Deadly Envy

Detective Sarah Spillman Mysteries Book 12

Renée Pawlish

Creative Cat Press

Copyright © 2025 by Renée Pawlish

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1. CHAPTER ONE

2. CHAPTER TWO

3. CHAPTER THREE

4. CHAPTER FOUR

5. CHAPTER FIVE

6. CHAPTER SIX

7. CHAPTER SEVEN

8. CHAPTER EIGHT

9. CHAPTER NINE

10. CHAPTER TEN

11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

12. CHAPTER TWELVE

13. CHAPTER THIRTEEN

14. CHAPTER FOURTEEN

15. CHAPTER FIFTEEN

16. CHAPTER SIXTEEN

17. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

18. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

20. CHAPTER TWENTY

21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

22. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

23. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

24. CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

25. CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

26. CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

27. CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

29. CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

30. CHAPTER THIRTY

31. CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

32. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

33. CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

34. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

36. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

GUNNING FOR TROUBLE: A JO GUNNING THRILLER

AUTHOR'S NOTE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RENÉE’S BOOKSHELF

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER ONE

Look at her. That performance. So calculated, so practiced. That carefully crafted “casual” delivery. Must have taken hours of practice to nail that timing. Nobody's that natural on the first try.

The video on the laptop continues to play, the woman in the video talking about a Thai restaurant on East Colfax. Her voice is warm, with a touch of huskiness, almost sexy. Not with that grating, high-pitched perkiness that reeks of artificiality. Her brown hair’s slightly tousled, her makeup just so, her smile engaging.

It’s clear she likes doing this and thinks she’s got it all together, the right tone and inflection in her voice, the way she stares at the camera, her expression changing as she gives her review.

After a brief introduction, the woman in the video says, “Okay foodies, I’m at Thai Spice Kitchen on East Colfax, and you need to try this Khao Soi.”

The woman tilts a white bowl toward the camera, revealing the golden color of the curry noodle soup. As she sets the bowl down, she dips a spoon into the soup and lifts it up, showing the thickness of the coconut curry broth.

That’s exactly what people want to see, and she knows it. Of course she does. And she wouldn’t be doing that if it weren’t for me. I taught her all that.

She tastes the soup, makes an “mm” sound, and smiles as she puts down the spoon. “Delicious,” she pronounces. Then she moves on to another dish.

She’s good. Look at her, so smooth with her delivery, just the right amount of enthusiasm as she talks about the food. There’s an authoritative tone, but not over-the-top. I taught her that!

The woman in the video shows the Pad Kra Pao, describing its beautiful mix of vibrant colors in the green basil and red chilies.

“This is a popular street dish in Thailand,” she says.

Like she really knows that. She’s never been to Thailand.

When the woman finishes, she puts down her fork with a thumbs up, an ovation for the Pad Kra Pao. Then the reel cuts between other dishes, and she talks expertly, with a comfortable pace—not the rapid-fire delivery of someone trying too hard, but not drawn out either. Her words flow naturally, like she’s talking to a friend across the table.

That was a good little review, I’ll give her that. When she says something is “perfectly spiced” or “incredibly tender,” you believe her. Hmm. Is that Thai Spice Kitchen? It’s hard to tell what the background is behind her. It’d be tempting to go there, but I would never give her the satisfaction of thinking she swayed me. No, not after all that’s happened. She needs to pay for what she did.

The video plays on, and the woman begins a discussion of the final dish, Massaman Curry. The woman picks up her spoon and takes a bite, and her lips pucker slightly as she assesses what she’s tasting. She takes a few more bites, then gives a slight shake of her head as she sets down the spoon.

“Okay foodies, I really wanted to love this, but I have to keep it real with you. The Massaman is pretty disappointing. The curry sauce is weirdly thin—it should be rich and creamy. The potatoes were undercooked, and honestly? The beef was tough.”

She shrugs. “I hate giving negative reviews, especially since everything else was so good, but you deserve to know. The flavors were just . . . flat? Missing that complex balance of sweet, tangy, and savory that makes Massaman special. No hint of star anise or cardamom, and where was the peanut richness?”

Man, I have to admit, she’s good. She knows how to draw you in, how to entertain you. It’s no wonder she’s gained so many followers, has had so much success. And she let it go to her head. She thinks she’s above everyone else now, above me! Well, not for long.

The woman goes on. “Have you tried this place? Let me know in . . .”

No more from you. A quick touch of the screen to stop the video. To stop you, once and for all.

Now picking up the phone and texting a message: “Just saw your review of Thai Spice Kitchen. It was great, hit all the right notes.” Sending the message, then waiting. Moments later, a reply.

“Thanks! I feel good about that video. I tried a few new things with it, and I think it’ll go over well.”

Oh, I’m sure it will. Not that you’ll ever realize it.

More texting. “Want to meet to chat about it?”

The response comes fast. “Sure. You home?”

“No.”

“Where?”

A quick glance around the room, then typing into the app. “Rosemary & Vine?”

“Sure, I can be there in an hour.”

A smile before typing again. “See you then.”

Seconds later, a thumbs-up icon in the text.

All right. This should work.

A look to a table, where a small handgun sits next to a glass of water.

It’ll be quick, although she doesn’t deserve that. I’d love to see her suffer. A little laugh. I guess I can’t have everything. But at least I’ll take care of this.

CHAPTER TWO

Iparked my dark gray Jeep Grand Cherokee at the curb, killed the engine, and checked the address again. I was in the correct place, and there was the alley the dispatcher had told me about. I grimaced. There’s something about alleys. All the dark shadows, the places where people can hide. The dank smells, sometimes foul. It’s even worse at night, where the absence of light completely steals those shadows, leaving blackness, the lack of noise making you feel as if you’re alone in the world.

I grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment, got out, and shut the door of the pre-owned but new-to-me vehicle, still not used to thinking of it as mine. I’d had a blue Ford Escape for a long time, and I’d recently felt I wanted to get something new. But if I was honest, it went deeper than that. As a homicide detective, I see the cruel underbelly of the city almost daily. It’s not an easy job, but the victories keep you going. Except that recently, I’d failed—a killer had gotten away with murder—and a few weeks later, that was still haunting me.

The Gloria Lott case. At first it had looked like a straightforward suicide, but something had set off warning bells. The more we’d dug, the clearer it had become—the husband, Neil, had systematically tormented his wife, Gloria, for months, pushing her toward that final desperate act. I’d interviewed him multiple times, watching him lie smoothly when I’d confronted him with what we’d pieced together. But he was too slick, and I didn’t have enough evidence to charge him. I knew in my bones he was guilty, but I wasn’t about to manufacture evidence just to make an arrest. So he’d walked. I hadn’t admitted it to anyone, but that one had gotten under my skin. I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d overestimated my abilities, thinking I’d be able to get him to confess. That hadn’t happened, and that failure felt like my fault. I’d hoped the new car might help shake my funk. I wasn’t sure it was working.

It was almost midnight on a Wednesday night, and although downtown Denver never really sleeps, it was much quieter now than in the daytime. The stillness felt eerie and amplified the tension thrumming in my chest. I rubbed my eyes, as the ghost of a restless night still haunted me. I’d stared at my bedroom ceiling for hours, as the Neil Lott case had replayed like a broken record. Then a call had come in that a body had been found near Arapahoe Street and Twenty-first. Now, standing at the entrance to an empty alley, the familiar weight of unresolved guilt lingered. I wondered if someone had gotten the message wrong. Where were the patrol cars, the responding officers?

I listened for a moment, heard a car passing on another street, and then resumed. I walked toward the alley entrance, took another moment to listen, and turned on the flashlight, its powerful beam cutting into the darkness. Light bounced halfway up brick walls on buildings to the left and right, and glowing eyes stared at me from under a nearby dumpster. I took a few steps into the alley, and a cat bolted from underneath the dumpster and ran off. Good thing I’d seen its eyes, or it might’ve startled me. I may have been hardened by the job in some ways, but I’m still human.

The flashlight beam set a path forward, and I stayed alert for anything. Another dumpster had a rank smell, like rotten food. The alley ran behind Rosemary & Vine, so there was likely refuse from the restaurant in the dumpster, along with who knew what else. Ten yards beyond that, the beam fell upon a body crumpled on the asphalt. I stopped and switched the flashlight to my left hand, then shined the beam all around, my right hand on the butt of my Glock, holstered to my hip. I paid particular attention to another doorway past the body, but no one was hiding there. Another dumpster sat farther down the alley, and I kept my eye on it as I took a few more steps toward the body.

There’s something about the smell of blood that I’d been trained to notice over years of homicide investigations. It has a distinct metallic odor due to its iron content, and it can also carry a salty note—somewhat like sea water—and it sometimes has a slightly sweet undertone. In larger quantities, blood takes on a heavier, more raw quality that some people compare to the smell of wet pennies or metal left out in the rain. That’s what I smelled now.

I looked all around again, then carefully walked toward the body and bent down. A woman lay on her side, eyes and mouth open in a surprised expression. Her makeup was a little heavy, accentuating blue eyes, and her brown hair fanned onto the asphalt. She wore a blue blouse tied in a French tuck and khaki shorts, Tevas on her feet. A pool of blood seeped from underneath her, but I couldn’t see how she’d been killed, no exit wound on her back from a bullet, no visible stab wounds.

“What were you doing in this alley?” I murmured. “You couldn’t have been dropped here, or there wouldn’t be so much blood.”

That’s as far as I got with my musings. Voices at the far end of the alley shattered the quiet. I straightened up and peered that way, still not seeing anyone. The voices grew louder and angrier. I glanced at the body, then started down the alley, still cautious, flashlight swinging back and forth, exposing more shadows but no people, no threats. I reached the far end of the alley, and two police cruisers came into view, lights off. An officer in a dark uniform was talking to a man who was obviously homeless, his clothes bedraggled, his white hair long and stringy.

“Let me go on,” the homeless man said as he tugged at a scraggly and unkempt beard. “I gotta go down that alley to get where I gotta go.”

The officer held her ground, even though the homeless man was well over six feet tall, towering over her.

“Sir, you can’t go down there,” she said, putting a hand on his arm. “This is official police business, and I’d like you to move on. Please listen to me.”

She was so polite, and it wasn’t working.

“I’m trying to,” he said. “I—”

He saw me and his eyes narrowed. The woman glanced over her shoulder at me as well. Her gaze flitted to the gold shield clipped to my waistband, and she held up a hand.

“You’re homicide?” she asked.

“Homicide?” the homeless man said. “What’s going on?”

I gave her a subtle nod, as my attention was pulled elsewhere. Behind her, another uniform stood next to a police SUV. This officer was taller and years older, with thinning gray hair, wrinkles lining his face, a weariness about him. He was leaning on the door of the car, in a heated exchange with someone in the back seat.

“You can’t keep me here,” a voice said. A man, his voice deep, full of ire. I didn’t hear how the officer replied.

“You two responded?” I asked the woman.

She nodded. “Burton,” she jerked her head toward the other officer, “had me stay here. Then this guy showed up.” She eyed the homeless man.

“You can’t stop me,” he said. “It’s a free country and I can go where I want.”

I was several feet away, and I strode toward them. The homeless man straightened, trying to appear tough.

“Where were you around eleven?” I asked.

He stared at me as he puzzled over that. “I was over there.” He pointed behind him. “I was hanging out with a few buddies, but we got in a fight, so I came this way.” His words were slurred.

“Did you see or hear anything around here?” I went on.

“No, I just got here.”

He was drunk, and I didn’t think he had enough wherewithal to lie. He sneered at me.

“You have ID?” I held out a hand.

He shook his head.

“Name?”

He hesitated. “Kyle Williams.”

“Address?” I had to check.

“I’m homeless, lady.” He pushed my shoulder. “Get out of my way.”

I got in his face. He reeked of alcohol and body odor. Another time I might’ve felt sorry for him, but I was annoyed. I’d barely been there five minutes, and things were coming undone faster than I could blink. I pointed down the block.

“Get out of here before I arrest you,” I said.

He looked at me, eyes darting back and forth as he seemed to contemplate how serious I was. Even in his drunken haze, he must’ve known he could be in some trouble—not a lot, maybe, but enough to potentially ruin whatever night he had planned. He took a step back.

“All right,” he muttered. “You people think you run everything, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond, and he backpedaled, then hurried down the block, his gait unsteady. He crossed the street and moved on. I turned to the officer, whose uniform nameplate read “Martinez.”

“Was he around when you got here?” I asked her.

“Nobody was.”

I thought fast. If I needed to talk to Kyle again, I’d have to check the local shelters. I doubted he had anything more to tell me though.

“Go back into the alley, string up crime-scene tape at either end, and don’t let anybody get close to that body,” I ordered her. “I can’t have anybody tampering with that crime scene.”

She tipped her head at me without a word and went to her vehicle for the tape, then pulled her flashlight from her belt and walked into the alley. I shook my head. My partners, Ernie Moore and Roland “Spats” Youngfield would be on their way, and it looked as if I’d need their help.

With the crime scene protected, I focused on the second officer. Martinez had called him Burton. As I stepped forward and got a closer look at him, I remembered him. Don Burton. He’d been on the force for over thirty years, and he’d gained a reputation. He was fine in public, and he generally followed all the rules, but he also was a know-it-all and thought he could do his job better than anybody else could do theirs. Including the investigators.

He saw me approach and he stepped back.

“Just cool your jets,” he said to the man in the vehicle. Then he took a few steps away from the SUV and stared at me. “It’s about time someone got here.”

Not a good way to start things, I thought but didn’t say. I glanced toward the SUV, then back to Burton.

“Want to fill me in?” I said, straining to keep an edge from my tone.

He nodded his head slowly, casual. “I was the first one here, and this guy,” he glanced to the vehicle, “was in the alley by the body. He’d called it in.”

We talked in low voices, and since I didn’t want the man in the vehicle to hear more, I took a few steps away. Burton followed.

“Martinez arrived shortly after me, and I had her stay with her vehicle so I could handle things,” he said.

“What happened next?” I asked.

“Hey!” the man yelled from the vehicle. “You can’t arrest me! I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Burton sighed, then answered my question. “He told me he’d come out of the restaurant to throw something into the dumpster and that’s when he saw the body. He dialed 911 and waited for us.”

My mind was already full of questions. “What restaurant? Rosemary & Vine?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He’s the owner, says he was staying late, working on the books and doing some cleanup.”

“What’s his name?”

“Chandler Cohen.”

I looked over Burton’s shoulder. “Why is he in the SUV?” I knew there was a negative tone in my voice now.

His brow furrowed. “There was something about the way he was answering my questions that I didn’t like. It felt like he was evasive, not wanting to tell me everything. I asked him if he touched the body, and if he’d walked around the alley, anything like that. He didn’t really want to answer, and then he said he wanted to go back inside the restaurant. I didn’t want him to do that—he could call someone, cover his tracks—so I told him he needed to stay. He got pushy so I had him come with me.” Burton’s tone had become a little arrogant, that know-it-all attitude on full display. “He got belligerent, so I cuffed him and put him in the back of the SUV.”

“You handcuffed him?” I raised my eyebrows, my frustration growing. “You think he might’ve killed the woman?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he have a weapon?”

“Not that I could tell.”

My eyebrows stayed up. “Were you going to charge him with something?”

He shook his head. “No, but I needed to keep him out of the way. I didn’t want anything to happen to the crime scene.”

I suspected there was more than he was telling me, that he hadn’t used any skill to keep the restaurant owner calm, to just have him stand back until the homicide division arrived. Now Burton had made the situation worse. I ran a hand slowly over my face to give myself time to cool down. The gesture didn’t help that much.

“And now he’s all angry,” Burton said. “I can’t get him to tell me anything else.”

“Of course you can’t because you handled the whole thing poorly,” I snapped. “You should’ve just kept him out of the way. You could’ve sat with him in the restaurant and calmly have taken his statement while Martinez stayed in the alley so no one could approach the body.”

He matched my glare. “Listen, I know how to handle things, and I did this just fine. I can talk to him man and—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” I said. “You’ve already escalated the situation. I’ll take it from here.”

I wanted to dress him down some more, to tell him how his actions weren’t going to make things any easier. Instead, I pointed toward the alley.

“You help Martinez keep the alley clear. I don’t want my crime scene tampered with.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to get that man’s statement,” I said pointedly.

A few beats passed while Burton glared at me. Around us, the quiet was like a heavy blanket in the August nighttime heat.

“Yeah, you handle things,” he said.

He spun on his heel and took a couple steps, but I called out for him to stop. He whirled around.

“What?”

I held out a hand. “The cuffs.”

He grabbed his handcuff key from his pocket and tossed it to me.

“Good luck,” he said.

I waited until he positioned himself at the alley entrance, by crime-scene tape that Martinez had put up, and then I turned to the SUV. The man in the back seat was still fuming, and I was too. The last thing I wanted or needed was an irate witness.

What a way to start an investigation, I thought.

CHAPTER THREE

Iapproached the police cruiser and looked inside. Dark, angry eyes glared back at me.

“Who’re you?” the man asked, his anger dropping a degree, as if he sensed I was more than a patrol officer, possibly someone with more authority. Then he saw my shield, and he licked his lips and let out a slow breath.

“Detective Spillman. And you are?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“Chandler Cohen.”

“Chandler,” I said.

“My mom loved Friends, and Matthew Perry.” He tried to shrug, but it was difficult because his hands were behind his back, and he was leaning forward in the back seat of the SUV.

That makes him around thirty, or a little younger, I guessed. So not quite a decade younger than me. He was good-looking, dark hair trimmed short and neatly coiffed, a tanned face and just the right amount of beard stubble on a square jaw. He wore khakis, a white shirt, and brown loafers.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he said.

I moved forward and held up the handcuff key. “Let me get those cuffs off you and we can talk.” I specifically didn’t say anything about Burton.

He swiveled on the seat so I could reach his wrists. He didn’t seem at all threatening, but I was careful as I bent down and uncuffed him. As I stepped back, his hands whipped around to his front, and he massaged his wrists.

“I ought to sue him,” he muttered.

I ignored that. With luck, I could defuse the situation. Or I would find out that this man needed to be arrested, and he’d be back in cuffs before he could make another threat.

“Step out here and we’ll talk,” I said.

Chandler put his feet on the ground and got out of the SUV. He straightened up and stretched what was probably about a six-foot frame. Then he looked at me expectantly.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?” I said.

He glanced behind me toward the alley and Officer Burton, then nodded and began. “Like I tried to tell the other officer,” he said, needing to get that dig in, “I was in the restaurant, doing some work. I came out to the alley to toss something in the dumpster, and that’s when I saw her.”

“You own Rosemary & Vine?”

“Yes. I couldn’t believe . . .” He ran a hand over his face, his voice suddenly hitching in his throat. “It was Piper.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You knew her?”

He drew in a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes. Piper Randall. She’s a foodie.”

“A what?”

“She loves . . . loved food. She was a food critic.”

“Ah.”

My husband, Harry, and I enjoy good meals. We like to dine out, but I don’t go out of my way to listen to food critics. I had never heard of Piper Randall, and I said so.

He waved a hand. “She’s local to Denver, and she isn’t with a newspaper or on TV, but she has an online blog, and she’s on social media. You know, Facebook, TikTok. Her Instagram account’s the biggest and where she posts reviews. Her popularity’s grown a lot in the last several months. Last I checked, she has over a half million Instagram followers.” He’d reverted to talking about Piper as if she were alive.

I know a lot of social media sites, but as a law enforcement person, I also know the pitfalls of being on them, how easy it is for someone to learn too much about you from those sites. I’d heard nightmare stories of girls who had been hunted down by predators from other states, simply because the victim posted a photo of themselves with a school logo on it to a social media site. There’re too many things that can go wrong with social media, and I stay away from it.

“What’s the name of the blog?” I asked.

“Taste And Tell All.”

“Half a million seems like a lot of followers,” I said, seeking confirmation.

He nodded. “It is. My guess is she was starting to make good money from it. She’s getting big in Denver, and the blog’s receiving some national recognition as well.”

I glanced around. Not a single car passed by, no activity from the alley. I wondered when Ernie and Spats would arrive. We’re a team, and I’m lead investigator, so we’d all been called. I looked back at Chandler. I wasn’t sure what to think of him. He was saying all the right things, but he seemed a little nervous. Because of the situation, and because he was speaking with a homicide detective? Or something else?

“You knew Piper well?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not really. Obviously I’m familiar with her blog, and she reviewed the restaurant.”

His answer didn’t seem to match his earlier emotion. I studied him for a moment.

“You didn’t know her well, but you’re upset about her death?”

“Hey, she was a nice kid,” he said. “We talked some, you know? About food, about the restaurant business. She’d come in several times, and then she asked about reviewing the restaurant. I told her I’d be fine with that.”

“You never dated?”

A head shake. “Just friends.”

“Was it a good review?”

He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Yeah, it was pretty good.”

I doubted he was truthful with that, and I made a mental note to check the review. “Tell me what Piper said.” I made the statement ambiguous to see where he’d go with his reply.

“Just . . . she talked about some of the dishes we serve, the atmosphere, that kind of thing. She’s pretty slick, and she’s cute too, which helps. She’s got a casual way of delivering her lines, and she talked about some of our signature dishes. She knows food, so she can tell you about the spices in the dish or how the food is cooked. She does a good job; she’s entertaining.”

“What would happen if you got a negative review?”

He wouldn’t make eye contact. “From somebody who has a small blog, it wouldn’t affect a restaurant.”

“But someone with half a million followers?”

“That could make a difference.”

“It could hurt business?”

Now he looked at me. “Yes. Some of her reviews have hurt a few of my friends. I mean, hurt their business.”

He was trying to keep his voice neutral, but he didn’t quite succeed, his eyebrows bunching. He was angry at Piper for that.

“But your review was good?” I pressed.

“Mostly positive. There was one dish she didn’t like too much, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

“What was that?”

“A spicy maple salmon,” he said. “But it sells well, and I didn’t worry about what she said. Food critics can be wrong, you know.” A bit of something in the tone.

I thought for a moment. I might’ve found a possible motive. If he shot her—still way too early in my investigation to know.

“Were your sales hurt?” I asked.

“No.”

“So if she ruined somebody, or their business, they might want to go after her?” I suggested.

He locked eyes with me. “For a review?”

I stared back. “Piper trashes a restaurant, and the owner comes after her. A weak motive, maybe, but I’ve seen people kill for a lot less.”

“I guess.”

I changed the subject to keep him off balance. “How did you get into the business?”

“I’m a chef, and I’ve always wanted to open my own restaurant. I finally did, and after a few years, we’re doing well,” he said proudly.

“It’s hard work,” I acknowledged.

“Yeah, long hours.”

“Working late a lot.”

“Yes.”

“Like tonight.” He nodded, and I went on. “You didn’t hear anything in the alley?”

“No. I was in my office and had music on.”

“Were there other employees in the restaurant with you?”

“Not then,” he said. “We close at ten on Wednesday nights, and everyone else had left. I stay late, checking the books, doing paperwork, things like that. I’m a night owl, and I like to crank the music and get some stuff done.”

“When you came into the alley, you did what?”

“Like I told you, I was throwing something out and I saw Piper.”

“What were you throwing out?”

“A bag of trash from the office,” he said.

“Where’s the bag now?”

He stared at me as if I was dense. “It’s in the dumpster.”

“So you saw the body after you threw out the trash?”

“Yes.”

“What was in the trash bag?”

If he realized I was asking about his movements, exactly what he was doing, he didn’t seem to register that.

“Just trash,” he said. “It was office stuff, papers, some napkins because I sometimes eat at my desk.” He shrugged. “Stuff like that.”

Another mental note to check that, and I continued. “What kind of bag?”

“A small clear bag. I tied it in a knot.”

“So you threw the bag in the dumpster and then?”

“I started for the restaurant door, and I saw something lying there. I thought maybe it was a bag of trash, something like that, and then I realized it was a person. Maybe someone sleeping. We see a lot of homeless people around here.” He thought for a second and seemed as if he might get choked up again, and then he went on. “I turned on my phone flashlight and started toward the body, and then I realized it was a woman.”

“How?”

“Her outfit, her shoes. And then I saw her face. Even though the flashlight wasn’t much, I could tell it was Piper.”

“Did you approach her, touch the body?”

He nodded. “Just to see if she was okay. Then I saw the blood and . . .” He gulped. “I checked for a pulse and didn’t find one, so I called 911.”

“Did you look around, touch anything else?”

Now a flare of anger. “No. I told the other officer that.” He jabbed a finger toward the alley, and Burton, who stood ramrod straight, watching us. “I moved away from the body, and I waited until the cops showed up. That’s it.”

“Okay,” I said and kept my voice relaxed. “I’m only trying to figure out exactly what happened.”

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t know why that officer got mad.”

“Don’t worry about him,” I said. “Did you see anyone else in the alley?”

“No. I didn’t hear anything either.”

I nodded. “Do you think somebody had it in for Piper? Somebody who didn’t like her, or like what she was doing?”

He gave that some thought. “Not that I know of. I know she’s given poor reviews here and there. She wasn’t afraid to call out anyone if she thought they could improve. She had a way with words, but not everyone took it well. I don’t know of anyone who would go after her though.”

“Who got bad reviews?”

“I don’t know all of them, but a couple because I know the owners. There was one for Pico’s Restaurant. And another one, but I can’t think who it was at the moment. I could let you know if I remember.”

I thought he knew which restaurant, especially if he knew the owners, but didn’t want to say. Protecting a buddy?

“That’d be great,” I said. “Do you know any of Piper’s friends, or if she had a boyfriend?”

“No boyfriend that I know of, but she didn’t tell me everything, and I hadn’t talked to her in a couple of weeks.”

I wasn’t sure I believed that last either, but I went on. “Any idea why she was in the alley this time of night?”

He scratched his chin. “No. She wasn’t at the restaurant earlier.”

“When did you last see her?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a few weeks ago.”

He glanced away as a dark sedan car turned the corner, headlights slicing a path in the darkness. The vehicle pulled up near the SUV, and a Black man got out. He wore a gray suit with a neatly knotted blue tie. My partner Spats got his name from an old partner who thought he resembled a 1930s gangster. Looking at Spats now, the name still fits. He quietly shut the car door and sauntered over.

“Speelmahn,” he said.

For some reason, Spats pronounces my surname with a Jamaican accent. He’s from Harlem and when asked, he can’t explain why he seems to have a slight accent, at least with certain words or phrases. Both he and Ernie call me by my surname a lot. I don’t recall when that had started, and I’m sometimes taken aback if either one calls me “Sarah.”

Chandler glanced to him, then back to me, his posture shrinking as though the additional scrutiny weighed him down. His wide eyes and hesitant movements spoke of unease, almost guilt—though whether it was from shock or something deeper, I couldn’t tell.

“Hang on,” I said to Spats.

My partner nodded but was listening. Chandler eased back a little more and looked at me, his eyes wide, his head tipped.

“Do you have surveillance equipment?” I asked Chandler.

He nodded. “Three cameras, but nothing that looks to the alley.”

“Could we check what you have?” I asked.

“I have an app on my phone.” He started to reach into his pocket.

“Do you have something with a bigger screen in the restaurant?”

“I have a laptop in my office.”

“Good.”

He hesitated, then said, “You want to look at it right now?”

“Is there problem with that?”

“No,” he said. “Come with me.”

I had more questions, but I wanted to take a look in the restaurant and go from there. I held up a hand to stop him as I gave Spats a look. I wanted him to take over outside, and I needed to brief him. Chandler started to lean against the SUV, then saw Burton glaring at him and thought better of it. He stood a few feet from the vehicle with feet apart and waited as I moved away with Spats.

“Want to fill me in?” Spats asked in a low voice.

“Well . . .” I began.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ikept my eye on Chandler as I updated Spats.

“Burton can be a pain in the ass,” Spats said when I finished. “He thinks he knows everything.”

“I know.” I glanced at Chandler, then to the alley. “Start working the crime scene, will you?”

Spats gave me a skeptical look. “You don’t want me to go with you?”

I momentarily bristled. I could handle Chandler myself. But I also knew what Spats was getting at. I had a prickly interviewee on my hands, and it might be a good move to have someone else on hand while I talked to him. Going in alone wasn’t about procedure—I could handle an interview however I wanted—it was about strategy. Two detectives meant one could watch reactions while the other asked questions, catch the subtle tells a single interviewer might miss while focusing on the next question. More importantly, it meant a witness couldn’t later claim we’d said or done something we hadn’t. However, Ernie hadn’t arrived yet, and I wanted to get the crime scene worked as well.

This is the best choice, I told myself. I didn’t need his help with Chandler.

“Too much else to do,” I said to Spats.

He gave me a look I’d seen a lot in the last few weeks. I’d been guilty of taking on way more than I should, and doing it all on my own. He and Ernie had commented, and I hadn’t liked the subtle hints that it was because of the Gloria Lott investigation. I’d brushed them off each time the subject had come up. Spats now wisely didn’t protest.

“You sure?” he said.

“Yes,” I said, snappish. He cocked an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. I drew in a deep breath, then went on. “Research everything you can on Piper, and when you get her address, send a uniform to see if anyone’s there. If so, wait with them until we can get over there for an interview. If not, have the uniform guard the door so no one goes in.” I tipped my head at Chandler. “I want to see what he has on his surveillance video, and I’ll keep questioning him as well.”

