in my coveralls, so I stripped out of them while the coffee was brewing andtossed them in the basket in the laundry room. I took off my cap and pulled the band from my stubby ponytail and massaged my scalp. I’d have paid a king’s ransom for the luxury of crawling back into bed and shutting out the world for the next few hours.

I’d gotten soft since my days of medical school and rotations in the ER. Lack of sleep had been my normal once upon a time. But the last few years I’d gotten spoiled by a well-made mattress and fresh-ground coffee beans to keep me going.

I caught a reflection of myself in the refrigerator as I got out the creamer and had to stifle back a yelp of surprise. It never failed that the media got some unflattering clip or photograph of me to plaster all over the news, and they probably got some doozies this morning. Thankfully, the dead didn’t care what I looked like. And I’d have time to shower and dress in real clothes before I had to buy Martinez lunch.

My phone rang and I looked down at the screen, a smile coming across my face as I saw Doug’s picture come up. Doug Carver was the nephew of Jack’s best friend, Ben. Ben had been an agent for the FBI up until a few months ago when he’d uncovered deep corruption from within not only the FBI, but all the alphabet agencies.

Apparently the alphabet agencies didn’t want to be exposed because Carver and his family became target number one and they were on the run. The last postcard we’d gotten from Carver had been from Moscow, or at least we could assume it was from Carver. It had been a blank postcard with only our names and address on it, and Russia wasn’t in the extradition business so Carver and his family could hide in plain sight with new identities.

Carver could take care of himself and his family, and when the time was right Jack and I both knew the crap was going to hit the fan, so to speak. But Carver must have had a good reasonfor waiting, so all we could do was wait for the next postcard to arrive.

Doug was just like his uncle in a lot of ways. He was off-the-charts genius, and I’d found it a challenge having to deal with someone who had the maturity of a regular teenager with the brain of an adult. Doug had some issues with the law when he’d hacked into some places the federal government frowned upon, so he’d come to live with us with the agreement that he could work for the good guys or go to prison.

The problem was, Doug wasn’t really sure who the good guys were since his uncle was on the run from the people who were supposed to be the good guys, so he was walking a very gray area at the moment. I couldn’t even say I blamed him all that much. But he was also a sixteen-year-old kid who was getting close to graduating from college, all while wearing an ankle bracelet. Doug had lived a lot of life for a sixteen-year-old.

“You’re up early,” I said when I answered the phone.

“I’ve got online class this morning,” he said. “Business on the top, underwear on the bottom. No one will ever be the wiser.”

“Not unless you stand up,” I said dryly.

“Good point,” he said. “I’m calling about breakfast.”

“There’s stuff in the pantry,” I said automatically.

“I ate it all,” he said. “You guys have been busy the last few days. No cereal. No Pop-Tarts. Nothing. I’m starving. I need brain energy for my class.”

He was right. The last time I’d gotten groceries was Friday. Doug was a bottomless pit. I was pretty sure we spent more on groceries for Doug than all of our bills combined.

“Put in an order and have it delivered,” I said. “Make sure you get the stuff I put on the list on the fridge and not just Doug food. Use the credit card in the drawer.”

“10-4, kemo sabe,” he said. “Though I could always charge it to the federal government if you’re feeling adventurous.”

“I don’t really have time to go to jail today,” I said. “I’ve got a case.”

“Yeah, I saw it on the news,” he said. “They said it’s a kid. The park isn’t too far from here.”

---