Spats glanced to Chandler. “You think he’s involved in Piper’s death?”

I shrugged. “Too early to tell. He could’ve killed her and then called it in.”

“Trying to throw us off. Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried that.”

“I know,” I said. “Oh, make sure the crime-scene techs check the dumpster. There should be a bag of trash tied in a knot that Chandler threw out.”

“Will do. Ernie’s on his way, and we’ll get going. We ought to have more information soon.” He glanced up to a hazy dark sky, downtown’s artificial lights creating too much skyglow to see many stars. “We’ll start canvassing the neighborhood too. I don’t know if anybody was around to see what happened, or if any businesses are even open, but we’ll find out.”

“Sounds good.”

As Spats headed toward the alley entrance, I went back to Chandler. He’d calmed down significantly, and now he looked dejected, shoulders sagging as he stared at the sidewalk. Death had a way of doing that to people. I’d seen a lot of it—too much—and over the years I’d trained myself to have a clinical approach to victims. But for someone like Chandler, seeing a dead body, and someone he knew, had gotten to him. If I didn’t miss my guess, this was his first experience with death up close.

“How’re you holding up?” I asked him. I genuinely wanted to know, but it was also a good way to get him to loosen up, to not look at me as the enemy.

“Okay.” He ran a hand down his face, then pinched his chin with his fingers. Since the alley was a crime scene and taped off, I started down the block, and he followed. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Let me see the surveillance video, and I’ll try to wrap things up quickly. Then you can go home.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep,” he said softly as he fell in step beside me. “I’ve never seen a dead body before.”

Nailed that one, I thought, although that didn’t give me any satisfaction.

We rounded the corner to Arapahoe Street. Rosemary & Vine was at the end of the building, a big red fixed awning over the front door. At this time of night, there were no cars parked on the street.

“You didn’t see anyone in the alley when you went back there?” I asked.

“No, not a soul.”

“And what did you hear?” I phrased it that way to see how he’d answer.

“Nothing. I’m not even sure if there was any traffic.”

He was consistent, his answers now the same as before, and he didn’t seem to realize I was asking questions again. He pulled keys from his pocket and unlocked the door, then held it open for me. I stepped inside, and he was careful to lock the door behind him.

“The surveillance equipment is in my office,” he said.

I followed him past a host stand and into the main room of the restaurant. It was large, full of several booths and tables, all covered with white tablecloths. Oversized black and white photos of the city were hung on walls painted navy blue. I saw my reflection in a mirror on the wall behind a long bar to the right. What I noticed, besides my blond hair, were the dark circles under my brown eyes. I didn’t like that. I didn’t feel tired, but I hadn’t been sleeping well.

Chandler walked down a short hallway with doors to restrooms. At the end, light shone from an open doorway, and rock music filtered out, a song I didn’t know.

“Where’s the alley exit?” I asked.

He pointed behind me. “There’s a door through the kitchen.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “So you took your trash and had to go back through the kitchen?” I backed up, looked around the corner, and saw double doors at the far end of the main room.

“Yes,” Chandler said.

I thought for a moment, then turned to the hallway again. Pale light washed over Chandler as he stepped through the open doorway. I followed. His office wasn’t very big, with a desk that faced the door. A small light shone on an open laptop, papers, and a few file folders. A swivel chair sat behind the desk, a folding chair in front. Shelves against one wall were stuffed with boxes of various sizes, and a file cabinet stood in the corner. Behind the desk was a window with the blinds closed. I pointed at that.

“That looks to Twenty-first?”

He nodded. “Yes. I always keep the blinds closed, and I forget it’s even there.” He moved around the desk and sat down, then grabbed the laptop mouse. “Give me a second,” he said as he turned off the music.

An eerie silence ensued. I cocked an ear and listened, but I couldn’t hear anything inside the main restaurant room, let alone the alley.

Chandler busied himself at the laptop, then typed. As he did, I asked another question.

“Did Piper have family?”

He nodded. “A sister, Delaney.”

“How do you know about her?”

He kept looking at the screen. “She appeared in some of Piper’s videos, and Piper mentioned that she lives here. I don’t remember her mentioning any other relatives in Denver, or where her parents live.”

He motioned for me to join him. I sidled around the desk and looked at the laptop screen. He tipped his head at it.

“One camera is positioned near the host stand, focused on people coming and going.” He ran a finger near the screen. “You can see it catches part of the main room, but not the whole area.”

“You said there were three cameras.”

He nodded, then clicked the mouse. “The second one is near the kitchen, and you can see the main room.”

I looked at the screen again and saw people dining, most of the tables and booths full.

“What about your office or the kitchen?” I asked.

“The third one’s in the kitchen.” He clicked the mouse. “I don’t have anything in the office or the back hallway because there’s nothing but the restrooms and my office.”

I bent slightly and watched kitchen staff working diligently, some going in and out of view as they moved toward the doors.

“What time did you call the police?” I asked. I knew the answer but waited to see what he would say.

“It must’ve been about eleven.”

That’s when dispatch had said the 911 call had come in, I thought to myself. I went on.

“Can you show me the video from all three cameras a few minutes before that time?”

“Sure.”

He worked for a minute, and then the main room of the restaurant, the kitchen, and the host stand appeared on a split screen. All three were empty of people until I saw Chandler emerge from the hallway, carrying a small bag. Then he disappeared from that camera’s view and appeared in the kitchen. He crossed between long metal tables, and he again went out of view.

“That’s when I went into the alley,” he said.

I nodded, thinking. At first blush, it appeared Chandler was telling the truth. He’d been in his office, and when he’d taken out the trash, he’d discovered the body. But what if there was more to his story? I glanced to the closed blinds. If he’d met with Piper—or worse, killed her—he could’ve sneaked out the window and the video surveillance in the restaurant wouldn’t have picked up that. If he’d met or murdered Piper. As I’d said to Spats, it was too early to know, and I needed to keep an open mind.

I straightened up, still looking at the screen. “Do you know where Piper lives?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a clue. I only ever saw her here.”

The video kept playing, and there was the empty restaurant, kitchen, and host area. Chandler didn’t appear again until we came through the front entrance.

“You want to see anything else?” he asked.

“Run all three views again, please, starting a few minutes before you went to the alley.”

He did, and I studied the screen carefully but didn’t see anything I might have missed before. Only Chandler, doing exactly what he’d told me. I gestured at the laptop.

“Could you get me files of your surveillance, going back as far as you can.”

“The system keeps two weeks. You want all that?”

“Yes,” I said. “Can you email it to me?”

“It’s a big file. I can put it on a shared folder for you.”

“Perfect.” I pulled a business card from my pocket and handed it to him. “My contact information is there.”

“Let me do this right now,” he said.

As he worked, I kept asking questions. He might’ve been distracted, but that could keep him from thinking of any lies, if that’s what he was doing.

“Do you have a gun here?”

He shook his head as he worked on the laptop. “No, never.”

“You’re not concerned about theft, anything like that? A need to protect yourself, especially late at night?”

“I never really liked guns, so no. Once everyone leaves, I keep the doors locked.”

“When did the rest of the staff leave?”

He didn’t hesitate. “We close at ten, and it takes about twenty minutes to get everything cleaned up. Everyone except Ronnie left.”

“Ronnie?”

He glanced at me “Sorry. Ronnie is the main chef. He stayed a little longer, and we had a drink at the bar while we discussed a few things. After that he left too.”

Not quite what he’d said before. “And then you were here alone.”

“Yes.”

I made a mental note to check the surveillance video to make sure he was telling the truth about Ronnie. My list was getting longer. I thought for a moment, then spoke.

“Could I get a full list of staff, as well as who was working tonight?”

“Sure. I’ll email that to you as well.”

He worked more at the computer, then said, “Okay, the list is on its way. I noted in the email who was working tonight.”

“Thanks. What other businesses are in the area?”

“There’s a bar next door, and there’s a picture framing shop on the other corner. There are offices across the street. I don’t know what all they do, although I think there’s an accounting firm and . . .” He swiveled in the chair to look out the window, then noticed the closed blinds. He looked up at me. “Sorry, I don’t pay attention to all that.”

“That’s okay, I’ll check.”

“There’s a parking garage on the opposite corner. They might have surveillance cameras.”

“Is that where you park?”

He nodded. “I drive a BMW, so it seems safer to park there than in an open lot.”

“Did Piper talk about anyone who scared her, someone she might’ve feared?”

“Like an enemy?”

“Yes.”

He pondered that. “I don’t recall, but I suppose there could’ve been people who didn’t like her reviews, or her success.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know.”

I couldn’t think of anything else to ask right then, but I was sure I’d think of more questions later. I glanced around the office, then at him.

“Mind if we look at the rest of the restaurant?”

He stood up. “Sure, follow me.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Ichecked both bathrooms for good measure, not sure that I would find anything significant, and I didn’t. We went back into the main room and looked around. The tables had already been set up for tomorrow, place settings ready to go. I turned to Chandler.

“What time do you open tomorrow?”

“Eleven. I’ll be here before nine, and Ronnie will be in shortly after that. The rest of the staff will be in about thirty minutes before we open.”

I glanced at the camera up in the corner, then tried to picture Chandler coming out the hallway and walking into the kitchen. If he’d been in the alley with Piper before she died, it would’ve been difficult—maybe impossible—for him to have gone through the main room without being seen. He noticed my gaze.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head, then said, “Could we go into the kitchen?”

“Sure.”

I followed him through the double doors and glanced around. Several stainless-steel tables filled the space, from the long hot-line with its multiple burners and grills to the prep tables scattered throughout, with racks of pots and pans nearby. Walk-in refrigerators hummed steadily in a corner next to a separate dry-storage area with shelves of non-perishables. I looked to the camera there as well, hung strategically in a corner, where it viewed the entire kitchen. It would be hard to escape being recorded by it. Nothing about the setup struck me as odd, so I headed for the alley exit.

“You went out this way, correct?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yes.”

I pushed open the door and peered out. While I’d been in the restaurant, a lot had been happening. A forensics team had arrived, and Spats had full control of the situation. Privacy screens had been erected several feet from the body—not that there were any onlookers around—and huge lights had been set up. The alley was now as light as day, if not brighter. Shadows moved on the other side of the screen, and a couple of people were combing the alley. They’d pick up everything they saw, then bag and tag it all. We probably wouldn’t need any of it, but it was better to have it than not. Too early to know what might be evidence. Here and there people spoke in low tones, the words inaudible. An ambulance was parked at the end of the alley, no lights on though. I was glad for that; we didn’t need any more attention in the area. I also didn’t see any media personnel. That was fortunate. If we were lucky, a murder in an alley wouldn’t stir up their interest, and we could complete our investigation without any prying eyes.

My other partner, Ernie Moore, was here. He saw me and walked over.

“Got a second?” he asked.

I glanced back at Chandler as I pushed the door open wider. “Wait here for a minute,” I said to him.

Chandler nodded and held the door, his gaze straying to the privacy screens. I moved away with Ernie so we could talk in private.

Ernie is the polar opposite of Spats. Where Spats is fastidious about his appearance, Ernie couldn’t care less. Spats has several suits that he rotates through, and he mixes and matches ties and handkerchiefs to keep his look fresh and always interesting. On the other hand, I didn’t know whether Ernie had more than the one brown suit he was wearing now, one that always seemed slightly wrinkled.

“Spats said you’re talking to the guy who called it in,” Ernie said quietly.

I nodded. “Chandler Cohen.”

“What’s your take on him so far?”

I considered that. “He’s saying all the right things, but I don’t quite know what to think of him. He’s acting a little nervous. It could be dealing with a detective—and the entire situation—is causing that, but I don’t know.”

Ernie looked over my shoulder at Chandler, then up and down the alley. “Spats said Chandler knew the victim.”

“Yes, although he says not well. We’ll have to start talking to people, see if that’s true. What do you have going on?”

“The ME is here. That new woman, Jackie Helms.”

“I haven’t worked with her before.”

“I hear she’s good.”

He hooked his thumbs in his waistband. For a lot of years, Ernie had smoked cigars, but he’d given up the habit. Now he frequently seems to either need to do something with his hands, or he needed to keep them under control. “I have somebody working on next of kin, and I’m going to call the parents—Rob and Shannon. They live in North Carolina.”

“There’s a sister here. Delaney.”

“We tracked down her address, and if you don’t need my help, I thought I’d go over there as well.”

I didn’t argue with that. Delivering news to a family member is a difficult thing to do, no matter how many times you’ve done it before. If Ernie was offering to take that task, I’d let him. He was sympathetic, and he would do a good job. He would also conduct a good interview to see what Delaney knew about Piper.

“Talk to the sister,” I agreed, not needing his assistance with Chandler either. “Keep me posted.”

“You got it.”

He eyed me for a second, probably assessing my mood. It felt like he and Spats had been doing that a lot lately. I stared at him, and he shrugged and walked away. I turned back to Chandler. He was still staring at the privacy screens, although I knew he wouldn’t be able to see anything. He didn’t seem to hear me until I was closer.

“Oh,” he said.

“May we go back in the restaurant?” I asked.

He held open the door, and I followed him into the kitchen. Once the door closed, I stood for a moment and listened. The door was solid, and I couldn’t hear any of the activity in the alley. Not surprising since they were all talking in low voices. I wondered if the sound of a gunshot could’ve been heard from the kitchen. Maybe, if someone were standing near the door, and the kitchen was quiet. I gave the space a last look around, then returned to the dining room.

“Do you need anything else?” Chandler asked. He glanced at his watch. “I need to be back here in . . . well, soon, so I’d like to go home and get some rest.”

“I understand,” I said. “I appreciate your speaking with me. If I need anything else, I’ll be in touch.”

“Sure, no problem.”

He walked me to the front door, and I went out into the dark night. The door closed behind me with a click. I stood for a moment, then glanced up and down the block. It was still quiet, no one around. I walked to the corner and around to the alley. The EMS personnel were rolling a gurney with the body to the back of the ambulance. They collapsed the legs and loaded it, and when the vehicle drove away, Spats walked over.

“What do you have?” I asked.

“More info on the victim, for one thing. Piper was thirty years old, born in Florida but has lived here since college. She lives in an apartment complex in Golden. I sent a uniform over there first thing to check the place. No answer. Someone will stand guard until we can get a CSI team inside. Piper went to the University of Colorado. Never married, her LinkedIn shows she works at an IT firm in Golden. She was shot in the chest, no exit wound, no GSR on her clothes.”

Gunshot residue would indicate Piper was shot at close range. Without that present, I would assume she’d been several feet away from her killer.

“When they do the autopsy, they should recover the bullet, and that’ll help,” Spats continued. “My guess is it was a 22, maybe a 38. They’d do damage but won’t exit the body. So far, we haven’t recovered a weapon.”

“If the killer was smart, they wouldn’t drop the weapon around here.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’ll expand our search to the surrounding area, but I’m not holding out hope.”

“It’s worth checking.”

“I have Burton and Martinez canvassing the neighborhood, but at this time of the night, all the businesses are closed. I’ll get a team together tomorrow to start talking to people, see who has surveillance video, and we’ll start combing through that.”

I glanced at the buildings around me. “Are there any apartments or condos nearby?”

He pointed to the west. “There’s a building a couple blocks over, but nothing close to the restaurant.”

“Has the CSI team come up with anything?”

He shook his head. “Nothing noteworthy so far. You?”

I gave him the rundown of my conversation with Chandler, and my impressions of the man. I finished with, “There’s no reason to hold him, so he’s going home. We need to look into him further, though.”

“Makes sense.”

I nodded to the alley. “I want to take another look around.”

Spats walked with me, and we spent several minutes in the alley, speculating on what we had so far, which wasn’t much.

“Why would Piper be here late at night?” he asked.

“I wondered the same thing.”

I looked around the area where she’d lain but nothing caught my eye, other than the blood on the ground. The techs had checked that area, and I looked further, coming up empty. The team was good.

“She didn’t have a purse, and nothing in her pockets,” Spats said. “Good thing Chandler knew her or we’d have been screwed.”

“Someone robbed her?”

He shrugged. “Possible.”

“You shoot somebody in the chest for . . .”

“I guess depends on what she had on her.”

I thought about that, then shook my head. “We’ll keep it on the table. Where’s her car?”

He pointed. “Around the corner, on Curtis. We ran a check for vehicles registered to her. She drove a Toyota Highlander.”

“Why park there?”

He shrugged. “Good question but I don’t have an answer.”

After a while, the forensics team wrapped up. Spats walked with me toward the street.

“They’ll get us a report sometime tomorrow,” he said. He put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure what more we can do now.”

I knew what he was hinting at; he wanted to go home. Police work means odd hours, long hours, and time away from your family. Spats and his partner, Trissa, have a toddler, Demarcus, who keeps them on their toes. Spats also has a twelve-year-old daughter, Jada, from a previous marriage. He treasures the time with his children, and he keeps saying he’s going to propose to Trissa. I wondered when that would happen.

“We’ll need a warrant for Piper’s apartment,” I said.

“You want that now?” He was hesitant. Home was definitely tugging at him.

I shook my head. “Since no one’s there, let’s not stir things up with the neighbors now. They’ll be curious enough as it is when they see a uniform outside her door in the morning. We’ll rendezvous at the station first thing, and when you get in, start on it.”

“I’ll get a little shut-eye and be in early.” He smiled. “Get some rest, okay?”

I didn’t respond to that, but I could feel Spats studying me. He knew how much that Lott case bothered me, but he wasn’t going to say so.

“I will,” I said, a little too quickly.

He eyed me, then said, “Good night.”

He waved. I waited until he got into his car and left, and I was walking back into the alley when my phone rang. Ernie.

“I got a hold of Piper’s parents. As bad as you can imagine. Couldn’t believe what I was telling them.”

“Do either have any inkling who might’ve wanted to kill their daughter?”

“Not a clue. They said she was doing well with her social media stuff, and that she was excited about how her following was growing. As far as they knew, everything was going well.”

“What about a boyfriend?”

“She’d been dating a guy, Jesse Glover, but they said she’d broken up with him a few months ago, and that she wasn’t with anybody else. Nobody else who might want to go after her either.”

“Someone did,” I said pointedly.

“I know.” He was just as deliberate with those words, then went on. “After I talked to the parents, I went to the sister’s apartment. Delaney wasn’t home, or at least not answering the door buzzer. The main office was closed, so I couldn’t get anyone to let me in the building. I didn’t want to buzz other units at this time of night. I tried calling her as well, but no answer. She could be with a boyfriend, something like that. I checked back with the parents about her, too.”

“Did they know where she was?”

“No. They didn’t seem worried about her though, said she was upset about her sister. I would’ve liked to interview Delaney tonight, before she and the parents talk too much, but that’s not going to happen.”

He was right. It would’ve been better to talk to the sister right away. Those were often the times you got the best, unfiltered information. Once a person has time to think, they may hold things back, even if they don’t mean to. However, the middle of the night wouldn’t be the time to bang on her neighbors’ doors to look for her. We had no reason to suspect she was in any danger, so we’d have to talk to her later.

“You need anything else now?” Ernie asked.

“No,” I said. “I told Spats to head home, and you should do the same. We’ll meet up first thing in the morning.”

“Okay.”

He also told me to “get some rest,” and he ended the call. I waited until the forensics team had picked up everything and the alley was clear, and then I drove home. When I turned down Grape Street, the Cherokee’s headlights shone on my ranch-style house. My neighborhood was quiet too. I pulled into the garage and let myself into the kitchen, where I got a drink of water and stared out the back window. There was now a new investigation to take my mind off the other one. I hoped I would find out what happened with Piper, and that would give me some sort of peace.

With that thought in mind, I tiptoed into the bedroom, undressed, and got under the covers beside Harry. He stirred and mumbled, asking if everything was okay.

“It will be,” I said.

I put my arm around him and held him until I fell into a fitful sleep.

CHAPTER SIX

Early the next morning, I was standing at the kitchen window, looking out to the back yard. It looked good, the grass neatly trimmed, although some of the flower beds could have used some tending. Harry and I had both been busy lately. Harry owns an IT consulting firm that helps small business start-ups with their IT needs. He’s great at what he does, and word had spread. He’s added a lot of new clients lately, and he’d been working long hours too. I wondered—not for the first time—if we should hire someone to tend the yard. I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that though. Sometimes working in the dirt gave me some distraction.

As I sipped my coffee, my thoughts lingered on Officer Burton’s actions at the crime scene. The memory of his arrogant tone and hasty decisions had dogged me through my shower, weaving into the steam like an unwelcome specter. Something about his behavior didn’t sit right. I gulped the last of my coffee, set the mug in the sink, and shook off the uneasy thought as Harry entered the kitchen, wearing a dark suit, his tie slightly askew. I surveyed him.

“What’s got you all dressed up?” I asked.

“A new client,” he said. “A construction company. I want to make a good impression.”

I walked over to him and straightened the knot on his tie. “You will. You look very handsome.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, then peered into my face. “I was too tired to ask when you came home—what’s this new investigation?”

I shrugged. “A woman was murdered in an alley. I don’t have a lot of details yet.”

Over the years, I’ve been able to talk about some of my work with Harry. He’s a good listener, and supportive, which not everyone is. I can’t talk to my family much about what I do. I understand that, but occasionally it’s nice to have someone who really hears me.

Harry moved around me to get a mug from the cupboard, and he poured himself some coffee. He looked over the rim as he sipped some. There was something in his look.

“How’re you doing this morning?” he asked. “Besides tired.”

He knew me too well. I held up my hand to wave off what I knew he was getting at.

“I’m fine,” I said.

He held the mug in his hand for a moment, then took another drink, all the while studying me. A large truck rumbled past the house. The living room window rattled, like a harbinger of something to come between Harry and me. He’d been concerned about me, along with everyone else. And no matter how much I told him I was okay, he didn’t believe it. I wanted to snap at him, to tell him I was handling things. Just like I wanted to do with everyone else who kept asking me how I was doing. I knew they were right though. The Lott investigation was always there, had hit me hard, and I wasn’t sure why. Justice isn’t always blind, and it certainly isn’t fair. And it missed things as well. I knew that, but I also wondered what was my part in all that?

“I’m fine,” I repeated, knowing I sounded irritated. “Just a little . . .” I almost said, “tired,” and I quickly searched for another word. Nothing came to mind, so I said, “It was a long night.”

“I’ll bet.”

His look was pensive, his lips twisting a little as he thought. Then he put the mug in the sink, the coffee only half drunk.

“I’m going to be late,” he said. He came over and gave me a lingering kiss, then stepped back and looked me in the eyes. “How long are you going to tell yourself everything’s all right?”

We stared at each other, and then he turned and headed for the kitchen door.

“Update me later?” he called over his shoulder.

“Okay,” I agreed.

He went into the garage, and I heard the hum of the garage door opening, then his car starting. Then the big door humming closed, and I was left with the silence and my thoughts.

I glanced at the clock on the stove, and dismissed my musings as I left for work. An accident on Colfax slowed my progress, and I arrived at the station at Thirteenth and Cherokee a little before eight, later than I’d wanted to be there. Spats was already at his desk. Today’s ensemble was a black pin-striped suit and white shirt. His coat hung neatly on a hanger on a wall hook behind him. A thin red tie was loosened at his collar. He was on the phone, and he lifted a finger at me in hello. I nodded back, dropped my purse in my desk drawer, and hurried for a table in the corner that had coffee and various creams, sugar, and sugar substitutes. I fixed a cup and returned to my desk. I’d just sat down when I heard a voice call out.

“Sarah? Would you come in here?”

I turned toward the deep voice. Commander Calvin Rizzo was sitting at his desk in his office, and he was looking at me expectantly. I wasn’t sure about his tone, and I glanced at Spats.

He shrugged and mouthed, “Update?”

That’s what it must be, I thought.

I pushed out of my chair and went to Rizzo’s doorway. He motioned for me to take a seat across from his desk. I came in, shut the door, and sat down.

“I just got off the phone with Bob London,” he said as he picked up a pencil and fiddled with it.

London is the Division Chief of the six patrol stations in Denver. I’d met him a time or two. He’s a nice enough man, keeps to himself, and he doesn’t play too many political games. I wasn’t one for office politics either, so I respected him in that regard. Still, I wondered why he and Rizzo would be talking.

“Oh?” I said.

Rizzo leaned back in his chair. He’s about six feet tall, with a powerful build that nicely fills his uniform. “There was a complaint about you from Officer Burton.”

I stifled a retort. I hadn’t expected this. I should’ve seen it coming—given Burton’s personality—but I’d been too focused on other things. I glanced around Rizzo’s office, to the placards and awards on the walls, and pictures of him with local dignitaries. I finally let my gaze meet my commander’s.

“What did London say?”

“Burton claims you came to the crime scene all ‘hot and bothered.’ His words. He said he had the situation under control, and that you didn’t make things easy for him.”

“Burton was out of line,” I said. “He was acting like a detective, stepping outside of what he should’ve been doing.”

The pencil kept moving. “Tell me what happened.”

I took a few minutes to explain the previous night, from the time I’d arrived at the crime scene to when I’d driven home. I was careful with my assessment of Burton and his actions, and I worked hard to give Rizzo a fair accounting of what had transpired, including my ire with Burton. I’d reported to Rizzo for a long time. He’s a fair supervisor, and although he’s straightforward, he’s also kind and compassionate. I knew it would do me no good to sugarcoat things with him. When I finished, I looked at him and waited. He was thoughtful for a moment.

“I’m familiar with Burton,” he said. He put the pencil down and leaned his elbows on his desk. “A lot of people are. I wouldn’t worry too much about him, but since London brought this to my attention, I needed to talk to you.”

“Is Burton making a formal complaint?”

Rizzo shook his head. “No, but he gave London an earful. Burton has a lot of years in, and I think London wants to let the man get to his pension and retire quietly.”

“I get that.” I wanted to say more, but I didn’t. It wouldn’t do any good to rail on Burton. If he wanted to complain about me, so be it. As long as he let me do my job, I was okay with that.

“It’ll all blow over.” Rizzo changed the subject. “No leads on this new investigation?”

“It’s too early,” I replied. “Spats’ll be getting a warrant to search the victim’s apartment, and there’s plenty else to do. We’ll see what we dig up.”

Rizzo eyed me for a moment, and I braced myself, thinking he was going to be yet another person asking how I was doing. He may have been thinking that, but he didn’t voice it. Instead, he nodded.

“Let me know if you need anything.”

I took the dismissal, got up, and left the room quickly, before he could comment on my mood. I returned to my desk and sat down. Ernie had arrived, and he’d put a breakfast burrito on my desk. He looked at me with a smile.

“I figured neither one of you would’ve eaten breakfast, so I thought you could start the day out right.”

There was a burrito vendor on the corner of the building, and he did well with not only the police department, but other businesses in the area. My stomach growled. Ernie had gotten this one right.

“Thanks,” I said as I unwrapped the burrito. I bit into it and moaned. “Oh, that tastes great.”

Spats was off the phone, and he held up a half-wrapped burrito, the foil neatly pulled back so he could eat carefully and not get anything on his hands, or more importantly, his clothes.

Ernie nodded towards Rizzo’s office. “He wanted an update already?”

I took another bite before answering. “That, and to tell me that Burton reported me to his supervisor.”

“What?” Ernie was incredulous. “Wait a minute. From what you told me, Burton was in the wrong.”

I nodded. “Of course he was. He should’ve secured the crime scene and waited with Chandler, nothing more. Certainly not have put the man in cuffs.”

“Please tell me you’re not being written up,” Spats said.

I shook my head. “No. London knows Burton well enough, and Rizzo said to let it go.” I took another bite of the burrito, and that gave me time to think. Then I said, “I’ll admit, it irritates me. Burton has no clue he could have jeopardized the investigation, that he could screw things up so that even if we have all the evidence to convict a murderer, his interference could mess up a trial.”

Bingo. I’d pinpointed what was really bothering me with Burton. I didn’t want to see anything he might’ve done be the cause of a killer getting away. No way I was going to let that happen again.

“Make sure we do our jobs, and we won’t let that happen,” Ernie said.

I stared at Ernie. “Did I not do my job?” Was he referring to how I’d handled Neil Lott?

Ernie raised his eyebrows warily. “Of course you did your job.” He took a huge bite of his burrito and chewed slowly. “We won’t have to deal with Burton again, so put him out of your mind.”

It was good advice, and I tried to heed it. I finished my burrito and wiped my hands with a napkin, then looked at both of them. The room was growing busier, more detectives working, on the phone or carrying on conversations about their investigations. I tuned that out and focused.

“What do we have so far?” I asked.

Spats glanced at his monitor. “I’m wrapping up the warrant, and I’ll head over to the courthouse to get signoff on it. Piper had an account with Verizon, and I’m working that into the warrant so we can get her phone records.”

“Thanks, I said.

Spats is our warrant expert, thorough with his information. People assume judges always sign off on warrants, but that’s not always the case. You have to be clear with what you want, and you have to justify your reasoning well. Spats is great at doing both, and judges rarely turn him down.

“When I get a chance, I’ll also go over the police reports from last night.” He took a bite of his burrito. “It isn’t much.”

“When you finish with the warrant, get a CSI team ready so they can meet us at Piper’s apartment whenever we can get in. And we’ll need to canvass the neighborhood around that alley this morning, see what we can find,” I said. “We need any surveillance video in the area as well.”

He nodded. “You got it, Speelmahn.”

I looked at Ernie. He finished his burrito in another big bite, and then he gulped some soda.

“We need to talk to Delaney, Piper’s sister,” he said. “You want to tag along?”

“I would,” I replied.

We could have talked to Delaney on the phone, but in person is always preferable. That way, you could gauge their reactions, their body language, their tone of voice. People give a lot of clues that way, whether they mean to or not.

I thought for a moment. “After that, I want to look at Piper more. She had a big social media presence, and we need everything on that. We need to track down her friends, and anybody she worked with.”

“The sister should be able to help with that,” Spats said.

“Any idea when the autopsy will be completed?” I asked as I turned to my computer to check my email.

“Who knows?” Ernie said. “Depends on how backed up they are.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Let me check a few things, and we can go, Ernie.”

He nodded and busied himself at his desk. It took me a few minutes to reply to some emails, and I checked one from Chandler, who had given me a link to the surveillance video files. I downloaded them and fast-forwarded through the previous evening.

“Chandler was telling the truth about Ronnie,” I announced after a minute. “The cameras recorded the two of them at the bar, and then Ronnie left.”

“And Chandler was alone,” Ernie said.

I nodded. “I’ll go through the rest of the footage later.”

I quickly looked to see if the forensics team had sent a report. It was early, but I thought I might get lucky. However, there was no such report in my inbox. When I finished, I stood up and motioned to Ernie that we could go. Spats was also up, putting on his coat.

“I’ll call you when I get the warrant,” he said.

I thanked him, and we all left.

CHAPTER SEVEN

It had been a long night. So much had to be done before meeting Piper, and so much to do after.

The noise around could have been distracting, silverware clinking on dishes, people talking in low tones. But with focus, everything fades into the background. Typing on the laptop to check various news outlets.

There should be reports on Piper’s murder. Not on Channel 9, though. What about the other news outlets?

More typing.

Nothing on the other local stations either. It wouldn’t be in the Denver Post, the killing had happened too late at night. Not enough time for a reporter to write up the story and get it to print in time. But the shooting ought to have been reported somewhere else. Piper had a large online presence. Wouldn’t someone have found out about what happened?

Sipping espresso, puzzling over that. How long would it take before a murder is deemed noteworthy? Did the killing have to be shocking, or the victim famous, before anyone cared? But Piper was famous, at least in certain circles. Had the police discovered who she was? If they had, the media ought to have figured that out as well.

Another sip. The coffee tastes good, a balance of sweetness, acidity, and bitterness. None should ever overpower the others, and this cup has all three complimenting each other. No touch of a burnt flavor, which could ruin the cup. With a nutty flavor, it’s a well-crafted drink.

A little laugh that no one notices. I could write a good review of this place. Better than a lot of people. Better than her.

Piper. I hate her! She was so sure of herself. She wasn’t just a foodie. She would’ve known how to describe the espresso in such a way that the viewer would want to rush out to that particular place to get a cup themselves, to try it, to savor its flavors, just like Piper would have. It took a certain kind of person to pull off that type of thing. It took talent to influence people like that.

Maybe so, but people didn’t know Piper. They never saw her dark side, how mean she could be. But I did. She could be wicked. If there was something she didn’t like, she could be quite creative with her words, not holding back biting sarcasm. Like a hornet, angrily attacking and stinging.

Cup down and more typing, setting up things.

People were about to see that side of Piper.

There might be some damage control after I do this, but that’ll be okay. It’ll be worth it when people see what Piper was really like.

Then they’ll know who she really was; not sweet and innocent. She wasn’t nice all the time. She wasn’t always funny and personable. There was that dark side. She could be horrible.

And she deserved to pay for that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Delaney Randall lived in a large apartment complex near Fifty-second and Wadsworth, in suburban Arvada. The complex had several buildings laid out in a circular formation, each with an enclosed lobby, with grassy areas in front and sidewalks that led to a central courtyard at the rear. We parked in front of Building 3 and went inside to a small entryway with mailboxes and a panel of buttons. I rang 304 and waited. After a moment, I pressed the button again. No one answered, and I glanced at Ernie.

“Think she went to work, even after what happened to her sister?” I speculated.

“I wouldn’t think so, but you don’t know how death affects people. Let’s see if someone at the office can let us in.”

We left the building and passed two other buildings, then entered an office that was near the complex entrance. A plump woman sitting behind a desk looked at us with a frown.

“Yes?” she said, not happy at the disruption. We’d pocketed our badges so we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves, but now Ernie flashed his at her and smiled. The woman quickly turned down music that played on her computer and sat a little straighter. “What can I do for you?”

Ernie played gruff, saying only, “We need to get into Building 3.”

She glanced around the otherwise empty office as if someone might appear to rescue her. When that didn’t magically happen, she stood up.

“Of course,” she said. “Is there a problem?”

“A routine inquiry,” Ernie said officiously.

The woman nodded, grabbed a set of keys from a desk drawer, and headed toward the door without a word. It was growing hotter as we followed her to Building 3. We entered the entryway, and she used the master key to open the inner door, then held it open and stepped back.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she asked, her annoyance replaced by curiosity.

I shook my head. “No, thank you.”

Ernie grabbed the door handle, and he looked at the woman expectantly. Her gaze darted between us, and then she murmured something akin to an apology and backed out the main door. Once it was closed, Ernie snickered.

“She couldn’t be bothered with us until she found out who we were.”

“And now she wants to know the gossip.”

“Always the case.”

He politely held the door and waited for me to step through. The hall was warm—no air conditioning to quell the growing heat—and there was no noise. We took the stairs to the third floor, then walked another quiet hallway to unit 304. I knocked loudly on the door and stepped back. We waited, and then Ernie banged with the palm of his hand, the sound echoing against the walls. Then he looked at me.

“She’s not home?” His voice went up.

“She’s not home,” I said, not playing into his attempt at humor.

He glanced up and down the hall, then pointed. “I’ll go that way.”

I started in the opposite direction. “Let’s see what we find.”

It took us a few minutes to knock on other doors on the floor, and only one person was home. She had recently moved in and had never met Delaney Randall, didn’t know if she was home, or who Piper was. Ernie and I ended up outside.

“We could stop by her work,” he said, “but I didn’t ask Delaney’s parents where she was last night. I was too focused on Piper. I’ll call them now.”

He pulled his phone and a small notepad from his pocket, consulted some notes, and then dialed a number. I waited, shielding the sun from my eyes. Ernie looked into the parking lot and began pacing the sidewalk in front of the building.

“Mrs. Randall.” He identified himself and offered his condolences. Then he said, “I’d like to talk to Piper’s sister, but she’s not home.”

He spoke with Piper’s mother for a moment, his tone sympathetic and genuine. Ernie has a way with women—not at all inappropriate—but in a way where he makes a sincere connection. He seemed to be doing so now, and I let him talk. At one point he tucked his phone between his cheek and his ear, dug a pen from his pocket, and jotted down something. Then the pen went in his other hand with the notepad, and he pressed the phone to his ear again. After a moment, he ended the call and looked at me.

“Delaney works at a marketing firm in the Tech Center, but her mother said she was taking the day off. She hasn’t talked to Delaney this morning, and thinks she could be with her boyfriend. She asked if I wanted her to call Delaney and have Delaney call us, but I told her not to worry about it. She may do that anyway, but I’d rather see if we could talk to Delaney in person.”

I nodded. “Me too.”

He still had his phone in his hand, and he consulted his notes and started dialing another number. “Let me call Delaney’s work, just to confirm she’s not there.”

I waited again while he made the call.

“Is Delaney Randall there?” He paused and glanced at me, then shook his head. “Do you expect her in today?” Another pause. “No thank you, no message. I’ll call back. Oh, she won’t be in for a few days? Okay, thank you.” He ended the call and shrugged. “Well?”

“Where is she?” I asked. Ernie shrugged, and I said, “We can move on to other things and stop by here later. If we can’t talk to Delaney by this evening, then we can ask the parents to track her down for us.”

He glanced to the upper windows of the building. “It’s got to be hard, losing your sister like that.”

“Yes,” I said.

I have a sister, Diane, who’s four years older than me. We’ve had a rocky relationship, and I’d had to do some soul searching around how she’d treated me as a child. And there was an incident when we were both in college that had threatened to tear us apart. That had been resolved, and things have been better lately. I was grateful for that. Even though we didn’t see eye to eye a lot of the time, she’s my sister, and I love her. On one of my previous cases, her life had been threatened, and I’d been grateful and relieved that nothing had happened to her. I couldn’t imagine what Delaney must be feeling right now.

Ernie interrupted my thoughts. “Let’s knock on some doors at Piper’s apartment complex to see if we can find any neighbors or friends to talk to,” he suggested. “Turn over some stones and see where it leads.”

“That’s a good thought, but I’m curious about something,” I said. “Last night, Chandler told me that Piper had recently reviewed his restaurant.”

Ernie’s mouth twitched. “You want to see if he was telling the truth about the review?”

I nodded. “Come with me.”

We went to my car, and he got in the passenger seat. I rolled down the windows to let in a breeze, then pulled out my phone.

“Where should I start?” I muttered.

“Go to Instagram, and you can search for her profile there,” Ernie said. “Or the name of her page . . . what was it? Taste And Tell All?”

I glanced at him. “You’re familiar with Instagram?”

Ernie shrugged. “The girls are on it sometimes, and other platforms. I tell them to be careful, and we’ve even restricted some of their access, but it’s tough. There’s Snapchat, WhatsApp, X, and on and on. Zo shows me some pretty funny things on them, and I can see the entertainment draw, but there’s so much else. We try to monitor what they do closely.” He threw up a hand. “I tell you, sometimes it’s a losing battle. But we try.”

Ernie and his wife, Liz, have two teenage daughters, Brooke and Zoe. He recognizes the dangers of social media, and he and Liz work hard to protect their daughters. I fully understand why he’s concerned. There’s so much dark and dangerous stuff out there, so much that could damage a child’s life. It had to be time-consuming and frightening trying to keep track of it all.

“I don’t even have an Instagram account,” I said.

“Me neither.” He leaned over and pointed at the screen. “Go there.”

I did as he instructed, and he navigated me through a few screens to find Piper’s public account, and the Taste and Tell All account.

Ernie gestured. “Those are posts,” he said, pointing to squares with images on them. “Click on reels. You can scroll through them to see if we can find one for Chandler’s restaurant.”

Piper had made it easy, in that each reel had a label that displayed the restaurant name. I scrolled for a moment, then saw one for Rosemary & Vine.

“Click on it,” Ernie said.

I did, and Piper’s face appeared on the screen. I held the phone so Ernie could see it as well.

“Okay foodies,” she began.

We heard her voice for the first time. It seemed sultry, in a pleasant way. She went on, and I recognized the interior of Chandler’s restaurant.

“I’m at Rosemary & Vine, a cute little place downtown.”

“I wonder if Chandler liked his restaurant being called cute,” I said.

Ernie didn’t say anything, and the video continued.

“Let’s talk about the atmosphere for a moment,” Piper said. “It's comfortable, if not particularly inspired.”

“Ouch,” Ernie murmured.

Piper held up a bowl. “My Caesar salad arrived promptly, though the romaine has that pre-chopped look, and the croutons are definitely from a bag.” She pursed her lips. “The dressing was okay, but it lacked the anchovy punch that separates true Caesar salads from cheap imitations.”

She went on, discussing a few other dishes. Some she liked, however, she didn’t seem blown away by them. Then she discussed the spicy maple salmon. “As for the salmon,” she held up a dish. “It was okay. Properly cooked, sitting on a bed of rice pilaf that could have used more seasoning. The spicy maple glaze was a tad heavy-handed. The seasonal vegetables—broccoli and carrots—were unremarkable, though properly crisp-tender.”

She ended with a discussion of a chocolate lava cake. “Oh foodies, this cake is like a little dark mountain with molten heaven inside, the rich melted chocolate flowing out like liquid velvet. And whoever thought to add those tiny bits of sea salt is an absolute genius. The after-dinner coffee was good. Not the best I’ve ever had, but decent.” Then she put her fork down and started to give a thumbs-up but stopped. “I can’t quite give a great review. Rosemary & Vine isn’t bad, it’s just . . . safe. It’s the kind of place you take your parents when they visit, or where you celebrate a work promotion with colleagues. The service is competent, the atmosphere is pleasant, and the food is . . . reliable. Sometimes that’s enough. But in a city with so many exciting dining options, ‘reliable’ feels a bit like settling.”

When the reel finished, I played it again. Then I looked at Ernie.

“What do you think?” I asked.

He took a moment to ponder. “Chandler said the review was mostly positive?”

“Yes.”

Ernie scratched his chin, then stared at my phone. “That wasn’t very flattering.”

“Right,” I agreed.

“Why would Chandler lie to us?” Ernie asked. “He’s embarrassed about the review?”

I looked out the windshield. “That could make sense. Or he might’ve thought we wouldn’t be able to find the review, so we’d never know.”

“I wonder what her other reviews are like,” Ernie said. “Is she tough with all of them?”

I scrolled through more of Piper’s reels. “It’s going to take some time to go through all of them, plus whatever other social media accounts she had to see if there’s anything that might point to a killer,” I said. “I can get Chad to look into it.”

Chad Lattimore is another detective on the unit, and he floats around, helps wherever he can. He’s thorough and rarely misses anything.

“Better him than me,” Ernie said. “The girls show me enough of that stuff.”

I laughed. “Let’s go by Piper’s apartment now. On the way, I’ll get Chad working on the social media, and I’ll see where Spats is with the warrant.”

“Sounds good, you can follow me.”

Ernie got out of the Cherokee, and when his Camry drove away, I followed him. As we headed away from Delaney’s apartment building, I called Chad. He answered after a couple of rings with, “Lattimore.”

I identified myself, and after a moment of chitchatting, I asked him if he had time to help on my investigation.

“I’m running down some information on another case, a domestic violence incident that ended in murder, but I can fit something in,” he said in a deep voice. “What do you need?”

“How familiar are you with social media?”

“That’s a loaded question. Any particular platforms?”

I told him about Piper and her food review blog. “She’s got an Instagram account as well, and there are probably others. I need someone to look at all of it, see if there’s anything unusual about what she posted.”

“Sounds like fun,” he said, no humor in the tone. “I’ll work on it this afternoon and let you know what I find out.”

“Perfect,” I said. I thanked him and ended the call, then dialed Spats. He answered right away.

“I’m at the courthouse, and I got the warrant.”

“Was there any doubt?”

“You flatter me, Speelmahn. I was about to call the CSI team.”

“We’re heading to Piper’s apartment now.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Good.”

I ended that call and hoped we would learn more than Ernie and I had so far.

CHAPTER NINE

Piper’s apartment complex—located off Sixth Avenue and Interstate 70—was bigger than her sister’s, with several more buildings and a large office. However, the units had no security, and we were able to walk right up to doors. Piper lived on the second floor, and an officer named Tarloff was standing at her door.

“Any trouble?” I asked her.

Tarloff shook her head. “I took over at seven, and it’s been quiet. A few people asked questions, and I told them there’d been an incident. No one pressed the issue.”

“Good,” I said. “We’re waiting on a warrant, and once we finish with the apartment, you can go.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Tarloff said.

“Let’s knock on doors while we wait for Spats,” I said to Ernie.

He nodded agreement and started at one end of the corridor. I rapped on the door across from Piper’s apartment and received no answer.

“I saw a man leave early this morning,” Tarloff said helpfully.

I nodded and headed the opposite direction from Ernie, and I lucked out right away when Piper’s next-door neighbor answered. She had to be around Piper’s age, with straight sun-streaked honey brown hair and striking blue eyes. She wore baggy shorts and a T-shirt with a Denver Broncos logo on it. Behind her, a laptop was set up at a table near a small kitchen, and country music played softly. She looked at me, and her gaze strayed to the badge I held in my hand.

“Yes?” she asked.

I smiled at her, but I didn’t introduce myself. “I’m wondering if you can help me,” I said casually. “Do you know your next-door neighbor, Piper Randall?”

She heard Ernie down the hall, talking to someone at another apartment, and she tried to peer past me. Then she made eye contact.

“I know Piper. Is something wrong? I saw the officer at the door when I went for a run. She wouldn’t tell me anything.”

I shook my head as I pocketed the badge. “I’m afraid she’s dead.”

She swore softly and covered her mouth. “That’s terrible! What happened?”

I didn’t answer that. “How well did you know Piper?”

The woman shrugged. “Not very well. I saw her around sometimes, at the pool during the summer, and the complex has a gym. If we saw each other in there, we’d chat.”

“What’s your impression of her?”

She crossed her arms. “She’s nice enough. She can be funny sometimes.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” I asked.

“Um, maybe last week? I’ve been pretty busy with work, so I haven’t been out much.” She frowned. “Wow. I . . . this is crazy.”

“Yes,” I murmured. “You didn’t see her last night?”

“No,” she said.

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“I work with a healthcare company, reviewing claims. There’s been a lot of overtime lately, and I’m taking it.”

“Any problems at Piper’s apartment, maybe problems with a boyfriend, something like that?”

Her eyes crinkled with concern. “I don’t think she had a boyfriend, but I’m not sure. I never saw her with a guy.”

“Anyone who might’ve wanted to harm her?”

“No . . . I don’t know what to say.” Her lower lip trembled.

I let her think for a minute, not wanting to interrupt her. Not wanting to lead her. After a moment, she gathered herself.

“Piper was nice, but like I said, I didn’t know her very well. I sometimes heard her music playing loud, or I’d hear her laughing in the corridor. I don’t know who she was with though, or if she was talking on the phone. I wasn’t going to look.”

“I understand. Is there anything else you can tell me about her?”

She thought again, then shook her head. “No, sorry. I hope you find out what happened.”

“What’s your name?”

“Lucy Arbogast.”

I thanked her for her time and handed her my business card. “That has my contact information. If you think of anything that might be helpful for us, please let me know.”

“Sure,” she said as she slowly closed the door.

Ernie was down the hall, still talking to someone at that unit, so I knocked on the door across from Lucy’s. After a moment, a younger woman with brown hair answered. She peered at me through wire-rimmed glasses, then took them off.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her tone clipped. A TV was on in the background, some talk show.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I have a few questions,” I said.

This woman, Frankie Kominsky, was not nearly as helpful or polite. Even though she’d acknowledged my badge, she kept looking back into her living room, and she didn’t seem to know or care about the uniform in front of Piper’s door.

“I know Piper,” she said after my initial inquiry.

“Did you like her?”

“She was all right.”

“That doesn’t sound convincing.”

She licked her lips. “She’s not that nice. She could snap at you, and sometimes she and her friends would laugh behind my back.”

“About what?”

She harrumphed. “How should I know? When someone’s snickering at you, why would you bother with them?”

I asked my next question carefully. “So some issues with her?”

“She’d play her music too loud, and there were some fights.”

“With who?”

“Her and her boyfriend. I don’t recall his name. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

She didn’t sound convincing. “Really?”

She leaned against the doorjamb. “I didn’t do anything to her.”

“Gotcha,” I said, going for an easy manner. “Can you tell me any more about her?”

“Her friend’s name was Aubrey. I heard that. ‘Aubrey, get in here’,” she said, imitating Piper. “You want to ask somebody more about Piper, check with her.”

“Do you have Aubrey’s last name?”

She shook her head. “I don’t. I had no reason to ask.”

Ernie approached, and she gave him a good look. Then her gaze returned to me.

“Something’s happened to Piper,” she said, finally getting around to the officer parked at her deceased neighbor’s door.

I nodded. “She was murdered last night.”

That didn’t faze her. She stared at me and finally spoke.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She didn’t sound sorry as she went on. “I get it. I watch enough cop shows to know you’re asking around, trying to find out about her. I don’t have anything, other than what I told you. I only ever saw Piper in the corridor or in the parking lot, and I was polite and would say hello. That’s it, other than knowing her friend’s name. I don’t know what Piper did for work, I don’t know about her family, or anything like that.”

“Did you see her last night?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I haven’t seen her in a few days.”

“Maybe your husband did?” I fished for who else might be living with her.

“I’m divorced, and it’s just me here.”

I continued to dig for information, but she didn’t have anything else for me. She was shifting from foot to foot, clearly ready for the conversation to end. I gave her my business card, and she didn’t even look at it, just closed the door in my face.

“Interesting,” Ernie said, a smirk on his face.

“I wonder what Piper thought of her,” I said.

We moved down the corridor, and I spoke in a low voice, just in case Piper’s neighbors were at their doors, trying to overhear.

“What’d you find out?” I asked.

“I talked to a guy at the end of the hall. Andy McKee. He’s working from home.”

I glanced over my shoulder. “A lot of people do that these days.”

“Yeah,” Ernie said. “Anyway, Andy knew Piper, said they hung out once in a while. According to him, she was nice, and she loved food. She showed him some of her videos. He doesn’t know where she was last night, as they hadn’t talked in a couple of days.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “They just hung out?”

“He thought she was cute.”

“You think he slept with her?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t raise any red flags, but I could be wrong. I’ll run him through the system later to verify his information and to see if he has a record. No one in the apartment across from Andy answered.”

I told him about my two interviewees and asked him to run them through the system as well.

“I’ll do that as soon as we finish with Piper’s apartment,” he said. He glanced into the parking lot. “Speaking of that, there’s Spats.”

As we headed down the stairs, a woman with dark hair was walking up, a cardboard coffee cup in her hand. She was Asian and tiny, with straight black hair that framed her face. She looked at us, and Ernie smiled at her.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Do you live on the second floor?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes down. She started to move past, and Ernie held up his hand politely to stop her.

“You have a moment?”

She glanced toward the corridor. “I need to get back to work. I went out for coffee.”

“Just a few questions about your neighbor, Piper.”

“Who?” she asked.

“She lives in 303.” Ernie said.

“I don’t know who that is,” the woman said.

I was watching her, and she appeared a little nervous, but it seemed as if she were telling the truth.

Ernie described Piper. “Have you seen her around here?”

“Maybe. I don’t talk to people much.”

Ernie pressed her a bit, and the woman said she’d spoken to Lucy, and again that maybe she’d talked to Piper, but she wasn’t sure. She kept looking down the corridor, and then she shrugged.

“I’m sorry, but I really do need to get back to work.”

Ernie got her name—Crystal Wu—and he gave her a business card. She took it and stuffed it in her pocket, then hurried up the last couple of steps and disappeared down the corridor. Ernie turned to me.

“Well?” he asked as we went downstairs and stood on the sidewalk.

“None of them had a lot of information,” I said.

Spats walked up, and I told them both about my conversations with Lucy and Frankie.

“I have the warrant,” Spats said, holding up some folded papers. He glanced around. “There’s the office. I’ll see if I can find someone to let us into Piper’s apartment.”

“Excellent,” I said. As he walked off, I looked at Ernie. “Did Andy have anything on Piper’s friend, Aubrey?” I asked.

“He didn’t mention her,” Ernie said. “Maybe the parents know about Aubrey.”

“Give them a call,” I said. “I hate to bother them with all they’ve got to deal with, but we need to track down anyone who knew Piper.”

Ernie pulled out his phone and dialed the number. After a quick conversation with Piper’s parents, he ended the call.

“Aubrey’s surname is Noble,” he said.

“They don’t know more about her, like an address or phone number,” I said, having overheard the conversation.

“Nope.”

I put my hands on my hips and thought for a moment. “Once we finish upstairs, I’ll call Chad to see if he can find anything on her, and if so, I’ll pay her a visit.”

Spats was already heading back toward us with a diminutive young man in slacks and an Oxford shirt. They were conversing, but stopped when they joined us. Spats waved at a van that had driven up. The CSI team. As they got out, I recognized them. Todd Siltz is tall and thin as a razor blade, and just as sharp. He was with Nancy Zimmerman, a short, stocky woman who I respected as well. I work with them regularly. They do a great job, and both are thorough and efficient, although I didn’t know if there would be much to find in Piper’s apartment. They gathered their equipment and joined us. Spats waved the papers around.

“Ready?” he asked.

CHAPTER TEN

Spats led the way, and Ernie, the apartment manager, and I followed him up the stairs, and the CSI team brought up the rear. When we reached Piper’s door, Officer Tarloff stepped aside.

“I have to read this in front of witnesses,” Spats said as he unfolded the papers in his hand.

He took a moment to quietly read the warrant, and when he finished, we donned booties and gloves. Spats looked at the manager, who eyed us as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. He used the key to open the door and stepped back.

“That’s all we need,” I told him. “We’ll lock up when we leave.”

“I . . .” He searched for words. “I should probably stay out here until you’re finished.”

“You do that,” Ernie said.

“I’ll wait with him,” Officer Tarloff offered.

The two stood in the hallway, and the rest of us entered the apartment. I shut the door and glanced around. To the left was a kitchen with cabinets and stove against the back wall, and opposite that, a sink and counter that faced the living room. A garden-fresh fragrance from a collection of potted herbs on the counter scented the air. Next to them was a brightly colored vase. A small dining area had a round oak table and four chairs. A hall led to what I assumed would be a bathroom and bedroom. The large living area was stuffed with a couch, coffee table, end table, a TV sitting on a low console, and another table in a corner.

The apartment was silent, as if holding close its memory of Piper. We all stood for a moment. Then before we moved around, Todd pulled a camera from a bag and took pictures of each area. I moved to the corner table, where a laptop was open, along with some camera equipment. A folding chair was pushed into the table. I lightly tapped the keyboard mouse. The screen lit up, but it was password-protected. Ernie pointed to the console.

“I’ll search that, then the rest of the room,” he said.

I nodded assent, and Spats and I headed down the hallway, along with Todd, who took pictures in the bathroom. Behind us, Nancy was applying powder to a windowsill in the living room.

“I’ll tackle the bathroom,” Spats said.

I went with Todd to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway and took photos, and then I began a methodical search of the room. After a few minutes, I came up empty-handed. Nothing unusual, nothing that would point to a killer. Along with being a foodie, Piper had a lot of clothes in her closet, plenty of outfits to wear in her videos. I went back to the kitchen and poked around, opening the upper cabinet doors. She had lots of spices and ingredients for cooking, premium olive oil and specialty vinegars and pasta, and baking goods. Very little in the way of processed food or canned goods. Her refrigerator was half-full of fresh fruits and vegetables, eggs and meat, along with a couple of takeout boxes.

Ernie had finished in the living room, and he was resting his elbows on the opposite counter as I worked. I opened a cupboard above the stove and saw several cookbooks. I pulled them out and thumbed through them. Some written by Gordon Ramsey, French Laundry by Thomas Keller, a worn copy of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

I glanced at Ernie. “Inherited from her mother?”

He shrugged. “Are those the only ones?”

“She probably didn’t need much, given that everything is online these days.”

“Good point,” he said wryly.

I checked cabinet drawers, which held silverware and cooking utensils, but not much else. Piper had made use of the lower cabinets, which were crammed with pots and pans, and other cooking equipment.

“Nothing unusual,” I pronounced.

Spats joined us, shaking his head. “Same in the bathroom.”

Nancy had finished in the living room, and she headed down the hall.

“What’d the manager say?” I asked Spats.

“He only knew Piper in passing, said she’s been here for over a year, but he just started working here in the last couple of months, so he doesn’t know her at all. He did say there were some complaints about Piper being noisy, some arguments in the hall, but he didn’t have details. There’s surveillance video but it’s focused on the parking lots and common areas. I told him we’d like to see it all, and he referred me to his boss. I’ll follow up on that this afternoon.”

I nodded. “Let’s get Piper’s laptop and video equipment.”

I helped Spats gather up the video equipment, and we put it into a bag that Todd had provided. Spats grabbed the laptop as well.

“I’ll get these back to the station,” he said. “Then I’ll get a team, and we’ll canvas the neighborhood around Rosemary & Vine, see if we can find surveillance video.”

“You’re going to be drowning in surveillance stuff,” Ernie said.

Spats shrugged. “Don’t remind me.”

“Keep me posted,” I said to him.

Spats left, and Ernie and I looked around again. A framed vintage French wine advertisement hung on a wall in the dining area, and a modern art piece incorporating coffee rings and wine stains as part of the design was above the couch. A framed photo on the coffee table showed Piper with a woman with similar brown hair, both with blue eyes. They were sitting at an outside table at a restaurant, both smiling.

“Delaney?” I asked as we studied the two.

“There does seem to be a family resemblance,” he said. He took a picture of the photo and texted it to me. Then he rocked on the balls of his feet as he glanced around the room yet again.

“Let me call Chad while we wait,” I said.

Ernie went to check on Todd and Nancy, and I pulled out my phone.

“I need another favor,” I said when Chad answered, then asked for information on Aubrey Noble.

“I’ll call you back if I find something,” he said, not mincing words.

I walked around the apartment again, careful not to touch anything unless I had to. Still nothing that caught my attention. It was quiet, most people at work, but I thought I heard kids playing somewhere nearby. Then Chad called back.

“I’ve got Aubrey’s home address, and a LinkedIn profile says she’s an attorney. She works at a law firm downtown.”

He gave me the information, then said, “I’m going to start going through the deceased’s videos, and I’ll let you know what I find.”

I thanked him and ended the call. A few minutes later, Todd and Nancy wrapped up. There was little to tell that we’d been there, except for surfaces that had been dusted for prints.

“We’ll get the prints checked against the databases, and I’ll let you know if any match,” Todd said. “And you’ll get a file of all the photos as well. Anything else?”

I shook my head. “Thanks.”

He smiled. “This was an easy one, not much here.”

“Not much from last night either,” I said.

He and Nancy packed up their equipment and headed out the door, shutting it behind them. I heard nothing from Officer Tarloff or the manager.

“Well?” Ernie said.

I surveyed the living room, thinking about Piper. Her place seemed so ordinary, comfortable, yet unremarkable. Who would want to kill her?

“We can let the parents know we’re finished here,” I said.

“Will do.”

He went into the corridor, and I followed, making sure the door locked behind me. The nervous office manager double-checked.

“We’re done here,” I told him. “The family can access her place now.”

“Okay, right,” he said.

I handed him a business card. “If you have any questions, give me a call.”

“Yes,” he said. He spun on his heel and hurried down the corridor. I turned to Officer Tarloff. “You can go now. Thanks for your help.”

“Sure thing.”

She also headed downstairs, and Ernie and I slowly trailed after her. When we reached our cars, Ernie pulled out his notepad and scanned it.

“I’ll get a detective to run checks on Piper’s neighbors, see if there’s anything suspicious with any of them,” he said.

I nodded. “In the meantime, talk to Ronnie, the cook at Rosemary & Vine. He was supposedly at the restaurant after closing.”

“I’ll do that, and interview the other employees to see what they say about Chandler, or if there was anything suspicious going on.”

“You have the picture of Piper. See who recognizes her.”

“Right,” he said, his tone suggesting I’d given him instructions on something he already knew to do.

“I’ll track down Aubrey Noble,” I said abruptly. Ernie knew how to handle an investigation, and I was telling him what to do. Maybe to allay some of my doubts about myself. I tacked on, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

Ernie gave me a small smile, got in the Camry, and drove away. Once I was behind the wheel of the Cherokee, I googled Aubrey’s work address, and headed east.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Since Aubrey was an attorney, I figured she’d be at her office, and I was correct. She worked on Seventeenth Street in Republic Plaza, Colorado’s tallest building. I strode through the three-story lobby, barely glancing at the regional artists exhibition as I went to the elevators. Aubrey’s firm occupied the entire tenth floor. When I walked in, a receptionist was sitting behind a high counter. I thought I might need to ask for a manager—to clear time in Aubrey’s schedule so I could talk to her—but the receptionist didn’t bother, just asked who I was. If she saw my badge, back in its spot on my waistband, she didn’t react. I told her my name, and she made a phone call, then escorted me down a hall and around a corner. She pointed to Aubrey’s office and left. I looked in a doorway on the right. A woman with short blond hair and heavy makeup was sitting at a desk, typing at a computer. She looked up when she saw me.

“Is there an issue with one of my cases?” she asked, seeming slightly put out.

I shook my head and motioned to a seat across from her desk. “May I?”

She held up a hand. “Of course.”

I stepped into the office, sat down, and glanced around. The room was small, with tan walls, a framed picture of a waterfall on one wall, framed degrees and certifications on another. A credenza and a file cabinet. Perfunctory. Nothing personal. Aubrey looked at me expectantly. It appeared she hadn’t heard about Piper. Either that, or she had emotions wrapped in steel.

“You haven’t spoken to Piper Randall today?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No, why? Has something happened?”

I hated to deliver news like this, and I spoke gently. “I’m afraid she’s dead.”

Now a range of emotions swept across her face—shock, confusion, and then sadness. She opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. Her lips quivered, and tears filled her eyes.

“What happened?” she asked.

“She was shot last night near a restaurant called Rosemary & Vine,” I said.

“I . . . I don’t believe it.” She reached for a Kleenex on a shelf behind her and dabbed carefully at her eyes, the act giving her time to collect herself. “I mean, I don’t understand. Who did it, and why?”

“I’m investigating her death, and we’re looking into all that. I understand you were a friend of hers.”

She nodded. “Yes, we were good friends.”

“How long had you known Piper?”

She thought for a second. “I met her right after college, so that would be about eight years. We worked together at another law firm. She took a basic office job while she job-hunted, and I was beginning my career. She eventually left, but we’ve remained friends.”

I asked her some of my usual questions, and she was clear and detailed with her answers. However, as I filed away the information, none of it seemed to further my investigation. Aubrey hadn’t seen Piper since the previous Friday evening, when they went to dinner at the Lockwood, near her building. She’d talked to Piper that night, but not since then because she was busy with a case. She had no clue why Piper might’ve been in the alley behind Rosemary & Vine the previous night. When I asked if she knew of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Piper, Aubrey started to answer, then hesitated.

“What?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say she had enemies, but she did tell me she sometimes got nasty emails or calls from restaurant owners or managers who didn’t like her reviews.”

“Anybody who outright threatened her?”

She shook her head. “Not that I know of. But Piper could keep quiet about some things, and she did about the responses she got. She didn’t like to give negative reviews, but she prided herself on being honest with her platform. She might’ve worried that I would talk to people about those reviews, something like that.” She waved a hand. “I wouldn’t, but Piper was careful. As her popularity grew, she wondered about being sued, which was a possibility. Probably a small one, but why make it worse by highlighting those bad reviews?”

“Did anyone threaten her?” I asked again.

“I’m not sure. If I think of any names, I’ll let you know.”

“Did she mention any particular restaurants?”

She thought about that, then shook her head. “Not that I can think of. Oh wait, there was some Thai place. I don’t remember the name. And . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“You said she was found near Rosemary & Vine?”

I nodded. “In an alley behind the building.”

“That’s weird. She recently mentioned that restaurant, and now that I think about it, I think she reviewed it, and her assessment wasn’t stellar. Not bad, just not great.”

“I saw that,” I said. I waited to see what else she would say.

“I know she knew the owner, Chandler. I don’t know if she ever told me his last name.”

“What’d she say about him?”

“They chatted some. There was something when she talked about him though.”

“What?”

“She didn’t like him, but she didn’t say why.”

“What else did she say about the review she gave the restaurant?”

Her brows knitted together as she gave that thought. “Nothing really, sorry.”

She didn’t seem to be evading my questions, but a person’s memory can be unreliable, so I persisted, now being more direct.

“You think Chandler might’ve threatened her?”

She held up her hands. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I don’t know.”

She was being cautious, but it had me wondering. I hadn’t been ready to dismiss Chandler before I’d talked to her, and I wasn’t going to now.

“She also talked about some of the people she worked with as she built her online presence. They can be envious of each other. If one person gets successful, other people might attack them, leave negative reviews about her posts, or even report them for violating a platform’s terms of services. I guess they can be downright mean-spirited.”

“Did Piper mention any names?”

“No. She did say there was someone she’d been working with, both of them building their sites together, and that she was getting some pushback about her site growing faster, but she didn’t mention who.”

I filed that away and went on. “What do you know about Piper’s sister?”

“Delaney? She’s a few years younger than Piper, and they got along okay.” She stopped herself. “That’s probably not true.”

I kept my expression neutral. “What does that mean?”

She sat back. “Boy, you’re getting me talking about things I really don’t want to.” I waited. She let out a little laugh, tinged with bitterness. “If I were in attorney mode, I’d notice that I don’t want to talk about this, and I’d be pushing, just like you are.” I remained quiet. “Piper said Delaney was the baby of the family and always got what she wanted. She was always envious of Piper, even though Piper didn’t get the same breaks as Delaney. And once Piper’s blog and Instagram took off, Delaney resented that.”

“Why?”

“Delaney has struggled a bit, hopping from job to job. She’s flighty. At the same time, she wants a career and success. She won’t work for it though. Piper loved to cook, and she parlayed that into her blog and social media presence. The money was coming in, too. Uh . . .”

“Yes?” I prompted when she remained silent. I was having to draw her out now.

She let out a big sigh. “I hate to talk badly about Delaney. I didn’t see her much, and I’m only repeating what Piper said.”

“Delaney didn’t like that her big sister was doing better?”

“Yes.”

“Was Piper worried Delaney might do something to her?”

“Oh no,” Aubrey said, maybe a little too quickly. “Delaney’s nice, don’t get me wrong. And the two of them got along, overall, but they did fight some. From what I could tell, Delaney was spoiled, used to getting what she wants.”

There was something there, and it was one more reason I needed to follow up with Delaney.

“I stopped by Delaney’s apartment this morning, but she wasn’t there,” I said. “Do you know where she might be?”

“Given what happened, I’d assume she didn’t go to work.”

“That’s correct.”

Aubrey thought for a moment. “I don’t know where she’d be. I think she’s dating somebody new. That’s another thing with her—there have been a string of boyfriends. It never lasts. I don’t know the name of the new guy, or where he lives.”

That was unfortunate, but it prompted another line of questioning. “What about Piper? Was she seeing anyone?”

“Not that I know of. She’d been dating a guy named Jesse. I can’t recall his last name. They broke up a month or two ago.”

“You’re sure?”

She shrugged. “I guess.” She frowned. “Do you think she was still seeing him and not telling me?” I waited and let her answer her own question. “I guess that’s possible, but Piper usually told me stuff like that. About men.”

“I thought you said she could keep things close to the vest.”

Her mouth pinched as she thought about that. “Yeah, that is true.” Doubt had crept into her voice. “I guess she could’ve been seeing him without telling me.”

“You wouldn’t have Jesse’s phone number?”

She shook her head again. “No, sorry.”

“Did they have a good relationship?”

“Just okay. Jesse had a temper, and she didn’t like that.”

She sighed. It appeared she didn’t know as much about her friend as she’d thought, and that realization seemed to bother her.

“Is there anything else that might be important for me to know?” I asked.

The tears welled in her eyes again. “Not at the moment. It’s going to take time to digest this. I think I’m in shock right now.”

“That’s understandable, and I’m sorry to have been the bearer of bad news.” I pulled a business card from my pocket and laid it on the desk. “If you hear from Delaney, or if you think of anything else, would you let me know?”

“Of course.”

I got up but she stayed still. The card remained where I’d placed it as I left her office.

CHAPTER TWELVE

It was after eleven, and I hadn’t eaten anything since the burrito at the station this morning. My stomach was growling, so I decided to stop for a quick bite to eat. Who knew when I’d have another opportunity?

I was close to Lockwood—the restaurant Aubrey had mentioned—and Harry’s office, so on the way to the restaurant, I called to see if he could meet me for lunch.

“Hey, hon,” he said. “How’s your day so far?”

“It’s busy, but I’m downtown. I thought I’d get a bite to eat.”

“Oh.” There was disappointment in his voice as he anticipated what I was going to ask. “I’m all tied up, if you were going to ask me to join you.”

“I was.”

“I wish I could, but I wrapped up that meeting with my potential client, and some other things have come up.”

“It’s okay, just thought it might work out.”

“I’m glad you called,” he said. “Tell you what, if you’ll be home around dinnertime, I’ll whip up something. Barbecue chicken on the grill, maybe a salad?”

“I’d like that. I’ll keep you posted on my day.”

He knew how it could go, that I might get busy chasing people down, wrangling clues, and that I might end up working a long day. Generally he was okay with that. It was part of my job. However, I was wrestling with multiple feelings. I was pleased that he wanted to meet me now, even if he couldn’t. There was something in his dinner suggestion though. A little too cheery with his offer? Was he worrying about my mood because of the Lott case but trying not to show it?

“Don’t work too hard,” he said.

“Talk to you soon,” I replied.

“Wait, I meant to ask you this morning, did you talk to Diane?”

By now I was at Lockwood Restaurant. I stood outside to finish the phone call, and I lightly smacked my forehead with my free hand. “I forgot,” I said.

My sister had invited us to her house for a family barbecue on Saturday. Harry and I hadn’t seen her or her family in a couple of weeks. Harry’s brother, Ron, lives in California, along with Ron’s ex-wife and daughter. Harry’s parents live there too. So my family has become Harry’s. He gets along well with Diane’s husband, Aaron, as do I. And both Harry and I love spending time with Diane’s sons, Tim and Max.

“You want to go?” I asked.

“Of course. I haven’t seen your parents in a while, and the boys would love to see you.”

“You know Tim and Max have a great time when you’re around. They think you’re cool.”

He laughed. “I try.”

“I’ll tell her yes,” I said.

“Sounds good. I need to go. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I put my phone in my pocket and walked into the restaurant. It was busy, people from the surrounding buildings flooding in for lunch. While I waited in line, I decided to check with Hunter, my younger brother, to touch base.

Hunter had just recently gotten out of a bad relationship with a woman named Cassandra. Diane and I had learned that Cassandra had abused Hunter, even throwing a frying pan at him. That incident had won him some stitches, but it was also the event that helped him realize how unhealthy, even dangerous, his relationship with Cassandra had been.

He didn’t answer his phone, so I texted and asked him to call when he could, then told him it was nothing urgent. Diane and I both still worried about him, and tried to stay in close contact with our baby brother.

When it was my turn in line, I ordered the grilled vegetable wrap and water. I had no sooner sat at a small table by a window than Ernie called.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“Eating,” I said through a mouthful of the wrap.

“I won’t keep you, but I thought you’d want to know this.”

“I’m listening,” I said, keeping the phone to my ear so no one else could hear.

“So far nothing earthshattering about Piper’s neighbors, but I’ve got some things on Jesse Glover.”

“He has a temper,” I said through another bite of the wrap.

“You’ve been busy too.”

“I got that from Aubrey Noble.”

“Ah,” he said. “Did she know Jesse’d gotten a DUI?”

“I don’t think so. She said Piper could keep things to herself.”

“He was pulled over a few years ago for speeding and was busted. And he’s had several parking tickets. There’s also an incident report, a spat with a woman.”

“Piper.”

“Yes. However, no charges were pressed.”

“What exactly did the police think happened?”

“Looks like Jesse and Piper had been drinking—maybe smoking some weed—and they’d been arguing. A neighbor called about the noise, and at first said there was some scuffling between Jesse and Piper, but then she denied it. The report said there wasn’t evidence of physical abuse, and the cops let the two go with a warning.”

“If the police thought it was a DV incident, they should’ve arrested one of them.”

“It sounds like they weren’t sure there was enough to do that. Or maybe the cops got lazy, even though they shouldn’t have.”

“Interesting,” I said. “I wonder if Jesse and Piper did get into a physical fight.”

“I don’t know, but we ought to talk to him.”

“I’m out and about, so I can do that. Does Jesse have any registered guns?”

“Yeah, a Ruger SR 22.”

“I’ll ask him about that. Too bad we don’t have the autopsy report yet, so we’d know what caliber bullet killed her.”

“Right.”

“What about the chef?”

“Ronnie’s at Rosemary & Vine now,” Ernie replied. “Chandler didn’t say much when I asked to talk to Ronnie. He corroborated what Chandler said, that after everyone else left last night, they had a drink and talked about the menu and some of the kitchen operations. When Ronnie left, Chandler was alone. Ronnie said his boss was in an okay mood, but I’m not sure I buy that. I pressed him, and he would only say that Chandler has been moody lately, like he’s worried about something. Ronnie wouldn’t elaborate, except to say business has been slow. I talked to some of the other employees, and they said the same thing.”

“What’s their impression of Chandler?”

“Overall, they like him, but they say he can be rough at times, that he’s picky about how things are run.”

“That might be why he stays in business.”

“I thought that too.”

“Does Ronnie know if Chandler’s dating anyone?”

“Like Piper?” Ernie asked.

“Yes.”

“Ronnie and the other employees don’t think Chandler’s seeing anyone, certainly not Piper. The others don’t recall her being around, except for the time she recorded her review. However, Ronnie said she was at the restaurant a few times after that, but he couldn’t give me dates or times.”

“How recently?”

“He wasn’t sure.”

“Do you buy that?”

“I didn’t get the sense Ronnie was lying. He’s back in the kitchen though, so he doesn’t seem to keep tabs on what’s going on in the main room.”

“Or Chandler’s office.”

“Right. Piper could’ve been there without the employees knowing, or remembering.”

“So nothing conclusive.”

“Yes,” Ernie said. “I want to work on the others on his employee list who aren’t at the restaurant now. And I still need to tackle Chandler, run a background check on him.”

“I haven’t heard anything from Chad yet. But there are a lot of posts and videos to go through.”

“I have Jesse’s contact information and address. I’ll text it to you.”

“Good. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“Talk to you soon.”

I ended the call and while I finished my lunch, Ernie was true to his word. My phone buzzed a couple times, texts with Jesse’s contact information. I hurriedly finished my lunch, then went outside and called Xcel, where Jesse worked. A pleasant woman answered the phone, and when I asked for him, she said he wasn’t in. I asked if he was working from home, and she confirmed that.

Too easy.

As I walked back to my car, I called Diane, but she was with a patient. Diane’s an MD with a thriving family practice, and it can be difficult to get hold of her during the day. I didn’t leave a message, as I didn’t know when I would be available. Instead, I sent her a text telling her we’d be there for the barbecue, and that I’d touch base later about what Harry and I could bring. By then, I was at my car. I used the GPS to guide me to Jesse’s house, in Highland, a gentrified neighborhood with older brick houses on narrow streets. I was lucky to find a parking space near his house, and I went up the walk, stood on a long covered porch, and rang the bell. The front door was open, and through the screen, music was playing loudly. I rang the bell again, and the song suddenly cut off. Then a stocky man with dark hair pulled into a ponytail came to the door.

“If you’re selling something, I don’t have—” He’d been surveying me as he talked, and then he saw the badge. “Is there a problem?”

He was abrupt, bordering on rude. I’d seen that reaction before. My immediate thought was that he’d done something wrong, and his guilt was showing. Or maybe it was that he’d been confronted by law enforcement too many times before and now any contact immediately put him on the defensive. I decided to take him by surprise, see his reaction when I asked him about his ex-girlfriend.

I introduced myself officiously. “You knew Piper Randall, correct? You dated her?”

His eyes narrowed, and his face went impassive, cautious. “Yeah? Who did you hear that from?”

“Piper was murdered last night, and I’m investigating her death.”

His face remained like marble, cool and smooth. “What happened?” Nothing in the tone.

“She was found in an alley in Denver.”

I watched his reaction. His eyes remained locked with mine, his posture stiff. He didn’t invite me inside.

“I haven’t seen Piper in a couple of months,” he said.

“When exactly did you last see her?”

Now he shrugged. “I don’t know where we were, maybe a restaurant. You know Piper ran a food blog?”

“Yes. How long did you date?”

“About a year, something like that.”

I pressed him on his relationship with Piper, and he remained collected, his answers short. According to him, they enjoyed each other’s company for a while, but then they’d drifted apart.

“You got along?” I asked.

His eyes twitched again, a slight movement that could’ve easily been missed. But I’d caught it.

“Yes,” he said. “No problems between us.”

There was something about his answers I didn’t like. People can lack emotion, but it felt as if he were trying a little too hard to make eye contact, to stay cool.

I went a different route. “I looked at your arrest record.”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Yeah?”

“Along with a DUI and some parking tickets—”

“Nothing happened between Piper and me.” Delivered a little too quickly.

“I didn’t say there was,” I said. “There was an incident between you and her though. The officer said you pushed her around.” An exaggeration, but I wanted to get a reaction. And I did.

He opened the door wider, and his nostrils flared with anger. He was about to speak when a couple with a dog walked by. He gave them a curt nod and waited until they were farther down the block. Then he glared at me.

“There was nothing like that. She got angry with me, was going after me. We’d both been drinking some, and she lost it. That was all, and that’s why she didn’t want to do anything, press charges or anything like that. The police report should show that nothing went on. The neighbors must’ve heard us yelling, that’s it. The cops told us to cool it, and they left.”

I pondered that for a moment. “The police should’ve arrested one of you.”

“Nothing happened. Everything was fine by the time they got here.”

I wondered about that, but I let it go for the moment and went on, still persistent. There was that slip of the tongue, bringing up the reported incident with Piper before I’d had a chance.

“What went on between you and Piper?” I asked pointedly.

He glared at me. “Nothing.”

He was lying. I tipped my head and said, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“You seem angry about her.”

He shook his head. “Look, we’d grown apart, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“It was all about food, man. I mean, I like to go out for a good meal, but she was obsessed with her Instagram account, dying to record everything, wanting me in the videos. I kept saying no, and that made her mad. She’d talk about the way the food was, even if she wasn’t reviewing it. There was that, and the sex.”

It was as if he were blunt just to get a reaction from me, but I’d played this game too long. I just looked at him and waited a moment.

“There was nothing else, okay?” he said. “We just weren’t doing anything anymore, and I lost interest in her.”

“Gotcha,” I said casually. “What were you doing last night?”

“I was here all evening.”

“Alone?”

The glare remained. “Yes.”

I didn’t bother telling him I’d be checking; I suspected he was smart enough—and he had been in trouble before—to know that.

“Do you own any firearms?”

He carefully shook his head. “I had a Ruger, but I gave it to a friend.”

“The registry on the gun didn’t change.”

He shrugged. “It’s no big deal. People buy and sell guns all the time and don’t bother with the registry.”

“You should, because it would still appear that you own the gun.”

“I don’t.”

“What’s your friend’s name?”

He made a little noise. “I’m not telling you that.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to budge on that, so I moved on. “Was there anything that bothered Piper while you were dating? Any issues with threats, that kind of thing?”

He nodded. “If someone didn’t like her review, they’d message her, chew her out, that kind of thing.”

“Any particular reviews that come to mind?”

He started to shake his head, then stopped. “She got a phone call, shortly before we broke up. We were driving to yet another restaurant, and she answered. I couldn’t hear who was on the other end, but Piper was angry. They talked for a minute, something about Piper’s social media accounts.”

“What was said?”

He thought about that, and the nonchalant look faded for a moment, his brow crinkling as if he were back in the car.

“There was something about Piper ‘doing the work’ and ‘stop being jealous.’ When she ended the call, I asked who it was, and she said it didn’t matter. By then, we were at the restaurant, and her mood changed. She was a different person when she went into a restaurant. She had her game face on.”

“She didn’t mention the name of the person she talked to, maybe during the conversation you overheard?”

He shook his head. “No, but I wondered if it was her sister because she said Delaney could get jealous of other people.”

I’d heard that before. I circled back to some of my other questions, and he gave the same answers. Then he grew impatient.

“I’ve answered all your questions, and I need to get back to work,” he said. “I didn’t do anything to Piper.”

I gave him my business card—standard practice—but I knew I wouldn’t hear from him, even if he did think of something else. He stepped back and closed the screen door, and for good measure, he slammed the heavy wooden door as well. As I walked back to my car, I thought about the conversation. Had I finessed him well enough? Could I have played it differently, and maybe have gotten more from him? I’d had those kinds of thoughts a lot lately. I got in my car and slammed the door, but I didn’t start it. I watched Jesse’s house for a moment. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw his shadow inside the living room window. I wanted to know more about him, and I wondered how much Piper’s parents knew about him. I hated to bother them yet again, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

I called Ernie and told him about Jesse.

“You think he gave away the Ruger?” he asked when I finished.

“It’s hard to say, and hard to prove. Let’s see what the autopsy tells us before we push him more. I need the Randalls’ contact information, so I can ask them about Jesse and Piper.”

Ernie gave me their information, and I let him go and dialed Shannon Randall’s number. It rang several times, and then a woman answered, her voice small, laced with sadness. I identified myself, and I was about ready to ask about Jesse when she interrupted me.

“I was going to call you,” Shannon said. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of Delaney all morning, and she’s not answering. Something’s wrong. I think she’s missing.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“What do you mean she’s missing?” I asked as I stared at Jesse’s house.

“I’ve called Delaney several times, and she doesn’t answer.” Shannon’s words tumbled out. “I’ve left messages, and I’ve texted her, but no reply. That’s not like her.” Her voice dropped, like the low notes on a cello, and worry was thick in the tone. “I think something might’ve happened to her.”

Several things ran through my mind all at once. I wasn’t going to jump to conclusions—especially since it hadn’t been that long since Shannon had spoken to her younger daughter—but I was also taking what she’d said to heart. I said one thing in an attempt to calm her.

“Is it possible Delaney’s so upset she doesn’t want to talk to anyone right now?”

“That could be the case,” Shannon said but the concern remained. “It’s not likely though. Delaney’s a talker, and a bit of a drama queen. When I first told her about her sister—” She had to stop as she choked up. I waited, and she cleared her throat and continued. “She was immediately upset, and then she went on and on about . . . what had happened, how she couldn’t believe it, how she’d just seen Piper. That’s the way Delaney deals with things, so I can’t see her isolating herself.”

“What else did Delaney tell you when you talked to her?” I asked.

A heavy sigh came through the phone. “She talked about how she and Piper had recently gone out, that they’d had a great time. I was a little surprised because sometimes those two can fight. But they make up and then things are okay. Anway, Delaney went on about herself, about how good she looked, that Piper said all the guys were watching her.”

“Doesn’t Delaney have a boyfriend?”

“Yes, but she’s always said that doesn’t mean she doesn’t like it if other men look.”

“Speaking of the boyfriend, what’s his name?”

“Tate.”

“Do you have his number?”

“No,” she said and swore softly. “I guess I should’ve gotten that, but they haven’t been dating that long.”

“Could she be with him?”

“I guess, but how am I going to find out?”

Her words were rushing out fast again, and she was irritated at the question. I didn’t take offense to it. She was already under an incredible amount of stress and grief, and the situation with Delaney was only adding to it. I kept my voice calm as I went on.

“Do you have contact information for Delaney’s friends? Maybe some of them know where she is, or they may have Tate’s number.”

“I did talk to a good friend of hers, Lisa. She hasn’t heard from Delaney, and she was shocked to hear about Piper. There’s another friend, Jane, but I had to leave a message. I’ll call Lisa and see if she has Tate’s number.”

“Let me know what you hear from them.”

“I will, but what if Delaney isn’t with Tate?” She almost wailed. “I still come back to she should have gotten in touch with me by now. I told her the minute she heard my voicemails or read my texts, she needed to call me.”

“Is there anywhere else she might’ve gone?”

“I can’t think of any. I spoke to her boss, and she asked around, but no one at the office has heard from her. I don’t understand all this. Piper was doing great with her food reviews, and making good money with it. We were so proud of her. And now this.”

I thought for a moment. Even though I was downplaying Delaney not contacting her mother, other things were going through my mind as well. Delaney’s sister had been murdered, and so far, we didn’t know who the killer was, or what their motive was. What if somebody was after both sisters? That thought was like a rock in my stomach. I couldn’t take the chance that I might be wrong, and dismiss what my gut was telling me.

“Talk to anyone else you can think of who might know where Delaney would be,” I said. “In the meantime, I’ll do some checking on this end, and we’ll swing by her apartment to see if she’s there and doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I hope that’s what it is.” Her voice grew stronger. “If so, I’m going to give her a piece of my mind.”

She was finding a tiny bit of humor. That was a good thing.

“I’ll call you back as soon as I know anything,” I said.

“Thank you. Oh, with all of this, I hadn’t even thought to ask why you called? Have you found out anything about Piper?”

“Not yet,” I said. “We’re working hard on that though. I wanted to ask you about Jesse, Piper’s ex-boyfriend.”

“Oh, him.”

“You didn’t like him?” I asked, even though I could deduce the answer.

“No. I never met him, and Piper didn’t say much. But Delaney didn’t like Jesse, said he was a jerk to Piper.”

“Did he ever try to harm her?”

“You mean did he hit her?”

“Yes, something like that.”

“Not that I’m aware of. Oh,” she choked up again. “Did he do something to her?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “I’m following up on several leads, so don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “All I know is Delaney said he wasn’t very nice, but I don’t think she knew him well.”

Something to ask Delaney—whenever we could find her.

Shannon thanked me again and ended the call. I immediately called Ernie.

“What’s up?” he asked. “I haven’t—”

“Delaney Randall may be missing,” I interrupted, then quickly told him about my conversation with her mother. “Can you meet me at Delaney’s apartment?”

“I’m on my way.”

As I punched Delaney’s address into the Cherokee’s GPS system, I heard the sound of the voices in the background. Ernie was at his desk.

“Do we have somebody targeting both women?” he asked.

I grimaced. “I hope not. Do you have Delaney’s number? I’ll call her on my way.”

He told me, and I memorized it as I eased into the street. “I should be at her apartment in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll get there as fast as I can,” he said.

The call ended abruptly. As I drove down the block, I dialed Delaney’s number. I didn’t want to talk to her over the phone, but in this situation, I needed to know she was okay. However, after a few rings, I got her voicemail.

“This is Delaney,” a pleasant woman’s voice said. “You know what to do after the beep.”

I waited for the referenced beep, then said, “Delaney, this is Detective Spillman with Denver Homicide. Would you please call as soon as you get this message? Thanks.”

I ended the call and drove on, willing the phone to ring, for Delaney to return my call. But it never happened.

Due to traffic, I pulled into her apartment complex five minutes later than I’d anticipated. Ernie hadn’t arrived yet, so I went into the building lobby and pressed the button for Delaney’s unit. No one answered. I tried a few more times for good measure, then walked to the management office. The same woman was there, and when I said I needed to be let into Delaney’s apartment, she didn’t look happy—just like yesterday.

“It’s an emergency,” I said when she started to ask why. I pointed at her desk. “Get keys to let me in. Now.”

“This better be important,” she muttered as she pulled a set of keys from her desk.

We walked outside, and as we hurried along the sidewalk toward Delaney’s building, Ernie’s Camry pulled into the lot. He parked next to my vehicle and got out. The manager went into the building lobby, opened the inner door, then glanced over her shoulder as we followed her up the stairs.

“Did you break all the speeding laws to get here?” I murmured to Ernie as we walked down the corridor toward Delaney’s apartment.

He shrugged but didn’t reply. When we reached 304, I had the manager hold back.

“Let me knock first,” I said.

Normally we might’ve had to get a warrant to enter Delaney’s apartment, but these were exigent circumstances. I had no way of knowing if she was inside her apartment, harmed, or dead. In a situation like this, I didn’t have to wait for legal documents. We had to know if Delaney was there or not, whether she was in danger or not.

I rapped my knuckles on the door, and no one answered. Then I pounded hard. When there was still no answer, I moved aside and motioned to the manager.

“Unlock it,” I ordered her.

She fiddled with her keys, suddenly nervous. She wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead, then inserted a key into the doorknob. Once the door was unlocked, she looked at us expectantly.

“Stay right here,” Ernie ordered her.

The woman nodded and tried to get a peek around us. Ernie and I entered the apartment, then shut the door. If something bad had happened, the manager didn’t need to see it.

I looked around Delaney’s tidy apartment and called out. “Delaney? It’s Detective Spillman.”

Silence.

Ernie unholstered his Glock and started down a hallway, me at his heels with my weapon out. He glanced into a bathroom, then moved to a bedroom. We moved in quietly, and while he bent down and peered under a queen-sized bed, I carefully opened the closet door. No Delaney. We returned to the living room, and we both holstered our guns.

“No sign of foul play,” I said. “Everything looks like it’s in its place.”

Ernie nodded. “She’s not here, so where is she?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible she’s upset about her sister’s death, and she doesn’t want to answer the phone.”

“Her mother doesn’t think that’s her MO.”

I held up my hands. “Let’s ask around here, see if anybody knows where she is. I want to track down the boyfriend as well, see what he knows.”

“We should go to her work, too.”

I nodded and stepped to the door. “Let’s get going.”

We went into the corridor, and the manager looked at us expectantly.

“Is she there?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Do you know Delaney?”

“I’ve seen her a time or two, when she’s come to the office with a question, or to pay the rent. That’s it.” She waved a hand around. “There’re a lot of units, so I can’t possibly know everyone.” A little defensive.

“If you do see her, let us know,” I said.

Ernie and I both gave her our cards, and I stared at her until she realized I was dismissing her. She turned and left, her footsteps loud on the stairs.

Ernie and I spent several minutes knocking on doors in the building. Only a handful of people were home, and only one of them knew Delaney, but he didn’t know where she might be. He said she was nice, but he didn’t interact with her much. Ernie and I ended up back at our cars.

“The parents can file a missing person’s report,” he said. “I don’t like how this looks. What if somebody was after both women?”

“Exactly.” I thought for a moment. “I’ll work on finding Delaney’s boyfriend.”

“You do that, and I’ll call in to get an APB on her vehicle. Then I’ll get back to Chandler, and his employees. There’re a few things I want to track down.”

“Like?”

“I’ll let you know if it ends up being anything,” he said mysteriously. “If you run into any issues, let me know.”

It was a standard comment, however, at that moment I wondered if Ernie—as well as everyone else around me—was worrying about my emotional state.

“I’m fine.” I forced a smile. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Ernie gave me a look and then walked to his car.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Isat behind the wheel of the Cherokee, rolled down the window, and called Shannon Randall. The phone hadn’t completed a full ring before she picked up.

“Detective Spillman?” No less worry in her tone than the last time I’d spoken to her. “I haven’t heard from Delaney.”

“My partner and I stopped by her apartment,” I said. “She’s not there, but there’s no sign of foul play.”

“Oh. That’s a relief.” She couldn’t hide some disappointment though, as our check of the apartment still didn’t explain her daughter’s absence.

“That’s potentially a good sign,” I said. “We put an APB out for her vehicle, so someone on patrol may spot her. Were you able to reach any more of her friends?”

“I did talk to Lisa. She doesn’t have Tate’s contact information, but she said his last name is Pinnock.”

“That’s good information,” I said encouragingly.

“I’ll let you know if I find out more.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

I didn’t have words for her. The waiting and not knowing could be worse than actual bad news. Over my years on the force, I’d dealt with families who’d had a missing loved one. There was only one time when we found the woman alive. Too often I’d seen it go the other way. That was never a good message to deliver.

“Let me know if you hear anything,” I said. “And I’ll do the same with you.”

“Do you think something’s happened to Delaney?”

“I’m sure everything will be okay,” I said, even though I had no way of knowing that. However, sometimes false hope was the best thing. She had enough on her mind.

She thanked me, and I ended the call. I was tempted to call Chad to help me track down Tate Pinnock, but I decided not to. He had a lot on his plate, and I needed him to get through all of Piper’s videos, in case there was something that might help us. So instead, I got on the internet myself, and after poking around on several people-search sites, I found information on Tate. He worked at a Discount Tire store up north, in Westminster. That likely meant he wouldn’t work from home, but it was worth checking, so I found a home address and headed there.

Traffic in Denver never seems to let up, and it took me almost half an hour to get to an older neighborhood off Eightieth and Sheridan. Tate’s house was a modest blond-brick ranch-style with a minuscule front porch, an overgrown yard, and a drive that led to a detached garage. I went up the walk and rang the bell. No one answered. I glanced around, then went to the garage and peeked in a window. Empty. I tried the door again, then left and drove to Discount Tire, several blocks away. The place was busy, the parking lot almost full. I squeezed into a space on the side of the building. Through huge windows I could see into the waiting area. A couple of people looked at me, so I stuffed my badge in my pocket before I got out of the SUV. I didn’t want a crowd to know who I was, and confront Tate before an audience. That could potentially put him on edge even before I had a chance to talk to him.

I walked around the corner to the front of the store and went inside. A couch and a couple of tables set up to the right of the entrance were almost full, and I received a few more curious looks. A coffee station had been set up in the corner, along with a water dispenser. I couldn’t smell coffee, only the acrid bite of grease and synthetic lubricants, along with an air freshener that did little to hide those odors. To the left was a high counter, and two men were working at computers, one with the customer, the other on the phone. Both wore dark slacks and the same blue shirts, each with a name patch sewed on the breast. That was helpful, because I was able to identify Tate, the one on the phone. I waited until he finished, and when he cradled the receiver, he looked at me.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

I moved up to the counter and spoke in a low voice. “You’re Tate Pinnock?” I asked, just to be sure.

He nodded, his expression curious, his eyes cautious. I angled myself so my back was to the room, and I carefully showed him my badge and introduced myself.

“May I have a few minutes of your time?” I asked.

“Is there something wrong?” He spoke barely above a whisper.

“I’m working an investigation, and your name came up.”

He stared at me and swallowed. Then he turned to Patrick, his coworker. “I need a minute, okay?”

Patrick looked at Tate, then at me. The customer he was dealing with glanced at us as well.

“Is something wrong?” Patrick asked.

I shook my head. “No, I just need to talk to Tate.”

The two men exchanged a look, something that seemed to give Tate permission to speak with me. The other man shrugged and went back to assisting his customer, who was tapping the counter impatiently.

Tate waved a hand at me as he went around the counter, and I followed him down a short hallway to a messy room that apparently served as both office and break area. Papers were strewn across a desk in a corner, and boxes were piled on a table against a wall. Cabinets lined another wall, and a microwave and plastic cookware and plates sat on a counter. Tate closed the door, turned a desk chair toward the room, and pointed to another chair that was backed against a wall.

“Have a seat,” he said.

I positioned my chair so I could face him directly. He put his hands in his lap, and his foot wiggled.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“You’re dating a woman named Delaney Randall, correct?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Is this about her sister?”

“Piper.”

He nodded and averted his gaze. I took a moment to survey him. He was small in stature, but with big hands and broad shoulders. There was something about his thin, pointed face and twitchy nose that reminded me of a weasel. Or maybe that was the vibe he was giving.

“What have you heard about Piper?” I asked.

“Delaney called me after her mom told her what happened,” he said. “She was pretty upset, obviously, and I let her talk. Delaney’s a talker.” His nose twitched. He had a deep voice, and it seemed he was keeping emotion out of it, as if he were reading a phone book. “Delaney couldn’t believe it—that her sister was dead—and she didn’t know what to do.”

I shifted slightly in the chair. “What does that last part mean? Do about what?”

He stared at me. “I guess whether she should fly home to see her parents, or if she should stay here and go to work. Something like that.”

His response didn’t sit quite right with me, and my gut told me he was lying.

“What did Delaney decide to do?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

I opened my eyes wider, speculative. “You don’t know? Don’t you talk to her?”

He flicked a hand in the air. “Yeah, we talk. She just didn’t tell me what she finally decided to do.”

“She talked to her parents again?”

“I guess.” He nodded slowly, as if checking to make sure that was correct. “Yeah, I think she talked to them this morning.”

A lie I didn’t point out. I wanted to see where he’d go with our conversation.

“What did her parents say?” I went on.

His nose moved, along with his foot. “I don’t know the whole conversation, just that she called them.”

He wasn’t giving me much, was probably smart enough to know that the more he talked, the more he’d risk slipping up. I tried to sound friendly.

“So you spoke with Delaney this morning?”

He hesitated. “Yeah, before I came to work.”

“What was she going to do today?”

He looked toward the door. Even though it was closed, it didn’t mask the high-pitched whirr of air guns in the garage. Then his gaze fell back to me, but he didn’t say anything.

“Do you know what Delaney was going to do today?” I asked again, now thinking Delaney wasn’t missing or in danger. However, something was going on.

“I’m trying to recall. I know she wasn’t going to work; they told her to stay home, you know, because of what happened.”

He still hadn’t answered my question. “So she was going to do what?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just hang out at home.”

“And if she wasn’t at home?”

He rubbed stubble on his chin as he thought. “I guess she could have gone out.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. She likes to shop, so maybe one of the malls? Or she went for a walk.”

He was still lying. He knew where Delaney was, I was sure of it.

“Is she at your place?” I asked.

He shook his head, hard, chin turning far to the left, then to the right. The air guns whined.

“She’s not at my place,” he said. I stared at him, and he added, “It’s true. I live with two other guys, and the place can get, well, messy. She hates being over there. I usually spend the night at her place.”

“Did you last night?”

“Did I what?”

I cocked my head, giving him a look that said, “Don’t play games with me.” His foot wiggled harder.

“I wasn’t with her last night,” he said. “She’d gone out with friends, so I stayed home.”

“And she went back to her place?”

“Yes.”

“Could you call her for me?”

He gulped. “Now?”

I nodded. “Why not?”

“Uh, it’s just . . .” He thought fast. “She told me she wanted some space and don’t bother her.”

“You need to tell her it’s important.”

He grew a tiny bit of backbone and said, “No, I can’t. You don’t understand.”

I couldn’t force him to call her, but I still pushed him, and he finally texted her, but she didn’t reply. I kept at him, asking where Delaney might be, and he kept saying he didn’t know. I switched to a different topic.

“Had you met Piper?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I saw her sometimes. She was nice enough.”

“Did she and Delaney get along?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Another shrug. “Delaney didn’t tell me a lot.”

I wasn’t sure about that answer either. My guess was Delaney had told him plenty about her sister. I asked him more about that, and he danced around the questions, never committing to what he really knew. I continued, inquiring if he knew of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Piper, if he knew why she might’ve been downtown late last night, if Delaney had said anything about that. It was a pointless endeavor, as he kept repeating that he didn’t know. Then it seemed to occur to him that he wasn’t under arrest, that he’d answered my questions once, and he didn’t have to continue the conversation. He gestured toward the door.

“I need to get back to work,” he said.

“Right.” I stared at him for a moment, then at the phone still in his hand. “No reply from Delaney?”

He glanced down and shook his head. “I told you, she wanted some space.”

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

He eyed me. “No. I mean, I’m sorry about what happened to Piper, and I hope you find who did it.”

I went in a completely different direction. “Did you do anything to Delaney, hurt her in any way?”

“No! I love her.”

I stared at him, and that I believed. He stood up, and so did I. I handed him a business card, and I pointed to it for good measure.

“If you hear from Delaney, you let me know,” I said. “I need to know she’s okay.”

“She is.” He stuffed the card in his pocket. “I mean, yeah, okay. But I don’t know when I’ll hear from her.”

“Really? You don’t talk that often?”

“Yeah,” he said as he opened the door. The sounds of the air guns were louder. “I just meant I don’t know what she’s doing, so I don’t know when I’ll talk to her. And she told me she needed some time, so I was going to leave her alone, you know?”

Good Lord, I thought to myself. He was lying left and right. He knew way more than he was telling me. However, I smiled at him, letting him think he’d fooled me.

“Right, I understand,” I said. “Let me know if you hear anything.”

He wisely didn’t say another word as he followed me into the waiting area. Patrick gave me a look as I passed by, and Tate didn’t speak to him. When I reached the door, I glanced back. Both men were staring at me. Then I stepped into the warm afternoon sunlight. As I walked to my car, I knew what I was going to do next.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The waiting is the hardest part.

I have to act normal, no matter what. Keep moving, keep myself occupied.

At some point, the police will be asking more questions. That’s what happens in all the cop shows. They ask a lot of questions, contact everybody that knew the victim. A small snort. The victim. Piper had plenty of victims out there, plenty of people that she’d crossed the wrong way. You didn’t end up with a huge social media presence without offending someone. And yet she thought that wasn’t her, that she was too good to make enemies. People would excuse her just because she came off so well on camera.

But how many people had she offended? It wasn’t fair. Other people work just as hard as she did, and they weren’t successful.

She offended me! I worked just as hard, maybe harder. It’s not my fault things turned out the way they had.

Piper could have been more helpful, but no. She had to do things her way, had to make a point. It was all about her, and she didn’t see what was going on around her. People were going to find out though.

Oh, I should check the post.

Phone out, getting on Instagram. A quick thought.

Can the police check everyone who looks at Piper’s account? There was no way, right? Just think how long that would take to do that.

A smile.

There’s the new post. And there’s Piper, laughing it up as she rips on the restaurant, tearing each dish down one by one.

I remember telling her she was being harsh, and she told me the review was warranted.

Piper had said people needed to know what a good dish really was.

Ha! She didn’t understand cooking! When I told her that, she was rude. And yet she thought I was offensive!

A shake of the head.

She shouldn’t have recorded that video; it wasn’t cool to do that. I told her at the time not to post it. She’d gone too far. It was too much. And with a subtle threat, Piper had listened and not uploaded the review. But now it doesn’t matter, it’s out there for everyone to see. And to know her true colors. Oh, and look! It’s getting a lot of feedback.

Clicking on the comments, scrolling through them.

Wow, I hadn’t expected that. Look at what everyone is saying.

Hardly anyone agreeing with Piper, most of them commenting how mean she sounded, how this wasn’t what they’d expected from her. How she wasn’t what they expected. Some even saying they were going to unfollow her. They didn’t know she was dead.

Should I post a comment, saying she’d been killed?

A small shake of the head.

No, don’t tamper with her account too much. Maybe an anonymous call to the media to let them know. Then the word would get out, and what would people think then?

That might be best. Keep them busy, and they won’t look at me.

One more look at the post and the comments. It’s funny to read them all.

Yeah, funny. But not for Piper.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Isat in my car for a minute and called the station to arrange for surveillance on Tate Pinnock and his house. My gut said he knew where Delaney was, and if I kept tabs on him, he might lead me to her. I hoped I was right, and that she hadn’t met with foul play. One way or the other, I was going to find out if my hunch was correct. Then I called Spats.

“Speelmahn,” he said. “How’re things on your end?”

“A lot of running around, but not a whole lot of progress.”

I caught him up on what I’d been doing, and then he filled me in.

“Another detective and I pounded the pavement for a while around Rosemary & Vine, and we found some surveillance video at a few other businesses. In some of the videos, we saw someone walking the neighborhood around the time of Piper’s murder, but none of the images are good, and there aren’t any cameras close to Rosemary & Vine.”

“Nothing that showed someone walking into that alley?” I asked.

“Nope. The best I can do is pinpoint someone in a hoodie on Stout Street.”

I thought for a second. “A few blocks over from Arapahoe.”

“Yes. It could be our killer, but there’s no way to know that.”

“I don’t suppose you found any eyewitnesses that saw something last night?” I asked.

“Nope on that as well. Whoever killed Piper either knew what they were doing, or they got lucky. I got surveillance from Piper’s apartment complex—finally got a hold of the manager’s boss—and I looked through that. Piper left around nine, and I didn’t see anything suspicious before or after that, some people coming and going. I emailed you the link to those files, in case you want to look at them. And I managed to get Piper’s phone records, and I’ll start going through that.”

“Look for any calls from Jesse Glover.”

“Will do.”

“Oh,” I said, “Chad’s calling. I need to let you go.”

“Talk later.”

Spats ended the call, and I switched to Chad Lattimore.

“I’ve got something weird,” he said without preamble. “There’s a new video posted on Piper’s Instagram account.”

“What do you mean? When?”

“Sometime since I last looked,” he said. “I’ve been combing through all her videos, and I stopped for lunch and to take care of a couple of other things. When I went back into the account, I noticed the new video.”

“The whole social media thing is out of my realm. What does that mean? How could there be a video after she died?”

“The post could’ve been scheduled before she died, or someone else has access to her account and they put it up.”

“Any way to find out which one?”

“Not without access to her login and password. You want me to get that?”

“Who would we go to?”

“Facebook owns Instagram.”

I frowned. “Getting access to her account could take forever.”

“Yes,” he said. “If we can get it at all. Facebook is known to fight these kinds of things.”

I watched the tire store for a moment, thinking. “Let’s hold off on a warrant. Keep going through the videos.”

“I will. I haven’t found much, but I will tell you this. This new video isn’t like any of the others.”

“How so?”

He exhaled loudly. “I feel like I’m going blind watching them. They’re not my cup of tea. However, I’ve catalogued them. If Piper mentioned a restaurant name, I jotted that down. If it’s just about food in general, I noted that as well. It’s clear she’s been cultivating a persona though. I’m almost to the end of her videos, and you can see a difference between the early ones and the latest. In the more recent ones, she’s much more polished, and the videos seem way more professional. But here’s the thing. Even with reviews that aren’t positive, she’s careful in what she says; she’s not outright mean. But today’s video is the opposite. She’s downright vicious, making jokes about the restaurant, the food, even the waitstaff. And the owner. None of it’s flattering.”

“Why post something like that?”

“That’s a good question. You should watch it. It’s not like she was trying to make a joke, or that the restaurant is fake. It’s not. I looked it up.”

My mind raced. “You think someone knew she was going to post the video, so they killed her?”

“It’s possible. If so, maybe they didn’t realize that she’d scheduled the post. But is that a weak motive?”

“I’ve seen people kill for a lot less. If she’s going to potentially ruin your livelihood, what might you do?”

“Good point,” he said.

I went on. “If Piper didn’t post it, maybe our killer did. But that means whoever did it had access to her account. A friend.”

“Or relative,” he suggested.

“Yes,” I said slowly, thinking of Delaney. I needed to track her down, and when I did, I had a lot of questions for her. “There aren’t any other reviews like the most recent one?”

“Not so far, and I’m almost to the beginning of her Instagram videos. I’ll start on her other social media, and I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”

“Thanks.”

I ended the call, then pulled up Piper’s Instagram account, mulling over who else could have uploaded the post. If not a prescheduled post by Piper, or something done by the killer, then who?

I was still thinking about that when I clicked on the latest post. Piper came on the screen, and as she started her review, I immediately saw what Chad was saying. Piper was smiling, but it was different than in other posts, a more mischievous grin than anything else. Behind Piper were cream-colored walls, with modern silver sconces lighting the area. A marble-topped wine bar was partially visible, its shelves filled with perfectly arranged bottles. There were white tablecloths on the tables, and contemporary art pieces in muted colors adorned the walls. The space conveyed understated luxury without a hint of stereotypical Italian restaurant clichés.

“Okay foodies,” Piper said. “I’m at Paradiso Italiano. You know, the upscale place on Ralston Road in Arvada. And I have to tell you, what are people thinking?” The nastiness in her voice was clear.

I watched the video, which dissected several dishes, and I had to agree with Chad. This was not the Piper I’d seen in other videos I’d watched. She was caustic and rude, and she seemed to be joking with someone off-camera. Not only did it make the restaurant look bad, it made her look bad, too.

What would possess her to do such a thing? I wasn’t a marketing or social media expert, but it didn’t make sense. The video went off brand, as they say, and I couldn’t see the point. Unless Piper wanted to go after the restaurant. If so, why?

I wasn’t too far from the restaurant, so I decided to drop by. I looked up the address, and soon was parking near a long brick building tucked into downtown Arvada. The lunch rush was over, but a few people were still sitting at tables when I strolled in. The décor was as I’d seen in the video, the ambiance muted and warm. When a hostess approached, I asked to speak to the manager or owner. She looked at me hesitantly, then nodded and scurried away. Moments later, a solid man with slicked back black hair walked up. He wore a dark suit that didn’t quite hide a slight paunch.

“I’m Leo Marino,” he said, his voice husky. “May I help you?”

I flashed my badge and introduced myself. His dark eyebrows shot up.

“I didn’t call any cops,” he said as he smoothed his hair.

“This restaurant came up in an investigation I’m working,” I said. “Could we talk somewhere private?”

“Sure,” he replied easily.

Leo led me past several tables and around a corner, then through the kitchen to a small office. There wasn’t much in it, just a desk that faced the door, two metal chairs, some boxes stacked in a corner, and some paper supplies. He leaned against the desk, and I shut the door and stood there.

“Are you familiar with Piper Randall?” I began.

That’s as far as I got before his demeanor changed. A cloud swept across his face, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tightened.

“You saw the video too?” he snapped.

I nodded. “It wasn’t very flattering.”

“I’ll say.” He jabbed a finger at me, a gold ring catching the light. “And it’s all wrong. This is a good restaurant, and we serve good—no great—food. If Piper thought that was wrong, she’s wrong.”

It appeared he didn’t know Piper was dead. Or this was an act meant to cover up the fact that he did. I had no idea which, but either was possible.

“Do you know about Piper?” I asked.

“What? Have you talked to her about the video? And why the hell would the review come up in an investigation?” The questions were fired fast.

“She was murdered last night,” I said.

His mood didn’t change, his face remaining dark, his brow furrowing so deeply his eyebrows met in a wide, angry line.

“I don’t know what she was up to, but she’s made a mess for me,” he said. “Do you know how many people I’ve had calling and texting me about that post? My phone’s been blowing up, friends and other people in the business letting me know about it. And if they know, what about her followers? You know she’s making a name for herself in town?”

I nodded. “I heard something like that.”

He ran a hand down his face, but it didn’t change his expression. Then he let out a huge sigh. “This kind of thing could take down this restaurant, and do you know how long I’ve worked at this?” It was rhetorical, and he went on. “It’s not easy running a restaurant. The profit margins are thin, and it takes a lot of work to get a good reputation. I’ll have to do a lot of damage control to reverse what she did.” He swore softly. “All because—”

I waited a moment, then said, “What?”

“I can’t believe she would do this.”

“Did you know Piper?”

“We’re not friends.” He glared at me. “Could I be friends with someone like that?”

I shrugged and waited for him to go on. He was fuming still.

“It wasn’t supposed to . . .” he said quietly, his voice trailing off.

“What?” I asked when he didn’t finish. “It wasn’t supposed to what?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you know about the video?”

“She couldn’t have videoed it here without someone knowing.”

I tipped my head at him. “Did you know?”

“Of course.”

I went back to the previous statement that he didn’t finish. “What wasn’t she supposed to do?” I wondered if he was going to say she wasn’t supposed to post it, but I didn’t want to lead him.

“It’s nothing.”

“In the video, Piper seemed to be with someone else,” I said. “You?”

His gaze darted around, and then he looked at me. “I’m afraid I can’t help you anymore,” he said. “I only met Piper when she came in here, and I don’t know anything about what happened to her. I need to get back to the restaurant.”

“Where were you last night?”

“I was here until almost midnight. We close at ten, and there was a lot to do.” He sidled past me and opened the office door. “I need to get going.”

I made a show of surveying him, and he glared at me. I knew I wouldn’t get more from him, so I didn’t bother asking any other questions. He didn’t seem to care that I was scrutinizing him.

“I’ll be back,” I said but that didn’t get a reaction.

I went through the kitchen, Leo close at my heels. There was a lone cook at the far corner of the room, and before Leo could stop me, I walked over.

“Hey there,” I said to him. He was busy stirring a pot with red sauce, and he barely glanced at me. “Quick question.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“Did you work last night?”

“Yeah, until closing.”

Leo stood near the door, one hand out, as if that would get me to follow him.

“Was Leo here?” I asked the cook in a low voice.

He nodded. “He closed up after we finished cleaning up. It was almost midnight.”

I was watching Leo as I asked the questions, and it didn’t appear that he’d signaled to the cook in any way. I couldn’t tell if the cook was lying though. I watched him stir the pot for a moment, and Leo called out.

“Could you come with me?”

I smiled at the cook, then followed Leo through the restaurant. As we neared the entrance, he moved past me and yanked open the door. I walked outside, thinking that wasn’t how I expected the conversation to go.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

On my way to the station, Diane called.

“Hey, I only have a minute,” she said.

“Busy day?” I asked.

“Aren’t they all?”

Diane has a commanding presence with a voice to match—although to me her tone always had a slight screech to it. She’s a whirling dervish who rarely slows down, whether at work or at home. She’s also the perfect one—at least as far as our parents are concerned. She’s got the great career and family. Somehow, my being a homicide detective never seems to measure up. It’s taken me a long time to resolve my issues with Diane—and with my parents—and to know that I am a damn good detective, and that my work means something.

“I’ve already had a busy morning,” she said. “A bunch of wellness visits already, and some follow-ups.”

I listened as she told me a bit more. Diane rarely asks about my work. Some of that’s to be expected. People don’t want to hear about murders and ghastly crime scenes. But Diane tends to be somewhat self-focused. One of the things I love about Harry is that he listens but he doesn’t try to be a problem solver. Sometimes if I just talk through a problem, I’ll end up stumbling upon the solution. I was thinking about Harry when Diane finished telling me about her morning.

“Will you be able to make the barbecue?” she asked.

“Yes, unless something comes up with this new case.”

“Could Harry bring his famous apple pies?”

“Sure.”

Just as I’d thought, she didn’t want to broach the subject of my work. That was okay.

“Have you heard from Hunter?” she went on.

“I haven’t talked to him since he and Harry went golfing,” I said. “He’s coming, right?”

“As far as I know. It’ll do Hunter some good to get out, spend some time with the boys.”

“As long as Mom doesn’t grill him about Cassandra,” I said.

She laughed quickly. “I’ll run interference.”

“Good.”

“I need to get going. See you soon.”

“Yes,” I said.

I called Harry next. He didn’t answer so I left a message, telling him I thought I’d be home for dinner and to text me if I needed to pick up anything. By then, I was driving into the station. As I crossed the parking lot, I saw Don Burton walk through the station door. I would’ve preferred not to see him at all, but I wasn’t going to turn tail and go another direction. Instead, I squared my shoulders and walked toward the building, hoping he wouldn’t say anything. I wasn’t that lucky.

“You think you got it all figured out,” he said with a sneer as I approached.

“Just trying to do my job,” I said. I left out a whole bunch of choice words. It wouldn’t do any good to get into it with him.

“Maybe you’re missing something,” he said.

I stopped with my hand on the door handle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Sometimes beat cops might know a thing or two as well.”

“If you’re holding something back—”

He stared at me for a second, then flicked his hand at me. He turned without another word and stomped across the parking lot.

“What was that all about?” I muttered to myself as I went inside. I first stopped at the CSI tech room to check on Piper’s electronics. One of my favorite techs—Tara Dahl—was at her desk, earbuds in. She didn’t hear me enter, and she jumped when I tapped on her shoulder.

“Don’t scare me like that!” she said as she pulled out the earbuds.

“Don’t play your music so loud,” I said.

“Okay, Mom,” she quipped.

Tara and I have a good relationship, and even though I’m not that much older than she is, she teases me when I chide her about her loud music. I suppose it is a motherly thing to worry about her hearing.

She waved a hand at her monitor. “You’re checking on Piper Randall’s laptop?”

I nodded. “I don’t suppose you’ve had time to analyze it?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a backlog of stuff right now. If I get a chance, I’ll start some preliminary analysis on it, but I wouldn’t expect anything before tomorrow, maybe the next day.”

I frowned. “The next day?”

“I’m sorry. Every time I turn around, items are coming in.”

“Murder never takes a day off.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate all your help.”

She gave me a rueful shrug. “I’ll see if I can speed things along and get to your investigation.”

I nodded. “Thanks.” I told her about the latest post on Piper’s Instagram account. “See if you can tell who else might’ve had access to the account, or if she had any documentation on that.”

“I will, but I wouldn’t expect much. She could’ve shared her username and password, and whoever used it could’ve logged in from a public network, and then we’d only have that IP address.”

“And no way to trace it back to that individual,” I said.

“Right. I know that’s not what you want to hear.”

I shrugged. “It’s disappointing but it happens. How about a drink sometime, catch up on things?”

“You bet,” she said.

Her desk phone rang, so I waved at her and left, knowing my suggestion could go by the wayside. Our work kept us busy, and so did our personal lives. I did want to know how she was doing though, so I made another mental note to make sure I followed up on a drink. When I went to the detectives’ room on the second floor, it was busy, another team across the room whiteboarding something with their investigation, and another woman on the phone. Spats and Ernie were both at their desks.

“I stopped by Paradiso Italiano,” I said. “The owner, Leo Marino, is hot under the collar about a negative review that Piper Randall posted.”

Spats held up a hand. “Back up. What’s going on?”

“Another restaurant review was posted on Piper’s Instagram account today.”

I told them about the video, and about my questioning Leo. When I finished, Ernie was scratching his chin.

“Something fishy is going on.”

I nodded. “Leo was holding something back. Piper seemed to be with someone when she made the video at Paradiso, and I wonder if he knew who but wouldn’t say. And if Piper scheduled the post, why? It’s different than all her others—extremely negative and harsh. It could be read as a vindictive move on her part.” I chewed on that for a moment. “If someone else posted it, how did they access her account, and why did they want to post it?”

“You really think one negative review could hurt Leo’s business?” Spats asked.

I shrugged. “It could. Piper has a large following, and if word got out about her review, it could have an impact.”

“Okay,” Spats went on slowly. “Did Leo have anything to do with her death, to stop her from posting the review? So . . . maybe he didn’t know the post was already scheduled?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “What if he killed her and then posted the review so people would see a different side of Piper?”

“And risk a negative impact on his restaurant from the review?” Spats sounded skeptical.

“Maybe he didn’t realize how much damage it could do, thought he could weather that,” I suggested. “Who knows?”

“Chad’s looking at all of Piper’s social media?” Ernie asked.

“He’s scouring it all and making notes,” I said. “I’ll share his report when he’s finished.”

Ernie nodded, and Spats waved me over before I could sit down.

“Let me show you some of that surveillance video,” he said.

His coat was hung up behind him, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He typed for a moment, then worked the mouse.

“This is the person in the hoodie.” He tapped his monitor.

I stared at the screen for a moment, watching a figure in dark clothes, a hoodie obscuring the face.

“How far is this from Rosemary & Vine?” I asked.

“Three blocks over.”

“It could be anybody.”

He nodded.

“Spats showed it to me,” Ernie chimed in. “The build doesn’t remind me of anybody we’ve talked to.”

“And nobody was around the restaurant around the time we think Piper was shot?” I clarified to Spats.

He shook his head. “We’re not that lucky.”

“What about that homeless guy?” I asked. “Kyle Williams.”

“I picked him up a couple of blocks away from the restaurant at the time you were there,” Spats said. “It doesn’t look like he was around before that.”

“If he saw something, we’ll never know,” Ernie said.

“What about Piper?” I asked Spats. “Did you see her, or her vehicle?”

“I spotted a Toyota Highlander a few blocks away around that time,” he said. “It could’ve been her, but I didn’t see the license plate.”

“Nothing that shows her around Rosemary & Vine?” I continued.

“No.” Spats stretched. “I did get Piper’s phone records, and I’m going through them.”

I detected something in his tone. “Something promising there?”

“Piper received a series of texts around nine last night.” He pointed to a notepad on his desk. “I wrote it down.”

I read through it. “Someone wanting to meet about the video? Then Piper saying she wasn’t at home.”

“And I’m assuming the killer suggested they meet at Rosemary & Vine,” Spats said.

“Someone lured her to the restaurant,” Ernie said.

“Who sent the text?” I asked.

Spats leaned back. “I did some number lookups and it’s a burner phone, so I don’t know who it belongs to. I called it, but no answer. Not that I expected anyone would.”

“They meet her somewhere around Rosemary & Vine and get her into the alley, then shoot her?” I speculated.

Spats nodded. “I’d place money on that bet.”

“Guess what?” I said to him. “We’ll need a warrant for the burner phone to see about pinging it. If we can get where those texts were sent from, that’ll help.”

“Sure,” Spats said. “I’ll start on it once I finish going through her phone records. If a judge grants the warrant, we’ll see where it leads. It’s going to take some time.”

“What if it was Chandler, texting from the restaurant?” Ernie said. “If he murdered her, he’s smart enough to know not to call from a restaurant phone, or his personal phone.”

“If he was that smart, he wouldn’t text from the restaurant,” Spats said wryly.

I turned to Ernie. “You’re not ready to dismiss him as a suspect?”

Ernie shook his head. “Not yet. I found some interesting things on him.”

“Oh?” I said.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“What’d you find on Chandler?” I asked.

“I ran him through CLEAR,” Ernie said, referring to the Thomson Reuters database that aggregates public records. CLEAR has been a tremendous help to all of us in law enforcement. It searches property records and deed transfers, business licenses and incorporation documents, civil court records for lawsuits or small claims, employment history, bankruptcy records, local utilities accounts, building permits, and even concealed carry permits. “And I checked LexisNexis for court cases and legal documents he might’ve filed,” he added.

“And?”

Ernie countered with a question of his own. “Did you know he owns another restaurant?”

I raised my eyebrows. “Really? He didn’t say anything about that when I talked to him.” I glanced at Spats for confirmation.

“I didn’t interview him,” he clarified. “But I don’t recall you mentioning that to me.”

“A waitress at Rosemary & Vine told me.” Ernie tapped his pen on a notepad. “It’s called Sapphire, on East Twenty-third Street, in South Park Hill. Sapphire’s menu is different than Rosemary & Vine; it’s more like a sandwich and burger joint.”

I sat down at my desk and googled the restaurant. As Ernie had noted, the menu featured sandwiches, burgers, wraps, and not much else.

“Sounds like a decent place,” I said. “Harry and I should drop by sometime.”

“I’m following up on some of Chandler’s business records that Spats found, some not in CLEAR,” Ernie went on. “He has a few business loans, which could mean he’s sitting on quite a bit of debt. I want to look into that more.”

I thought I saw where his line of reasoning was headed. “If Chandler had a lot of debt, he needs his restaurants to do well.”

Ernie nodded. “And a negative review from Piper wouldn’t help.”

“It might be the reason things are slow at Rosemary & Vine.” I looked at Spats. “Search Piper’s phone records to see when Chandler called her.”

“I’m already on it.” He typed for a moment and then frowned. “Well, how about this? Chandler called Piper yesterday evening, around eight o’clock. And he called her a week ago, and several times before that.”

I went to a whiteboard and jotted down the dates he’d given me, then stepped back and stared at the board.

“Does Chandler have any registered guns?” I asked Ernie.

He shook his head. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an illegal weapon.”

I nodded. “Chandler told me he hadn’t talked to Piper in a while.”

“You’re sure?” Ernie asked.

I glanced at him. “Pretty sure. I’ll talk to him again to confirm that.”

“What about these other times?” Spats asked. “Was he chatting with her about her Instagram review?”

I went back to my desk, leaned over the chair and got on the Internet. “I’m checking her Instagram now.” It didn’t take me long to find the review Piper had left of Rosemary & Vine. “It was dated two months ago,” I said, then returned to the board and noted that. “There are calls between her and Chandler around that time, but several weeks after that as well.”

“Chandler lied,” Spats said.

“Why?” Ernie asked, then tacked on, “What’s he hiding?”

“I’ll drop by Rosemary & Vine later to see if he’s there,” I said. “I want to see his face in person when I confront him about lying to me.” I jotted down everything else we’d uncovered, which wasn’t a whole lot. Then I tapped Jesse Glover’s name, which I’d also written on the board. “I want to check on his alibi too.”

“The ex-boyfriend as a suspect,” Ernie said, a bit of speculation in his voice. “We need more than him fighting with her in the past.”

I nodded. “Of course. I’ll check into him, see what his neighbors say. He doesn’t have an alibi for last night, says he was home all evening. If he’s lying, maybe someone saw him leave his house. “And we need to find Piper’s sister. Something’s going on there.”

“You think Delaney’s boyfriend did something to her?” Spats asked.

I considered that, then shook my head. “I suspect Tate knows where she is, and he doesn’t want to tell us. Why, I don’t know.”

“Maybe she’s just scared,” Ernie said. “And because of that, she’s not making good choices, avoiding us.”

Maybe Ernie was thinking about his daughters, what each one might do if their sister died.

“Hiding from what?” I asked.

“It can be intimidating talking to the police,” Ernie suggested, not sounding too sure of his reasoning.

“But why not let the parents know where she is?” Spats said.

“They’d probably tell us, and Delaney doesn’t want that,” Ernie went on.

“Maybe.” I plopped down in my chair, suddenly feeling tired. “Something’s not adding up, and I’m going to find out what.”

“I’ll see about a subpoena for Chandler’s financial info,” Ernie said. “I’d like to see what kind of debt he’s in.”

I nodded. “Good thinking.”

We all busied ourselves at our computers. I received an email from Todd Siltz, who had sent the CSI report.

“Nothing noteworthy in the CSI report,” I said.

“Anything in the trash Chandler threw out?” Spats asked.

I glanced at the file. “Nothing but papers, receipts, office stuff, and napkins, just like he said.”

“Too bad there wasn’t something else in the alley to help us,” Ernie said. “But it happens.”

I nodded, then spent a few minutes looking into Jesse Glover and Tate Pinnock. Glover had the DUI and the parking tickets, but no other arrests. Pinnock was clean. Neither one seemed active on social media either. I was still searching the internet when Ernie stood up and yawned.

“I hate to bug out of here, but there’s a meeting at the school tonight,” he said. “Liz’ll kill me if I miss it.”

I smiled. “It was a late night and early morning for all of us, so go do that, then enjoy some time with your family.”

“I’ll get that subpoena first thing in the morning and see what else I can find on Chandler.”

“Great.” I looked across my desk at Spats. “You should go home, too.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I’m tired of looking through these phone records, so I’m not going to argue. I’ll get back to work on this in the morning, and follow up on that burner phone. I’ll check with the morgue about Piper’s autopsy too.” As he got up, he rolled down his shirtsleeves. “You should take your own advice, okay? Go home. We won’t be able to solve Piper’s murder tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said.

Ernie contemplated me as Spats donned his coat. I pretended not to notice, but his eyes seemed to bore into me. I finally looked at Ernie.

“What?” I asked.

He didn’t say anything, but Spats did.

“You haven’t been yourself in a while.”

“I’m fine,” I said with emphasis.

“We’re all doing the best we can, you included,” Ernie said. “Sometimes they get away.”

I shook my head. “Not again.”

“Sarah—” Spats started.

I held up a hand and interrupted him. “I get it, okay? I’m not overworking myself.”

Anger gripped me, my face pinched. I drew in a deep breath. Both men stared at me for a moment, and then Ernie shrugged.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” he said in a calm voice.

Spats waved, and they walked out of the detectives’ room, their voices echoing back to me as they went down the hall. They were right, but I couldn’t appreciate their concern right then. Somehow, I had to make things right, if not for Gloria Lott, then for Piper.

I glanced into Rizzo’s office. He was at his desk, eyeing me. I looked at my monitor, pretending I hadn’t seen him watching. I prayed he wouldn’t come out to talk to me. I needed a minute to cool down before I updated him on the investigation. I spent a few more minutes at my desk, trying to find more on Jesse Glover and Tate Pinnock, but I discovered little more than I already knew. After a few more minutes, I got up and went to Rizzo’s doorway.

“How’re things going?” he asked as he looked up from his monitor.

“Not a whole lot to report,” I said. I gave him the rundown of our investigation and told him what we would be following up on.

“If we need to pursue a warrant for Piper’s social media records, let me know,” he said. “It may not be easy, but we can do it.”

I blew out a breath. “Hopefully we’ll discover some good leads before we have to go down that route.”

He smoothed his hair back. “We got a call from Channel Nine News. Someone contacted them about Piper’s death.”

“There was no press at the scene last night, so how’d they find out?”

“An anonymous call. Media relations will handle it, but if you run into any reporters, no comment.”

“Right,” I said. “Do you have the anonymous caller’s number?”

He glanced at his monitor, then jotted it down and handed the note across his desk.

“We’ll check it in the morning,” I said.

“Good.”

His gaze bore into me much as Ernie’s had moments before. I was tempted to snap, “What?” at him, but I didn’t. I forced myself to lock eyes with him and waited.

“You’ve been pushing kind of hard lately, haven’t you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No more than usual.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

I was being more deferential than usual, and I hoped it would keep him from pressing me. It worked, at least in that moment. He studied my face, then smiled.

“You have plans for tonight?”

“I need to stop by Rosemary & Vine to follow up with Chandler Cohen, and then I’m going home.”

“Dinner with Harry?”

“Yes.”

Rizzo gave me a pleased look. “That’s good. Make it an early night, okay? The investigation will still be here in the morning.”

“Right.”

I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, I spun around and walked back to my desk. I grabbed my purse and hurried out of the room before he could say more. Rush hour traffic was in full swing by the time I got on the roads, and it took me twice as long as it should have to get to Rosemary & Vine. When I strolled inside, there were several people at tables, and a hostess smiled at me.

“Is Chandler Cohen here?” I asked her.

She shook her head. “He was earlier today, but he’s gone for the night.”

That surprised me. When I’d talked to him the previous evening, he’d made it sound as if he was at the restaurant a lot.

“When do you expect him back?” I asked.

“Not until tomorrow. Could I leave him a message?”

I shook my head. “I’ll stop back by.”

I went outside and puzzled on Chandler as I drove home. It could be coincidence that he wasn’t at the restaurant now, however, it could be he didn’t want to be easily available for more questioning. Especially knowing he’d lied to me. I thought about Delaney as well, and how I was sure Tate knew something about her whereabouts. I hadn’t heard from the detective who was surveilling him, which meant he hadn’t spotted Delaney. I was still thinking about the investigation when I got home, and I was not in the best of moods. When I walked into the kitchen, Harry was at the counter, shaking spices on two large chicken breasts. He’d changed from business attire to shorts and a polo shirt, his feet bare.

“Hey, how are you?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said, not sure I’d modulated my tone well.

I got a look—bemusement, and something else. He finished with the spices, and as he wiped his hands on a dishcloth, he came over and gave me a kiss.

“Why don’t you change clothes, then help me with a salad?” he suggested.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

I set my car key fob and badge on the counter, then went into the bedroom and locked up my pistol, then changed into shorts and a blue short-sleeved blouse. I shoved my phone in my pocket, and when I went back in the kitchen, Harry was on the porch, tending to the grill. I got fixings for a salad from the refrigerator, and when Harry came back inside, I was slicing up tomatoes.

“The chicken’s on the grill, along with baked potatoes,” he said. “You want a drink?”

I shook my head. “Not tonight.”

“I’m going to have a beer.”

“Help yourself.”

He gave me another little look, and I shrugged as I went to the sink to wash my hands.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you,” I said.

“It’s okay.”

I tried to keep my mood light as he and I finished preparing dinner, and then we sat on the back deck as we ate. It all tasted good, and with the noises of kids playing in neighboring yards, it should have been pleasant and enjoyable. But I couldn’t shake my foul mood. When we finished, Harry took the last sip of his beer, then set the bottle down.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “You hardly said a word while we ate.”

“It’s just this investigation,” I said. “It’s early, and not a lot is coming together.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“What if it doesn’t?” I snapped. Then I put a hand on my forehead. “I’m sorry.”

Harry leaned back and stared at me. “You can’t put so much pressure on yourself.”

“I’m not. I’m doing my job, that’s all.”

He took a moment, then shook his head. “You’ve been working harder than usual.”

“No, I haven’t. You know me, pedal to the metal when I’m on an investigation.”

He searched my face. “Are you sure about that? It’s just the usual?”

“I’m fine.”

“Sarah, I—”

That’s as far as he got. Everything that had been bubbling up within me the past few weeks, and all the concern that everyone had for me that I didn’t want, roiled to the surface.

“Why is everyone on me?” I said. “I’ve always worked hard, and you know that. You’ve accepted the long hours, the being away from home.” My voice was rising. “This investigation is important. If I don’t turn over some clues now, they may be lost forever. You know that. The first forty-eight hours are crucial.”

He didn’t raise his voice, only said, “I know. You haven’t been yourself though. There’s a pressure I haven’t seen before.”

“This is myself. I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

He shook his head. “No, there’s something different. I’m worried about you. You’re—”

I stood up, and my chair almost toppled over. I righted it as I stared down at him, my nostrils flaring.

“I don’t want to hear any more about ‘what I am,’” I said. “I’m going out.”

With that, I stormed into the house. I grabbed my keys and badge, then went into the garage, got in the Cherokee, and left the house.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Iwas fuming as I drove away from the house. I couldn’t believe Harry had pushed me like that. I didn’t need him on me too, harping on me—with everything I had to do? I was in the middle of an investigation, for crying out loud!

I drove to Eighth, then went west to Colorado Boulevard, not sure where I was going or what I would do. When I reached Colorado, I took a right. It was still light, plenty of traffic on the roads. I headed north, the back of my head buzzing with anger.

I did not work too much. I was dedicated. I had a high success rate, closed a lot of investigations.

“That means something!” I said as I slammed my fist on the steering wheel. “Why can’t anybody see that?”

I kept driving, soon coming to Interstate 70. I took the on-ramp and went west, and then I knew where I was headed. I merged into traffic and as I drove, I called the station and had them patch me through to the detective who was doing surveillance on Tate Pinnock.

“Barrasso,” he said.

I identified myself. “You’ve been tailing Tate Pinnock?”

“Yes, ma’am. He was at the Discount Tire store until they closed at six, and then he swung by the Wendy’s drive-through. I couldn’t tell what he ordered,” he said with a laugh. “After that, he drove home, and he’s been there ever since. The living room window blinds are closed, but the front screen door is open. I haven’t seen anyone else come or go.”

“Where’s his vehicle?”

“He drives an older Chevy truck, and he parked it in the garage. No other vehicles were inside. I saw him enter the house through a side door. I took over for Murrill, who was watching the house. He reported that no one entered or left the house since he got here earlier today.”

“Good deal,” I said to him. “I’m headed your way now. I’ll park at the end of the street, so don’t be alarmed.”

“No problem. I’m in a gray sedan. I’ve relocated a few times, and no one seems to be paying any attention to me.”

“People don’t seem to care,” I said.

“No, ma’am.”

I thanked him for his time and ended the call.

Traffic was heavy as I exited onto Sheridan Boulevard and drove north. Shadows were growing longer as I turned down Tate’s street. I spotted a gray sedan parked near the corner but barely saw the detective’s head peeking up over the windshield. I drove by without acknowledging him. I circled around the block and parked at the other end, where I had a good view of Tate’s house. I rolled down the window, then took binoculars from under the seat and rested them in my lap. Then I waited. Some kids were playing on a nearby block, and a couple rode by on their bicycles, and then it was just Barrasso and me. Dusk settled in, and a light went on in Tate’s front room window. None of his neighbors were out and about, and I had only the silence in the SUV. Too much quiet, and too much time to think. And I was already regretting how I’d treated Harry.

I was still mad, but not at Harry, or anyone else who’d been challenging me about my mood and behavior. I was mad at myself because, well, because I knew they were right. Ever since the Gloria Lott investigation, I’d been a bit of a mess. What was wrong with me? I didn’t understand. I only knew I couldn’t let go of that investigation. I knew who’d killed Gloria, but I couldn’t arrest him. Neil had been too smart, and he’d literally gotten away with murder. It happens, as Ernie liked to remind me. Somehow, I had to figure out how to move beyond that failure. It was eating me up. And I certainly shouldn’t be lashing out at those around me, especially Harry. I’d been awful to him, flown off the handle when he was trying to tell me he cared about me.

Harry and I usually got along well. We rarely fought. I’d been with him for ten years before I’d married him because I’d needed to work through some issues with my sister. For years, I wondered if I had what it took to make marriage work. And if I failed, how would that look to my family, to my “perfect” sister, the one who seemed to do everything right? To his credit, Harry’d waited for me, and when I was ready, we’d gotten married.

My thoughts kept churning as it grew darker. A streetlight went on. I felt my phone in my pocket. Part of me wished Harry would call, but frankly, why would he want to? I’d been ugly to him. And I needed to work through things. He knew that too.

I ran a hand slowly down my face, wiping away some hot August evening sweat. Even as I stared at Tate’s house, I knew what I needed to do. And yet, there I sat. Along with my other faults, I could be stubborn too, unwilling to admit my own faults. But I couldn’t escape this one. I needed to go home, to apologize to Harry, to try to make things right.

“And you need to do it before it gets too late,” I told myself.

I reached to press the start button on the Cherokee, and then I stopped short. I had a good view of Tate’s house, and the side door that led to the garage. In the growing darkness, a rectangle of light suddenly appeared as someone opened the door. My gut feeling had been right, as I watched a dark-haired woman emerge, then yank the door closed behind her. As she stood in the dimness for a moment, I put the binoculars to my eyes and studied her. Delaney Randall, in the flesh. When she looked the other way, I dropped the binoculars on the passenger seat, quietly opened the door and eased out. Then I circled behind the vehicle and watched.

A few more seconds passed, and then Delaney disappeared along the side of the detached garage. I hurried down the block, staying on the other side of the street. When I was across from Tate’s house, I peeked over the front of a car just in time to see Delaney open a gate at the rear of the house. Behind that was a three-story apartment building. I didn’t waste any time but ran back to the Cherokee, got in, and started it. I kept the headlights off as I crossed Tate’s street and eased forward to the next block. When I reached the corner, I parked and looked toward the apartment building. Seconds later, a pristine gray Ford Bronco Sport exited the parking lot and turned my direction.

Delaney’s vehicle.

I ducked down as the SUV passed me. I let Delaney get to the end of the next block and then followed, keeping my headlights off. She turned left, went to Sheridan, then turned right. It was easy to follow her as she kept her speed and stayed in the same lane.

She’s both inept and foolish, I thought. If she was trying to hide, she was doing a terrible job, and she was making it easy to follow her as well.

She didn’t go far before pulling into the parking lot of a local café on Sheridan. I slowed down and watched as she got out of the SUV and went inside. I turned into the parking lot and found a space at the end. I shut off the engine and called Barrasso.

“Did you see the woman leave?” I asked him.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t Tate. He’s my mark. You wanted her followed?”

“No, but what’s Tate doing?”

“He still inside, as far as I know,” he said. “No one besides her left, and his truck’s still in the garage.”

“Let me know if he leaves. I followed the woman.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I ended the call and looked into the restaurant. Through a big window I saw Delaney being seated at a booth that faced the street. She appeared to reach for something, then looked down—I assumed at a menu. A moment later a waitress approached with a glass of water, which she set down. Delaney spoke to her, and when the waitress walked away, she stared into space. I got out of the Cherokee and walked inside. There was only a lone man at a counter, eating pancakes, and Delaney. She didn’t make a move as I marched right up to her table and looked down at her. She glanced up, her face pinched, her eyes red.

“Do you want something?” she asked.

For a second, I’d forgotten that I was in shorts and top, but I had my badge. I pulled it from my pocket and showed it to her. Her jaw dropped as I slid into the seat across from her.

“I’m Detective Spillman,” I introduced myself. “I’ve been looking for you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Istared at Delaney. Her mouth worked but no words came out. Her blue eyes stayed wide, and beads of sweat popped onto her nose. She grabbed a napkin and dabbed at them, then put it back down and met my gaze.

“Um,” was all she managed.

The waitress sauntered over and asked if I wanted anything, and I politely declined, then laced my fingers together and rested them on the table. Delaney was wringing the napkin in her hands, still unsure what to say. I decided to rescue her from her discomfort.

“You’ve been hiding from the police,” I said gently. “Why?”

Delaney sucked in a breath, still taking her time. Then she said, “Because I was scared.” The words came out in a squeak, and she grabbed the glass of water and drank from it.

“Scared of who, or what?” I asked. “Is someone after you?”

Delaney glanced around. The restaurant was quiet, the man at the counter eating and minding his own business. There was hardly any noise from the kitchen. Now Delaney looked at the napkin in her hands, then tore at it as she talked.

“I don’t even know what to think about Piper’s death.” Her lower lip trembled, and I thought she might cry, but she held it together. “I can’t believe it happened. Piper and I talked earlier in the evening, and then . . .”

Something to check with Spats, I thought. “What’d you talk about?”

She shrugged. “You know, stuff.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t really remember.”

She knew, and she didn’t want to tell me. I stared hard at her and put a little more force in my voice.

“Delaney, you need to tell me what’s going on.”

Another big sigh. “Okay, fine,” she said. “We had a fight, okay?”

“About what?”

I was not enjoying having to drag the information out of her, but I’d finally found her, and I was going to get everything I could.

She glanced away and grimaced. “It was silly, really.” This time I waited, and she went on. “At first it was just the usual stuff, talking about work and things like that, and about my new car. Then she brought up her blog and reviews, and I told her I didn’t want to hear about it. That made her mad.”

“Why?”

“Are you kidding me? She loved to talk about her blog and especially her Instagram account, bragging about how well things are going. How many followers she has. She was obsessed with her followers and the money that was rolling in.”

Delaney wasn’t masking the ire in her voice. The napkin was shredded on the table between us. She looked away again.

“Why not tell the police all that?” I asked. “Why hide?”

She swore softly. “I thought if you knew I was envious of my sister, you might think I did something to her.”

I hadn’t necessarily gone there with my thinking, not at first. We’d been worried about someone coming after her. Now, however, Delaney’s behavior had me wondering. Envy could be a powerful emotion, could make people do the craziest things. I knew something of sibling rivalry firsthand. I’d struggled with jealousy of my sister, of her success and what she had, how her accomplishments seemed to mean more to our parents than mine. Growing up, I’d always wanted her approval, and that had made me do things I regretted.

“You talked to my parents?” Delaney asked.

I nodded. “They’re worried sick about you. Your mother said she kept calling you but no answer.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to.” I stared at her. “You should call your parents, or at least text, to let them know you’re okay.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

She looked up as the waitress brought her food. Mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce.

“Comfort food?” I asked.

She stared at the sticks, then nodded. “Tate and I got in a fight. That’s why I left the house.”

“What’d you fight about?”

She picked up a mozzarella stick, dipped it in the sauce, then took a bite and chewed slowly, all a way to keep from answering my question. She looked at me, and I raised an eyebrow in expectation.

“It was nothing,” she said. “Just stuff.”

“You’ve been at Tate’s since last night?”

She shook her head, but I suspected I was right. I let it go and moved on. I could come back to that another time, either with her, or with Tate.

“You didn’t want to talk with your mother?” I asked.

She took another bite of the mozzarella stick and nodded. “This whole thing with Piper has been horrible, especially because Mom adored Piper. She could do no wrong, and Mom loves her food reviews, thinks it’s great what she’s doing with all that. She even brought that up when she told me about Piper, how many people had been influenced by her blog. On and on. I don’t want to hear it. I grew up with that, and it gets to be too much.” She locked eyes with me. “You wouldn’t understand.”

I understood more than she realized. I felt the same way about Diane a lot of the time. I grew up hearing how wonderful her achievements were, and it seemed our parents overlooked mine. At least that’s the way it felt. I’d never talked to my parents about that, and I’m sure they would deny they’d favored Diane over me. Sometimes you got a sense, though, and you knew how somebody felt underneath the surface. That little something was there with Diane. I also knew how hard it was to let go of those feelings.

“How did you get along with Piper overall?” I asked.

“Pretty good. We would go out some, and we’d laugh and have fun. Except for that fight.”

I frowned. “That’s not what one of Piper’s friends said.”

She jabbed another mozzarella stick into the sauce, some of it spilling over the rim of the dish.

“Who was it? Aubrey? What’d she say?” she snapped.

“There was tension between you two.” Not quite what Aubrey had said in her office, but I wanted to see how Delaney would respond.

“I’ll bet she made it sound like it’s mostly me,” Delaney retorted, her voice rising. She looked around to see if anyone had noticed, then shook her head. “I’m doing all right too. I’ve got a good job, a steady boyfriend. And if I’m envious of Piper, that doesn’t mean I’d want anything bad to happen to her.”

I again felt an inkling of something, as if she were trying to make sure I wouldn’t think she was capable of harming her sister. It was an odd juxtaposition, her talking about how much she got along with her sister, and then a comment like that.

“How much did you talk about her food reviews?”

“I helped her some at first. Did Mom tell you that?”

I shook my head. “No.” I didn’t want to say that her mom had talked about Piper and how proud she was of her, but had said nothing about Delaney’s help.

Delaney left the mozzarella stick in the sauce and waved her hand. “When Piper first started videoing, she didn’t have all the equipment she needed for the reviews to look professional, and she was trying to figure things out. I helped her, even videoed her. I gave her advice on her delivery, things like that. If you want to get down to it, I probably helped her along more than anybody knows.”

And you hate that no one knows that, I thought. “Did she give you credit?” I asked.

“Of course not. That wasn’t Piper’s style.”

I thought about my interview with Leo Marino and what he’d said.

“Were you with Piper at Paradiso Italiano?”

She grabbed the mozzarella stick, popped it in her mouth, and chewed slowly. “I don’t recall that one. It’s Italian, right?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking that should be obvious.

She thought for a second, then shook her head again. “I don’t think so. I may have helped her at an Italian restaurant, but I don’t remember the name.”

I described the restaurant, and she again answered in the negative. My instincts were kicking in, though, and I wasn’t sure I believed her.

“You’re sure?” I pushed.

“Yeah, I think I’d remember that restaurant. Why?”

I answered with a question of my own. “Do you remember Piper videoing any negative reviews?”

“No,” she said. “If Piper didn’t like the place, she would be careful with her review, trying to find at least one positive thing to say. She didn’t want to hurt someone’s business, but she wanted to be honest too. That’s one reason why people liked her, and she did enjoy the attention.”

“So nothing outright harsh in her reviews?”

“No.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Well, there might’ve been something here and there about a dish, but nothing mean or ugly.”

Something about her tone made me question her response. However, I couldn’t tell if she was lying. If so, why? Did she want to cover for her sister?

“You know Chandler Cohen?”

“Sure. He owns Rosemary & Vine. Piper talked about him.”

“What’d she say?”

“I don’t remember what she said about the restaurant review, but I’m not sure she was fond of Chandler.”

“Why?”

“It was the way she talked about him. You could tell she didn’t think too highly of him.”

“Did she mention anything in particular?”

She considered that. “No, not that I . . . wait a minute. I was over at her apartment one time recently, and he called. When she got off the phone, she was upset, but she didn’t say why. Just something about him not wanting her to talk about it.”

“About the review?”

“I guess so. She told me she didn’t think the food was as good as he thought it was. It was decent, but she said Chandler thought he really had something special. I don’t remember what else.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Did she mention anything else about Chandler? Did she have a relationship with him?”

“I don’t think so.”

She didn’t sound too sure. She pushed the plate away from her. “I don’t think so. She talked about food a lot, and about a lot of restaurants. Sometimes I would tune it out.”

That sounded like Jesse Glover. I could understand. If someone was wild about something you couldn’t relate to, it was hard to really listen and be attentive. I hated to admit it, but I didn’t always follow when Harry discussed his work, and I’ve been guilty of tuning him out. I had a quick flash of him, and a zing of guilt shot through me. Both for that behavior, in general, and in particular, for what I’d done to him tonight. But I had to put those thoughts aside and focus.

“Did Piper mention anyone threatening her?” I asked.

“Nothing like that, but people got angry with her if they didn’t like her reviews. Have you seen how people act online? It can be horrible.”

I nodded. “No actual threats?”

She shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of.”

I thought about what their mom had said and asked, “Piper had a lot of boyfriends?”

She shrugged. “She went out some. No one serious though.” She let out another heavy breath and gnawed her lower lip. “I guess I should get home. I told Tate I wouldn’t go back to his place tonight.”

“When did you last see your sister?”

She hedged. “We went out Sunday night.” She drew in a breath and almost started to cry, her composure finally cracking.

“Where were you last night?”

“At Tate’s, watching TV.”

“What shows?”

“Tate likes drama, so we watched those Chicago ones, you know, Chicago Med and Fire, and then PD.” She rolled her eyes. “They get kinda old.”

“Once your mom called you about your sister, what happened?”

“I told Tate. He knew I was upset, obviously, and we hung out. I don’t even know what we talked about, he was just there.”

“You didn’t go anywhere?”

“No, we stayed at his house. Then I got worried about what the police might say, you know, if they heard I was envious of her, and I decided not to go home.”

“Does he know your parents are looking for you?”

She blushed. “He thinks everything is fine with them, and that I didn’t go to work because of what happened.”

Some more things to follow up on, because I wasn’t sure what I believed. I leaned forward.

“You need to call your parents and tell them what’s going on, and that you’re okay. They were ready to file a missing persons report.”

“Oh man.” Her hand shook as she took a sip of water. “I’ll straighten everything out with them. I didn’t mean to worry them.”

That seemed genuine. I didn’t have any business cards with me, so I waved over the waitress and asked to borrow her pen. I wrote my information down on a napkin and handed it to Delaney.

“I may have more questions for you, and you’d better answer my call.”

It was as forceful as I’d been, and Delaney could tell I wasn’t kidding. She nodded as she folded the napkin and slid it into her pocket.

“I’ll be around,” she said, her voice small. “I’m really sorry I caused all this trouble.”

That was the most genuine thing she’d said to me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Well, the word was out now.

The phone call to the media had gone well. It was surprising to get through to someone, but now they knew about Piper, who she was, and that she’d been murdered. No fear about repercussions from alerting reporters, because I’d used a burner phone.

Once the police knew the press had been contacted, they’d be talking to the reporters, finding out how they’d discovered Piper’s death. And the burner phone was long gone, discarded like so much trash. It wouldn’t be needed anymore.

It was surprising how quicky the news had gotten the story out, even a small piece just now on one channel’s nine o’clock news. It wasn’t much, but enough for people to see. They showed a photo of Piper, the one from her blog, where she was sitting at a restaurant, smiling brightly at the camera. It was a good shot of her, made her look nice and engaging. No mention of the latest negative review though. What was happening with that?

I should check Piper’s Instagram.

Quick and easy to get into Piper’s account, where most of her videos were stored. Wow! People were checking out her videos, making comments. A lot of comments. Wait! What’s this? People were talking about how good the videos are. And plenty of comments about visiting some of the restaurants that Piper had reviewed.

Where are all the negative comments?

Scrolling through, people commenting about her death, wondering when she’d died, and how there wouldn’t be any more reviews. And what’s this? Saying what a shame it is, because Piper was so engaging.

That’s not the way this is supposed to go! There should be bad things being said about Piper!

Slamming a glass down, then getting a look from someone.

Okay, calm down. Don’t draw attention to yourself.

What about the review of Paradiso Italiano? If people watch that one, they’ll see what a nasty person Piper could be. Let’s check. The last video did have a lot of comments, but what the hell? People are wondering about the post, how it could have been posted after Piper had died.

I didn’t think people would care.

More scrolling, more comments on the review, wondering if Piper was joking, thinking there must’ve been some reason why she’d posted it in the first place.

No! They’re not supposed to feel sorry for Piper. They’re supposed to see who she really was, that she was just a two-bit hack. How is it that people pass over somebody who does a great job, and someone who’s mediocre like Piper succeeds? It’s just not fair!

They should know that I have talent too. I gave her tips. I helped her.

More scrolling, the comments. You have got to be kidding! Was Piper somehow going to be revered in death?

This is not the way it’s supposed to go. No, not at all.

Should I post another review? There’s another negative one that Piper didn’t make public. But what would that do? I need to be careful, so the police don’t know what’s going on. They’re asking questions, and I have to make sure they don’t figure this out.

I can’t let that happen.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

As I hurried back to my car, Barrasso called.

“Tate just left. You want me to follow?”

I had to make a quick decision, and my thoughts went to Delaney and her behavior. For someone whose sister had just died, she’d kept her composure remarkably well. People reacted to death differently and showed their grief in a variety of ways. Delaney had had twenty-four hours since her sister’s death, but I would’ve expected more emotion from her, a few more tears, some sobbing—something. She bore more scrutiny, that was for sure.

“No, stay at the house. I want to know if Delaney shows up.”

“You got it.”

“I’m going to head there and sit for a while. I want to catch Tate if he returns soon.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

I thanked him and got in the Cherokee, fired it up, and headed north. I could anticipate Delaney calling Tate to tell him about our conversation, and I wanted to talk to him as soon as possible to see if he could or would corroborate what she’d told me. However, when I reached his house, Barrasso still hadn’t called, which meant Tate hadn’t returned home. A light shone from the front window, but the blinds were closed.

I drove to the end of the block and watched his house for a while. The light in the window remained on, but no one came or went. No Tate, no Delaney. I wondered if Tate knew he was being watched, and he didn’t want to return home. Then I dismissed that. Barrasso seemed to be doing a good job, and I doubted Tate paid close attention to what was going on in his neighborhood. Most people don’t, and I suspected he was no different. As the minutes ticked by, I tapped the steering wheel, thinking I was doing no good here. I knew I was putting off talking to Harry about the Gloria Lott thing. That situation wouldn’t resolve itself, so I texted Barrasso I was leaving, started the Cherokee, and drove home.

When I went inside, Harry was in the den, watching TV. He looked up with eyebrows arched as I stood in the threshold.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

He shifted on the couch, motioned for me to come over, and turned off the TV. I sat down beside him and looked him in the face.

“I can’t say I wasn’t mad for a while,” he began. “I was only trying to help.”

I was tempted to say something, to defend myself, but I held my tongue.

“Sometimes you can be so . . . infuriating,” he said. “You keep things close to your heart, and you don’t want to let anyone in.” He reached out and took my hand. “Don’t you know by now you can tell me anything, that I’m here for you?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and put a hand over my face as I grimaced. Then I put my hand down.

“I should know that,” I said. “It feels like . . . ” I searched for a way to put my thoughts into words. “I’m doing my work, like I always do.”

He shook his head slowly, not letting me get away with that. “You don’t have to do everything.”

“I’m not trying to.”

Another shake of his head. “You are, but you can’t do everything. You’ve always done the best you could on your investigations, but no matter how much you work, some bad people are going to get away. Working more in this investigation—or any other—isn’t going to change what happened with Gloria Lott.”

He’d hit that one correctly. And he was right. There was only so much I could do about her murder, and I had to let it go. I drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“You’re right,” I said.

He stared at me. “Don’t say that just to placate me.”

I waited a moment. “I’m not. I’ll slow down, and to prove that, we have the barbecue at Diane’s on Saturday. I’ll make sure I take time off for it.”

He smiled. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

I leaned forward and kissed him. “I promise.” Then I added, “Diane wondered if you’ll bring your apple pie.”

“I’d be happy to.” He pulled me closer. “Let’s go to bed.”

We kissed harder, and he put a hand on my thigh, then worked his way higher. My pulse quickened.

“I love you,” he said, his voice husky.

“I love you too,” I gasped.

We never made it to the bedroom.

***

The next morning, I was out of the house before eight. Barrasso had gone off shift, and the new detective surveilling Tate’s house reported that he hadn’t come home, and Delaney had never shown up either. I puzzled over where they were, but Tate was the one I wanted to talk to, so I had the detective remain on duty and asked him to let me know if Tate returned. There could be any number of reasons why Tate had been gone all night, and he could be at work now, so I decided to check. On my way to Discount Tire, I called Spats.

“Just got to my desk,” he said. “Where’re you?”

“I’m on my way to Tate Pinnock’s work,” I said. I filled him in on the previous evening, excluding anything with Harry. “Can you check to see if Delaney was telling the truth, that she talked to Piper Wednesday evening?”

“I’m checking now.” He paused, and other voices sounded in the background, other detectives starting their day. Then Spats said, “Yep, there’s a call between Delaney and Piper, around 8:30.”

I stared at the cars ahead of me as I drove. “Delaney was telling the truth about that, but I don’t know about what else. My gut says she’s hiding something.”

“You don’t think it’s that she’s scared of the police? You can be intimidating,” he tacked on with a laugh.

“Maybe,” I said, knowing he was right. “I don’t think I was too hard with her, at least not at first. I’ll see what Tate says, if I can track him down. Oh, the press got wind of Piper’s death.” I filled him in on that as well. “Look on my desk. Rizzo wrote down the phone number the reporter gave him. Can you cross reference that with Piper’s phone records?”

“Sure, hang on.”

I heard a clunk as he set down the receiver, then the squeak of his chair. A moment later he came back on the line.

“Okay, let me check.” The sound of typing, then, “What do you know? That number matches the call from the burner phone, the number that called Piper the night she died. And I went back through the records again. There are some other texts from the burner phone to Piper. Whoever contacted her said they’d lost their phone and to contact them with the new number—the burner phone.”

“So Piper knew whoever texted her to meet at the restaurant.”

“Looks that way, and whoever it was had been covering their tracks,” Spats said. “They’d been planning this for a while.”

“And Piper’s killer wanted the press to know.”

“Why draw attention to the murder?”

I thought about that. “Does it have to do with that negative review? Whoever killed her wanted everyone to see a different side of Piper?”

“Could be,” he mused. “I’m looking for any more suspicious phone calls in Piper’s phone records. I’m not sure how much luck we’ll have with the burner phone though. I don’t see a carrier for it, and I have no idea where it was purchased.”

“Let’s hold off for the moment. If we find our killer, we might get the phone, and then we can pursue a warrant to see what’s on it, and to help build a case against him.”

“Right. The autopsy’s on my list later.”

“Good. Once I check on Tate, I’ll head to Jesse Glover’s neighborhood to knock on doors. If he did leave Wednesday night, someone might’ve seen him, or they might have surveillance video. And I want to see if any neighbors ever saw him and Piper fighting.”

“You want me to meet you there to help? I’ll have time before I head to the morgue.”

I started to say no, then thought about what I’d promised Harry. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

“I’ll catch up with you later then.”

I ended the call and smiled. Spats sounded pleased. I felt good too. I wasn’t pushing him away. As I thought back on the last few weeks, I could see times I’d refused to help, where I had been trying too hard. Not anymore, I told myself as I turned off the highway and headed to Discount Tire, only to find that Tate had the day off.

“Where are you?” I muttered to myself as I got back in my car.

I held off on calling him. I didn’t want him thinking about what I might ask, or how he might answer, before we talked in person. If I could, I wanted to take him by surprise. I sat in my car for a minute and texted Ernie, who replied that he’d gotten a subpoena and was headed to Chandler Cohen’s bank. I told him to keep me posted, and then I looked up the TV schedule for Wednesday evening. Delaney had told me the truth, at least that the trio of Chicago drama shows had been on. The Chicago Fire episode dealt with an apartment fire. Good to know. I went over my conversation with her as I drove away from Discount Tire. I still felt as if she were hiding something, but I didn’t yet know what.

I texted Spats that I was heading to the Highlands neighborhood, where Jesse Glover lived, then hit the road. Twenty minutes later I was parked around the corner from his house. Spats was across the street. I got out and he joined me.

“Let’s start knocking on doors,” he said.

“Make sure to ask if anyone has surveillance video,” I reminded him.

“You got it, Speelmahn.”

He walked down one side of the block, and I took the other. It was already warm, and beads of sweat trickled down my back as I went from house to house, talking to Jesse’s neighbors. Some hadn’t had contact with him, and the ones who had, hadn’t seen him arguing with Piper. His next-door neighbors knew him better than the others I talked to. One had a doorbell camera, and she happily shared the video with me. I was able to see part of Jesse’s yard, and a portion of the sidewalk leading up to his front porch. He never appeared on the screen though, and the neighbor hadn’t paid any attention to his house Wednesday night. She also wasn’t aware of any fighting between Piper and him. When I left her house, Spats joined me.

“Any luck?” he asked.

I shook my head as I jerked my thumb at the house behind me. “She has a doorbell camera, but I didn’t see enough of Jesse’s house to know if he left Wednesday night.”

He pointed across the street. “Same with that neighbor. I could see the sidewalk in front of Jesse’s house, but not his front door. He could’ve slipped out without the camera seeing him, if he’d wanted to.”

“Let’s check with the other next-door neighbor,” I said.

We went up the walk and rang the bell. An older woman with long gray hair answered the door, and after we introduced ourselves, she told us she was Carmen. When I asked her about Jesse, she was forthright in her opinion.

“I never really liked him,” she said. “Is he in some kind of trouble again?”

Spats and I were standing on her front porch, and she held a screen door as she looked toward Jesse’s house, her brow wrinkled, her lips pursed into an angry line.

“More trouble?” I asked curiously. “What’s going on with him?”

“He’s not that nice.”

“Really?” Spats put his hands on his hips and nodded knowingly, trying to draw her out. “How so?”

“If I see him out and about and l wave, he doesn’t acknowledge me. And he plays his music too loud.”

“That can be annoying,” Spats said, engaging her with a smile.

“You know, right?” she said.

“I do,” he replied. “When you just want some peace and quiet . . .”

“I tried to talk to him about it a time or two, and he just got mad at me,” Carmen said. “This used to be a quieter neighborhood, but as some of the older folks have moved on, or passed away, younger people are moving in. It’s not the same anymore.”

Spats had got her talking, and I carefully brought her back around to Jesse. “You mentioned some kind of trouble with Jesse?”

Carmen nodded. “One evening not too long ago. He was outside with Piper, and they were arguing. Back in my day, you took your problems inside, didn’t let everyone around you know about it. But not him. The two of them were yelling at each other, and they didn’t care who heard.”

“You heard something,” I said with a conspiratorial tone.

She let out a little laugh. “Yes. He told Piper he was sick of it, that she thought she was so great, but that she’d get what was coming to her.”

A couple of questions raced through my mind, and I went after them.

“You heard that name—Piper?” I asked.

“Oh yes, I know her. I saw last night that she was murdered.” She suddenly put a hand to her mouth. “Is that what this is about? Did Jesse do it?”

Spats shook his head. “We’re only asking questions.” He tipped his head. “What else happened the night Jesse and Piper were arguing?”

“I looked out the window and saw them. But Jesse didn’t do anything to her, in case you want to know. They just yelled at each other.”

“You’re sure it was Piper, not some other woman?” Spats clarified.

“Yes. I’d run into her a couple of times. She talked about her restaurant reviews, and I watched some of them. She seemed like a nice enough person, although you wouldn’t have thought that when she and Jesse were fighting. She was sure angry then.”

“Did she go after Jesse, try to hit him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not that I saw. If anything, he went after her.”

That didn’t match what Jesse had told me, but I left that unsaid.

Carmen continued. “They finally cooled down, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Someone called the police. They showed up and talked to them. Then Jesse went into the house, and she drove off. I didn’t see her after that.”

I eyed her. “No arrests?”

“No,” Carmen said. “They weren’t loud or arguing by the time the police arrived.”

“Did you talk to Jesse about Piper, or about that night?” Spats asked.

“No,” Carmen said. “I don’t think he saw me watching, and I wouldn’t talk to him anyway. He’d probably get mad at me if I did.”

My turn. “Did you see Jesse Wednesday night?”

Carmen shook her head. “I wasn’t paying attention. It was quiet though, nothing from his house.”

Spats and I asked her some of the same things in different ways, and her story didn’t change. It was obvious she didn’t like Jesse, and she was cautious of him. I thanked her for her time, and Spats and I walked toward the sidewalk.

“What’d you think of her?” Spats asked.

“She sure doesn’t like Jesse,” I replied.

“If Carmen heard correctly, Jesse threatened Piper.”

I nodded. “That’s not what he told me. And did he lie about his going after Piper, not the other way around?”

Spats eyes lit up. “Time to see if his memory of that incident has changed?”

“Yes.”

We went up the walk to Jesse’s porch. I rang the bell, then knocked on the door, but he didn’t answer.

“Maybe he had to go into the office,” Spats suggested.

“Why not tell me the truth, unless he has something to hide?” I said as Spats and I walked to our cars. “He’s had run-ins with the police before, so maybe he was scared to say too much?”

“He knows someone heard them arguing.”

“True. And Jesse decides to off Piper, and he lures her to the alley, where he shot her.”

“Proof?” Spats said.

“There’s that. We only have speculation, and that gets us nowhere.”

I was thinking about that as we paused at the Cherokee. Spats glanced at his watch.

“I need to get to the autopsy, but after that I’ll pop by Jesse’s work. If he’s there, I can press him more about the fight with Piper.”

“That’ll work. You might get more from him than I did.”

Spats waved as he headed for his car. “We’ll catch up later.”

As I slid behind the wheel, my phone rang.

“Ernie, what’s up?”

“You’re not going to believe what I found on Chandler Cohen.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Iturned on the car and fired up the air conditioner, then said, “Oh?”

“I went to Chandler’s bank,” Ernie went on. “It took a little time, and I had to push the manager, even though I had a subpoena. Some people watch too many cop shows and think they know everything.”

I exhaled loudly. “Don’t I know that.”

“Anyway, he finally got me access to Chandler’s records, and you wouldn’t believe how much debt the man has, not just from Rosemary & Vine, but from other things as well. He lives in an expensive house he recently bought, and he likes his toys. A big boat and an RV. Who knows what else. Those are just the loans he has through the bank I checked. But get this, he has loans for two other restaurants as well.”

“Two? I thought he owned one more restaurant.”

“There’s at least two—Sapphire and another I found called Burger Basics—and I wonder if there’s more. He could have loans with other banks, and I just haven’t uncovered that yet.”

A car drove by, and I looked to see if the driver was Jesse. It wasn’t, and I focused again on the conversation.

“Tell me more about these other restaurants.”

“I looked up Burger Basics, but it’s weird,” Ernie said. “It lists an address that doesn’t exist.”

“A typo, an honest mistake?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s north of downtown, and I drove by the area. There are some offices at the address listed, but the suite number doesn’t exist, and there’s no restaurant that I saw. We’ll need to look into this more.”

“That is weird,” I concurred.

“Yep.”

“We should be able to find health department inspection records for a restaurant, or utility bills, even license applications.”

“Those’ll be places to start.”

“How much money is Chandler bringing in?”

“A lot from Sapphire, not as much from Rosemary & Vine.”

“What is Chandler up to?”

“We need to talk to him again.”

I nodded to myself. “It was on my list, since he wasn’t there when I dropped by last night.”

“Now we have more to cover with him.”

I glanced at the dashboard clock. Almost eleven.

“The restaurant will be opening soon, and I would think Chandler’s there, getting ready for the day. I could be there in about twenty minutes.”

“I bet I’ll beat you there,” he said.

“See you soon.”

I hit the gas and pulled into the street. I drove around the block and headed toward downtown. On the way, Hunter called and apologized for not returning my call sooner.

“It’s been busy at work.”

“How’re you doing?” I asked.

“All things considered, pretty good. It’s such a relief not to see Cassandra around.”

“You haven’t seen her at all?”

He laughed. “You did a good job scaring her away.”

After Hunter had broken off his relationship with Cassandra, she’d taken to stalking him, watching his house, trying to intimidate him. I had turned the tables on her, confronting her and threatening her with arrest if she didn’t leave Hunter alone. In actuality, I couldn’t have done that, but my threat had worked, and she’d left my baby brother alone.

“I’m glad she’s not bothering you,” I said.

“Me too.”

“You’ll be at Diane’s on Saturday?”

“Yes, although I’m a little worried about Mom and Dad. So far, they’ve been good, but I don’t want any questions about Cassandra.”

“Diane and I’ll try to keep them off your back.”

“I appreciate it.” He hesitated. “Thanks for all your help. I know I keep saying that, but I really mean it.”

“I’m glad you’re out of that situation.”

“Me too,” he repeated.

“How’s your work? On a new case?”

“There’s always something,” I said.

“That food reviewer who was murdered?”

“You heard about that?”

“A co-worker told me about her. Piper, was that her name? My co-worker watched her Instagram videos, and she’d even suggested restaurants to try based on Piper’s reviews.”

“I must be out of the loop because I’d never heard of her.”

He laughed. “You avoid social media like it’s a disease.”

“Sometimes I think it is.”

“I know,” he said. “Hey, good talking to you. I have a meeting in a few minutes, so I need to go.”

“I’m about to my destination, too. We’ll see you Saturday.”

“Can’t wait.”

I ended the call and turned down Arapahoe. Ernie was already parked at the end of the block, and I pulled in behind his Camry. He got out, and I joined him on the sidewalk.

“Didn’t you say Chandler drove a BMW?” he asked.

I pointed to a parking garage kitty-corner from the restaurant. “He said he parks in there.”

“I had a few minutes, so I checked out the reserve spots. There’s a BMW that matches his license plate there, so I’m assuming Chandler’s at the restaurant.”

“Good.”

Ernie and I started for the restaurant entrance, and then we saw a tall man with thinning gray hair walk out. I squinted and shielded my eyes against the sun. Then my jaw dropped.

“Is that Don Burton?”

Ernie swore softly. “What the hell is he doing here?”

Burton was sauntering in our direction, and he stopped when he saw us. He was in street clothes, jeans and a button-down white shirt.

“Was he talking to Chandler?” I asked.

I approached him, Ernie at my heels. As I drew closer, Burton held up his hands.

“I can see you’re angry, but calm down,” he said.

I stared at him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I was following up on a few things.” Burton was annoyingly matter-of-fact.

“You talked to one of my persons of interest?” I was fuming.

“It’s my day off, and I had a couple questions for Chandler,” Burton replied.

“It may be your day off, but you have no business being here,” I said. “Things were bad enough the other night, and I don’t need you getting Chandler worked up again. I—”

“He’s not worked up,” Burton interrupted me.

I jabbed a finger toward the restaurant. “You shouldn’t be talking to him at all. You could jeopardize our entire investigation by interfering like this.”

“Calm down.” Burton sounded condescending. “The other night Chandler mentioned another restaurant, and I wanted to follow up on that.”

I thought fast. “Is that what you meant about my missing something?”

“Yeah.” Burton’s face pinched smugly. “You don’t know as much as you think you do.”

I took a few quick steps toward him, so close I could see the hairs in his nose. “If you had information on this investigation, you should’ve told me. You don’t act on your own like this. You have no idea what all we’re doing, or what Chandler said to us. By talking to him, you could have inadvertently tipped him off, made him hide something from us.”

Burton reacted by putting his hands on his hips, defensive. This whole time, Ernie had kept quiet, but now he focused on Burton and spoke up.

“What did Chandler say the other night that you wanted to follow up on?”

Ernie was thinking better than I was, and he knew we needed whatever information Burton had. And knowing the cop’s personality, if we weren’t careful, we wouldn’t get it from him. Burton gave me a once-over, then turned to Ernie.

“When I talked to Chandler, he muttered something about another restaurant. At first, I didn’t know what he meant, but as I thought about the murder, I figured it would be worth asking him about it.”

I was seething with anger and about to reply, but Ernie subtly signaled me with his eyes. I held my tongue, fighting hard not to lash out at Burton.

“What exactly did Chandler say?” Ernie asked.

“Something about Piper and the other restaurant, that’s all,” Burton replied.

Ernie kept his voice even. “What did Chandler tell you today?”

Burton shrugged. “Nothing. When I asked him what restaurant he meant, he told me I must’ve been mistaken. I tried to get more out of him, but he wouldn’t say anything else.”

“You pushed him?” Ernie asked.

“A little,” Burton said.

Like we needed that, I thought. The comment seemed to get under Ernie’s skin, and he stared hard at Burton.

“Are you holding back any other information?” Ernie went on.

Burton eyed me, then looked back to Ernie and shook his head.

“That’s it.”

“Have you done anything else, talked to anybody else related to this investigation?” I asked, working extremely hard to stay as calm as Ernie was.

Burton shook his head. “That’s it.”

“I suggest you leave the rest of this investigation to us,” Ernie said.

Burton waved a hand contemptuously. “Don’t worry. I can see where my help is needed—and where it’s not.”

He narrowed his eyes as he stepped around me, then headed down the block and around the corner. I was so angry, my jaw was locked tight, the muscles aching.

“What the hell does he think he’s doing?” I seethed.

“Making our jobs harder,” Ernie said.

I shook my head vigorously. “I was going to let things go with him, but not now. Rizzo needs to know about this, and I don’t care if it might affect Burton’s retirement. He might’ve made a mess of things, and he needs to be put in his place. Acting as if he’s an investigator himself . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Ernie nodded. “Agreed, but let’s talk to Chandler now and see what he says. I’m sure we can do a better job finessing information out of him than Burton might’ve.”

“I certainly hope so,” I said as we strode toward the restaurant. “Why don’t you start, see if he’s more open with you.”

“And if he’s not, you jump in and play bad cop.”

“Right.”

Now I smiled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Afew people were seated at tables when we walked in. The same hostess I’d seen the previous day greeted us, this time with a curious look on her face. I let Ernie take charge.

“Is Chandler Cohen available?” he asked, his voice easy, a polite smile on his face.

The hostess balked for a second and stared behind us, then nodded. “Let me get him.”

She turned and hurried away. Ernie glanced at me as he rocked on the balls of his feet, hands clasped behind his back. Soft, piped-in music muted the sounds of conversations in the main dining room.

“Something smells good,” Ernie said. “I’m tempted to stay and dine after we talk to Chandler, but my guess is this place is pricey and out of my budget.”

“Probably,” I said. I glanced around. “I read that restaurant margins aren’t great, but what if the place has a great reputation? Does more money come in?”

“Probably, and that income would be threatened by a bad review.”

Ernie stopped rocking and stood straight as the hostess returned, Chandler in her wake. He had a smile plastered on his face, obviously forced, the muscles in his cheeks strained, the smile not reaching his eyes.

“What can I do for you?” he asked. He looked at me as if I would be the one talking to him.

“We’d like a few minutes of your time,” Ernie said.

Chandler’s gaze snapped to him, and he swallowed hard. He seemed ruffled that Ernie was the one to take the lead. The hostess was taking it all in, eyes wide but calculating. She would be telling others about all this.

“Of course.” Chandler’s smile remained. “Why don’t you come to my office?”

“Great,” Ernie agreed.

Chandler eyed me, then spun around and weaved his way through tables, his back ramrod straight, shoulders back. He didn’t say anything to his patrons as he passed them and headed down the hall. He opened his office door and stepped aside for us. I followed Ernie into the small office. Chandler entered, shut the door, then sidled by us and sat at his desk, but since there was only the one folding chair across from him Ernie and I remained standing. Chandler looked up, his gaze flashing between us. It was as if he knew he’d somehow miscalculated, that our standing over him gave us an advantage. He leaned back in his chair, pressed his fingertips together, and waited. Ernie took a long moment to survey the office, the laptop and papers on the desk, the boxes on the shelves, the general cramped feeling in the space. The window blinds were closed, and the room was dim and quiet, no music on. Ernie’s gaze landed on Chandler.

“As I’m sure you would surmise, we’re continuing our investigation,” Ernie began.

Chandler glanced at me, seemed to realize I was letting Ernie take the lead, and he focused on my partner while I remained quiet and focused on his behavior.

“You’re a little late with your follow-up,” Chandler said. “I just talked to Officer Burton.”

Ernie nodded. “What’d you tell him?”

It was a good move on his part, not letting Chandler know we’d run into Burton outside.

“He asked me about the night Piper was murdered, and we went over that evening again,” he said. “That was about it.”

“About it?”

“Yes.”

Ernie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Did he ask about the other restaurants you own?”

Chandler’s tongue flicked across his lips, and he cleared his throat. He glanced again at me as if I might help him out. I remained stone-faced and silent.

“Other restaurants?” Chandler said to Ernie. “Yes, now that you mention it, Officer Burton did ask me about that. He thought I might’ve said something about other restaurants the other night, and I told him he was wrong.”

“Really?” Ernie dropped his hand and put just the right tone in his voice, nothing too harsh to shut Chandler down but enough to show some doubt. “That’s interesting because we’ve been doing some digging, and it would appear you own Sapphire Restaurant. Is my information incorrect?”

Chandler blinked a few times. “Oh, I thought you were asking what Officer Burton thought I’d said the other night. Yes, I do own Sapphire.”

“I haven’t been by there. What kind of food do you serve? The same as this?”

Chandler shook his head. “It’s completely different, sandwiches, burgers, wraps.”

“How’s the place doing?”

“Not bad. The restaurant business can be tough, but it seems to be going all right.”

Ernie glanced around. “Does Sapphire do better than Rosemary & Vine in terms of profit?”

“They both do all right.”

“Is that so? I thought Sapphire was doing better than this place. That’s not the case?”

“This restaurant does fine.” Chandler narrowed his eyes. “I haven’t compared the two recently.”

Ernie shifted on his feet. “I’m curious about why you didn’t mention Sapphire to my partner here the other night.”

Chandler looked at me again. “I didn’t tell you that?”

“No,” I said simply.

Chandler frowned, seeming to hope I would say more. “Oh,” he said. His gaze shifted to Ernie. “An honest oversight. No big deal.”

“Gotcha,” Ernie continued. “Was it an honest oversight to omit any reference to Burger Basics?”

Chandler’s hands dropped to his lap. “How do you know about that?”

Ernie shifted again, this time moving closer to the desk, now towering over Chandler.

“I told you, we’re continuing our investigation.” His expression grew tighter. “We look at everything.”

Chandler nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Where is Burger Basics? The address is incorrect.”

“It closed down.”

“When?”

“A few months ago.” Chandler glanced at me and shrugged.

“You have several business loans, and a lot of debt,” Ernie went on. “Is that usual in the restaurant business?”

“How do you know about that?” Chandler asked, then raised a hand. “Never mind. To answer your question, it depends on what you do. I had to take out loans to get things going, which is common.”

“You have other loans as well.”

“What does this have to do with Piper’s murder?” Chandler asked.

Ernie didn’t answer that. “Did Piper know about these loans?”

Chandler shook his head, maybe too quickly. “Of course not. Why would I share personal information with her?”

Ernie was back to rubbing his chin. “If you’re good friends, or maybe something more.”

“If you’re implying I slept with Piper, that’s not the case.”

“You knew her pretty well though?”

“As I told Detective Spillman the other night, I didn’t know her that well. She came into the restaurant some before she did her review, and not much after.”

“See, that’s an odd thing,” Ernie remarked. “You say you didn’t know Piper that well, but you talked to her quite a bit recently, didn’t you?”

“That’s not true.” Chandler’s voice rose. “We chatted a few times about the review, that’s it.”

“When was the last time you spoke with her?”

Chandler was rubbing his thumb along his left index finger, and he glanced nervously at me. Probably trying to remember what he’d told me the other night. I didn’t say anything, and Ernie waited him out.

“I don’t recall,” Chandler replied.

Ernie pounced on that. “Really? Piper’s phone records show a call from you the night she was killed. You don’t remember that? That was only a couple of days ago.”

Chandler forced a laugh. “Oh, that’s right. We spoke then. She called me.”

Ernie arched an eyebrow. “About what?”

“She wanted to know how things were going.”

“What things?”

“About the restaurant.” Chandler swallowed hard. “Since the review had been posted.”

“Didn’t you tell my partner the review was good?” Ernie glanced at me for confirmation.

“He did,” I said.

Chandler stared at me. “It was.”

“Why worry, if the review was good?”

“It’s just . . .” Chandler didn’t go on.

“Hmm,” Ernie said. “I watched the review, and it didn’t seem overly positive.”

“It was fine,” Chandler said.

“And Piper wanted to know how things were going?” Ernie repeated Chandler’s words back to him.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Chandler shrugged. “As I told Detective Spillman the other night, it’s been fine.”

“You’re sure about that?” Ernie asked.

“Yes. There was nothing to the conversation.”

“Piper must’ve felt like she was friends with you, if she was worried about what her review might do to your business.”

“Maybe,” Chandler said. “We were friendly, if you want to put it like that.”

“Did she come over here that night to talk to you?” Ernie asked pointedly.

Chandler glared at him. “No. We talked on the phone, but I didn’t see her at all.”

“Until you went into the alley and discovered her body.”

“That’s right.” Chandler took a couple of quick breaths. “I told you the truth about that.”

“Yeah, but not about the phone calls,” Ernie said. “Why was that?”

“I told you, it slipped my mind.”

“Were you angry about the review?”

“No,” Chandler said. “I mean, would I have liked a better one? Sure. But it hasn’t affected my business.”

He locked eyes with Ernie, his expression rigid. I wasn’t sure what I thought about his answers. Ernie didn’t seem sure either. He pointed behind him.

“There aren’t a lot of people in the dining room now. Is the lunch crowd normally this light?”

“It’s early,” Chandler said. “It’ll pick up soon.”

“Huh. I thought some employees said business was slow lately.”

“It’s fine.”

“If it weren’t, it’d be difficult to pay back your loans.”

“Yes,” Chandler agreed. “But that’s not the case.”

“Do you own a gun?”

Chandler wiggled a finger at me. “As I told you the other night, I don’t have a gun. I don’t like them.”

“You said you didn’t keep a gun here.”

“I don’t own any guns,” Chandler said. A light knock sounded on the door, and he pounced on the opportunity to interrupt the questioning. “Yes?” he called out loudly.

The door opened, and Ronnie poked his head in. He looked to us, then at Chandler.

“I’ve got a delivery out back, and I need to talk to you about it,” Ronnie said to his boss.

“I’ll be right there,” Chandler said.

Ronnie stayed in place, a hand on the doorknob.

“How’s business?” Ernie asked him with a smile.

“A little slow,” Ronnie replied.

Chandler glared at the cook, who shrank back, his face red.

“Give me a minute,” Chandler said to him.

“Right.”

Ronnie backed out and shut the door with a click. Chandler stood up and looked at us.

“I need to get going,” he announced. “I’ve cooperated with you, both the other night and today. I also told you the truth. If you don’t believe me, perhaps I should call my lawyer.”

Referencing a lawyer was an easy thing to say, not as easy a thing to do. Most people didn’t keep a lawyer on retainer, and they likely wouldn’t call them if they did. Too costly. Ernie didn’t worry about the threat.

“We appreciate your time,” he said. “We’ll continue our investigation, and we may have more questions for you.” He didn’t mention anything about a lawyer being present.

“Fine,” Chandler said.

He moved around the desk and in two long strides was at the door. He jerked it open, then waited. Ernie nodded curtly as he walked into the hall, and I followed. Chandler avoided any eye contact with me. As we sidled between tables through the dining room, I glanced over my shoulder to see Chandler watching us from the kitchen doorway. It was closer to noon now, but the restaurant hadn’t filled up. We thanked the hostess as we passed by and went outside.

“He’s lying,” Ernie pronounced as we walked toward our vehicles.

I nodded. “There’s more to his other businesses, and I wonder about Burger Basics. There’s something odd with that. He was trying to act casual about it all, but he didn’t like that we knew about them. The question is why.” I looked back at the restaurant. “Did Piper have something more on him, something he didn’t want to come out? If so, and if he killed her, where’s the evidence of that?”

“We need to know more about him.” Ernie paused in front of his Camry. “I’ll head back to the station to dig some more. I’ll bet money he has more loans, so more pressure for Rosemary & Vine and Sapphire to do well. And there’s Burger Basics. I want to know more about that place.”

“All this talk of burgers is making me hungry. Lunch first, before we get back to it?” I suggested. “Then I’ll head to Chandler’s neighborhood and knock on some doors, see what people say about him, and if they ever saw Piper.”

“He might’ve slipped up, said something he shouldn’t have.”

“If he did, I’ll find it,” I said with more determination than I felt.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

I nodded, momentarily lost in the thought of a good burger.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Ihad to settle for a sandwich at a nearby Snarf’s, but it was still good. After we finished, I texted Harry to see how his day was going. He updated me briefly, then asked if I could meet later for dinner, a Friday night date. It was a great suggestion. I told him that unless something pressing came up, we could meet at Blue Pan Pizza, a local joint not too far from our house. He agreed, and I told him I’d text him later. Ernie and I went our separate ways, and I headed east on Interstate 70.

Chandler Cohen lived in a newer housing development off Monaghan Road, a stone’s throw south of Denver International Airport. Like most recent construction in the area, the neighborhood had that fresh-from-the-blueprint feel—no mature trees and houses pressed close together, though the lots ran bigger than those in adjacent subdivisions. Some properties were so new their yards were still bare dirt, waiting for sod. Chandler’s house stood out amongst them: a tan and brick two-story with a three-car garage, its long, covered porch and careful grass and rock landscaping suggesting he’d been there long enough to settle in.

I parked down the street and got out, a dry breeze tugging at my blouse. August weather in Colorado tends to be hot and arid, and today was no different. By the time I’d gone up and down his block, I had worked up a sweat. I didn’t find many residents at home. However, I hit pay dirt with a neighbor across the street, a woman I pegged in her thirties with spiky red hair. I introduced myself and asked if she knew Chandler.

She told me her name—Greer—and said, “Yes, I know Chandler. He moved in a few months before us. He’s a nice guy, and we hit it off pretty well.”

“Oh?” I asked. “Any issues with him?”

“Not at all. What’s this about?”

“I’m working an investigation,” I said, completely noncommittal.

“I see.”

She didn’t seem to care that I was a homicide investigator, or that I was asking questions about Chandler. Some people were intensely curious, but others took questioning at face value and didn’t place suspicion anywhere. As we talked, a toddler played on the living room floor behind her.

“You know he’s a chef, right?” Greer said. I nodded, and she went on. “He shared some recipes with me, and he’s a wealth of information. I love to cook, and he’s given me some great tips.”

“How often do you see him?”

She thought about that as she adjusted the collar on her short-sleeved blouse. “He works long hours, but he doesn’t usually leave until eight or nine in the morning, which is when I’m taking Alice for a walk.” She glanced over her shoulder at her daughter. “Sometimes he’ll stop and ask how a recipe worked out, something like that. And he and my husband, Kent, golf sometimes too. And they went to a gun range a time or two. When they do, we might have Chandler over for dinner.”

“A gun range?” I asked as if merely curious.

“Yes. Kent said Chandler was a good shot and knew what he was doing.”

“Did Chandler bring his own guns?”

Greer laughed. “I hadn’t even thought about that, and I didn’t ask. I don’t know if Kent would remember either. It happened a while ago, and it was only once, maybe twice. Chandler’s too busy with all his restaurants to do much else.”

“Which restaurants?” I asked casually.

“There’s Rosemary & Vine, and Sapphire. And what’s the other one?” She pursed her lips.

“Burger Basics?”

“No, that’s not it.” She snapped her fingers with a loud click. “Winging It. It’s a wings place.”

“I’m not familiar with that one.”

“I’m not either. It’s somewhere downtown, and I’m not in that area very often. My husband works up north, and we tend to stay closer to home or near Kent’s office.”

Winging It. Interesting information that I filed away to check later. I went on.

“Is Chandler dating anyone?”

She laughed at that. “Are you kidding? With how busy he is? When would he have time?”

“I thought I heard he was interested in someone.” That was an exaggeration, if not an outright lie, a calculated move on my part.

She shook her head. “No, not that I know of.” She started to say something else, then stopped. “Although I did see a woman at his house not too long ago.”

“What’d she look like?”

She pondered that as her daughter played with a set of blocks in the living room, banging them against each other loudly. “I didn’t pay that much attention. I think she had brown hair that was on the longer side.”

“Heavyset, or thin? Any distinguishing features?”

“Boy, you’re challenging my memory.” Her face scrunched up as she thought. “She was thinner, definitely not chubby. And nothing really sticks out about her.”

I then described Piper as best I could, and Greer considered that.

“It could have been her,” she said. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

“That’s okay. Do you recall what they were doing?”

She shrugged. “They were talking on the front porch, but I don’t know what happened after that because I got busy with Alice.”

“Did the woman stay long?”

Another frown. “I don’t know, sorry. I don’t even remember if she had a car or not. She was just gone.”

When I needed a neighbor to be nosy, she hadn’t been. It happened. I asked her some of the same questions in different ways, and I didn’t get much else. She liked Chandler and had nothing but respect for him. Then her daughter began to cry, and Greer smiled wanly.

“I need to go,” she said.

“I understand.”

I thanked her for her time, and the toddler stopped crying as I walked down the drive. I dashed down the street and got back in the Cherokee, grateful for the air conditioning. I wasn’t far from Interstate 70, and I zipped quickly to the station. When I got there, Ernie was at his desk. I glanced toward Rizzo’s office, ready to tell him about Burton and his interference in the investigation, but his office was dark. Ernie looked up as I sank into my chair and logged onto my computer.

“Where’s Rizzo?” I asked.

“Dunno.” He eyed me. “I’ve been thinking about Burton. Be careful what you say, okay? You don’t want to get into a sticky situation with him, and have him accuse you of anything.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I get that. Just be careful.”

“I want him to stay out of our investigation.”

“I get that,” he repeated, just a bit testily.

Hmm. If I was irritating Ernie, maybe I was a bit on edge. “I hate office politics,” I muttered.

“You and me both. Hey, I found a little more on Burger Basics,” he said. “By more I mean nothing. I can’t find any health department inspections, property tax records, or building permits. But there’s a website for ordering, although it doesn’t list an address. It’s weird, because Chandler said it was closed.”

“Another lie apparently. Check on a place called Winging It,” I said, then told him about my conversation with Greer. “She hadn’t heard of Burger Basics, though.”

Ernie was already typing. “What’s going on with Chandler?” he muttered. “Going to a gun range, even though he said he doesn’t like guns? And all these restaurants?”

“Good question.” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I want to recheck the Rosemary & Vine’s surveillance video.”

“Let me know what you find.”

The room was quiet, no other detectives around. I checked email first and saw one from Tara. She’d completed a preliminary analysis on Piper’s laptop and phone, but unfortunately she hadn’t discovered anything noteworthy. No unusual activity or files on either, and nothing to indicate who might’ve posted the last Instagram review. I told Ernie all that, and then I turned to the surveillance video from Rosemary & Vine.

I started first with the video from the camera that focused on the host stand. I fast-forwarded through it and didn’t see anything noteworthy. I moved on to the second camera that was trained on the main dining room and watched through several days’ worth of footage.

“From what I’m seeing, Rosemary & Vine hasn’t been particularly busy lately,” I said to Ernie. “Even Friday and Saturday nights they weren’t full.”

“The result of Piper’s review, or something else?” He motioned to his computer. “I’m looking through more of Chandler’s banking records, and it’s interesting. There was an influx of money a few years ago. I’m trying to track down where the deposits came from. The man spends a lot of money too. A lot of credit card payments; we’re talking thousands of dollars.”

“What’d he spend it on?”

“I don’t have those records. I’d have to get a subpoena for his credit card information.”

“You should probably do that.”

He nodded. “What fun.”

Ernie hates paperwork as much as I do, but it’s part of the process. And dealing with financial institutions is never fun.

I returned to the surveillance video, moving on to the third camera in the kitchen. I noticed Ronnie several times, not always busy. Chandler was in the kitchen a lot, talking to him and the other staff. When I finished, I started again through the video of the hosts stand. Then I stopped when I noticed something I’d missed the first time through. I backed up the video and watched it play at regular speed. Then I called out to Ernie.

“Look at this, from about a week ago.”

Ernie grunted as he got up, came over, and peered over my shoulder. I pointed at my monitor.

“Watch.”

I played the video, and it showed the host stand. A couple of groups came in, and then Chandler walked up and began talking to the hostess.

“That’s Molly,” Ernie said. “I interviewed her the other day. She didn’t have much to say.”

The video continued. The two talked for a minute, and then Molly stepped away from the host stand and began what looked like a dance routine, as if she were showing Chandler some moves. He joined in, but suddenly stopped and turned as light splayed in from the outside. Molly quickly darted behind the host stand.

“The door’s opening,” I said.

Ernie nodded, and we kept watching. A figure came in, then stopped short.

“It looks like a woman, right?” I asked.

Ernie leaned down and studied the monitor. “Yes, but I can’t tell who.”

“Keep watching.”

Chandler whirled around and pointed at the person in the doorway. We still couldn’t see a face. However, Chandler’s back had stiffened, his posture rigid.

“He looks angry,” Ernie said.

“Right. And look at Molly.”

Her face was visible, her mouth parted, her eyes wide.

“She looks shocked, or maybe stunned,” I suggested.

Ernie nodded. “Whoever’s in the doorway never enters.”

The video continued, and Chandler stalked to the door and disappeared from view. Molly straightened some menus on the host stand, but she kept glancing toward the door. A few minutes later, Chandler walked back inside. The two talked for a moment as Chandler gestured and smiled.

“I wish I could read lips,” Ernie said. “But I can’t see their faces the whole time anyway.”

“A few minutes later, a couple comes in.” I pointed again. “And Chandler heads into the main part of the restaurant with them.” I paused the video.

“Who was that person? Piper, or someone else?”

“Molly didn’t mention this interaction, correct?”

“Not a word about it.” He ran a hand across his forehead. “But why would she? It could’ve slipped her mind, or she didn’t think anything of it. When did that happen?”

“A week ago.”

Ernie frowned. “A lot could happen between then and Piper’s murder.”

“What if Molly remembered that and didn’t want to tell us,” I said. “She might be scared of Chandler. Regardless, it’s worth talking to her again.”

Ernie glanced at his desk. “I could go with you, but I’m knee-deep in all the paperwork with Chandler.”

I shook my head. “You keep at that. And see what you can find on Winging It.” I tapped the desk. “There’s something fishy with Chandler, and I want to know what it is. I’ll hop over to Rosemary & Vine and see what Molly says, if she’s there.”

Ernie agreed and went back to his desk. I grabbed my keys and glanced at Rizzo’s office again. Things with Burton would have to wait, and that would give me time to think through what I wanted to say to Rizzo. I waved at Ernie and headed out of the room.

It was a short drive to Rosemary & Vine, and when I went inside, Molly was at the host stand. She’d been friendly before, and she was now, but behind her genial expression her eyes filled with trepidation. There’d been enough attention on Chandler and on the restaurant, and she seemed to sense something was amiss.

“How’re you doing?” I asked.

She glanced to the main room, the tables empty. Then she looked back at me.

“Do you need to talk to Chandler?”

I shook my head. “I have a question for you.”

“Me?” She sounded shocked.

“About a week ago, someone came into the restaurant while you and Chandler were talking here, and you were showing him some dance moves.” I was right to the point, as I didn’t want her to think through her response. “Chandler was visibly angry with whoever walked in. Do you know who it was?”

“Oh.” She grabbed a pen from the host stand and fiddled with it. “I’m not sure I remember that.”

“Really? You don’t remember the dance routine? Chandler joined in but stopped when the door opened. Then he started talking to whoever it was. He seemed angry, and he went outside.”

She glanced over her shoulder. Worried that Chandler might see her talking to me?

“Oh, I remember what you’re talking about,” she said. “It wasn’t any big deal. I was showing him something I saw on TikTok, and then he went outside to talk to someone.”

“Who?”

“Some woman. I’d seen her around some.”

“Piper Randall? The woman who was murdered in the alley behind the restaurant. She reviewed restaurants on Instagram.”

“Oh, right.” Her jaw dropped. “Yeah, it was her. I’d forgotten that.”

My gut said she was telling the truth. And that left me with questions for Chandler, who seemed to be racking up the lies. I asked if he was available, and Molly shook her head.

“He’s running errands. I don’t know when he’ll be back. You want me to leave a message?”

“I’ll stop back by,” I said, knowing she’d likely tell him about our conversation. If I could surprise him later, that would be better than having him calling me.

I thanked her for her time, and she looked relieved that I was leaving. She glanced yet again toward the main room, relaxing when she didn’t see anyone watching us. I walked outside, and as I walked to my car, I thought about what I’d learned. Chandler had gone to a gun range at least once. Not illegal at all, but was he more familiar with guns than he’d let on, and did he own any weapons that weren’t registered to him? If so, how would I find out?

I pulled out my phone, and called Spats.

“Was Piper’s autopsy completed?” I asked.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“Yes,” Spats replied to my question. “And there was some interesting info.”

I reached the Cherokee, got in, and rolled down the window as I listened as he read through the autopsy report.

“First of all,” he went on, “The coroner found a single .22 caliber bullet that entered just left of the sternum. No exit wound. The bullet tore through her heart before deflecting slightly upward and lodging in the T5 thoracic vertebra. No powder burns around the entry, which suggests she was shot from at least a few feet away. No defensive wounds or signs of struggle. The angle and position suggest she was standing when shot, with the bullet impact causing her to fall forward. Death would have been nearly instantaneous due to the catastrophic damage to the heart. No drugs or alcohol in her system, no other signs of violence, other than the gunshot wound.”

“We know Chandler doesn’t have any registered guns, but he’d gone to a shooting range,” I said, then told him about my conversation with Chandler’s neighbor.

“It wouldn’t be hard for Chandler to get a gun that isn’t registered.”

“Don’t I know that,” I said. “And Jesse Glover had a Ruger that he supposedly got rid of.”

“Or, he could still have the gun,” Spats noted.

“Either man could have killed Piper.”

I pictured the whiteboard at the station, all the information that we’d gathered so far. A lot of it seemed to point to Chandler, but our evidence—such as it was—was circumstantial.

“I also caught up with Jesse,” Spats went on. “He was not happy I showed up at his office, and he did not want to talk to me.”

“How was he when you started questioning him?”

Spats laughed. “He dodged at first, telling me he’d been truthful before, and that I needed to leave him alone. He said he’d get a lawyer blah blah. When I told him he and I could go down to the station and talk there, he eased up a bit and we went into a conference room to chat.”

I could picture Spats, acting all easy-going, letting Jesse think he’d fooled the man. But Spats, like Ernie, missed very little. I waited for him to go on.

“I pushed Jesse on what we’d heard from his neighbor Carmen,” Spats said. “I didn’t use her name, of course, and Jesse didn’t seem to know who’d seen him arguing with Piper. He seems really scared of all the attention on him.”

“Really? Go on.”

“Let me check my notes.” I heard the sound of papers turning, and then he went on. “I walked Jesse through his relationship with Piper again, and went through everything you’d told me he’d said before. Then I got around to the fight he had with Piper. He tried to downplay it again, said that it wasn’t any big deal. That’s when I got a little more intense with him, leaning in, acting as if we had a lot on him. He got nervous at that point. I told him we’d heard he’d threatened Piper, and again, he tried to sidestep that. When I pushed him, he said he did threaten her, but he didn’t mean that he—or anybody else—would kill her. All he meant was that if she posted that negative review, she’d get what was coming to her, that people wouldn’t like it, and that she’d get backlash from it.”

“What negative review? The one from Paradiso Italiano?”

“Yep. That’s what they were arguing about. Piper had told him about the video she’d recorded at Paradiso, and how she didn’t like the owner, that he was rude to her, and she was tempted to post the video. He apparently watched it, and he told her she was being vicious about the whole thing, that the look wasn’t good on her.”

“Meaning, how nasty she was being?”

“Yes. He pointed out that she’d built up a decent following, and it was in large part because even if there were things she didn’t like about a restaurant or their food, she put a positive spin on her review. But this video was the opposite, and he said she shouldn’t post it. According to Jesse, she got mad at him and told him he shouldn’t be telling her what to do, that he hadn’t been supportive of her before and why would he care now?”

“If Jesse wasn’t with Piper at Paradiso to record the video, then who was?”

“I asked him that, and he didn’t know. And before you ask, I believed that.”

“Did he elaborate on the rudeness from Leo?”

“Only that something bad must’ve happened between Piper and Leo. And get this, apparently Leo Marino called Piper about the review. Jesse didn’t know what was said between them, only that he knew she’d talked to Leo. I remember seeing Paradiso on her phone number list, but I figured it was about arranging her restaurant review, that kind of thing.”

“Leo could’ve been calling to try to stop her from posting that review,” I said.

“Exactly. And what else might he have done if she wanted to post it, like threaten her?”

“But if he killed her to keep her from posting the review, who ultimately put it on Instagram?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sounds like we need to talk to Leo again.”

“I can be there in about thirty minutes,” he said.

“I’ll meet you there.”

I ended the call and drove to the Italian restaurant.

***

“Why don’t you talk to Leo,” I suggested as Spats and I walked toward the restaurant entrance. “It might take him off guard.” I was thinking how Ernie had taken the lead with Chandler, and how well that had worked out.

Spats’s outfit today was gray slacks and a white shirt. It was hot, so hot that he’d skipped a coat, a rarity for him. “You got it, Speelmahn,” he said as he straightened a thin black tie.

When we entered the restaurant, it wasn’t busy, any lunch crowd already gone. The hostess I’d seen before was cordial when we asked to speak to Leo. She went to get him, but instead of meeting us at the front, the hostess returned and escorted us to his office. Leo sat with elbows on his desk, his eyes narrow as he stared at us. A garlic smell hung strong in the air, making my mouth water.

“I’m busy today,” Leo said. He eyed Spats and then glared at me. “I can only give you a few minutes.”

We moved into the room, and Spats made a show of looking around, noting the boxes stacked in the corner, the sparseness of the office. We both remained standing. Leo glanced at him again but focused on me. Then his gaze jerked to Spats when my partner spoke.

“We appreciate your taking the time to talk to us,” Spats said. “Especially since you’re so busy.”

“Okay,” Leo said as he leaned back in his chair.

“We have a few questions pertaining to our ongoing investigation,” Spats continued.

As I’d done with Ernie at Rosemary & Vine, I let Spats take the lead as I watched Leo. He appeared to be struggling not to look nervous, at first fidgeting with his hands, gold rings flashing, then clasping his fingers together and laying his hands on his desk.

“How have things been going since that negative review was posted?” Spats asked.

“Not so great,” Leo replied. “I’m trying to mitigate the damage now, trying to get people to think the review was a joke.”

Spats tipped his head to the side. “Was it a joke?”

“It had to be. You’ve seen Piper’s other videos, right?”

Spats nodded, even though I don’t think he’d actually viewed them. “Yes. There’s a lot.”

“Then you know Piper would only post good reviews.”

“Not always.”

“Yeah, but she wasn’t such a bitch, like she was with my review,” Leo snapped.

Spats moved to one of the metal chairs in front of the desk and rested his hands on the back of it. “That brings up an interesting question. Why record such a negative review for your restaurant?”

“I have no idea.”

“Really?”

Leo glanced at me, then shifted in his chair. It squeaked loudly, and he put his feet on the floor so it wouldn’t move again. Then he looked at Spats.

“What’re you getting at?”

“Something happened between you and Piper, and that’s why she recorded such a bad review,” Spats said.

Leo swallowed hard and glanced at me. I raised my shoulders slightly and waited. He looked back at my partner.

“Am I right?” Spats asked in a low voice. “You did something to her, and she wanted revenge; she wanted to get back at you.”

Leo tried hard to keep his feet still, to not shift in the chair, but it squeaked anyway as he squirmed. He rested his hands on the arms of the chair, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere but right there. Then he spoke.

“You’re right. I hit on her, okay?”

Spats furrowed his brow, feigning bemusement. “Hit on her how? She was pretty angry with you, based on that review.”

“I didn’t want to take no for an answer, kept pushing her. That pissed her off.”

“As it should have.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Leo protested angrily.

“Whatever you did was enough to make her record that video.”

“And she got her revenge,” Leo said.

“You told my partner here that Piper wasn’t supposed to do something,” Spats said. “Do what?”

“It was nothing.”

Now Spats put some force in his voice. “It was something, and it’d be better if you tell us now.”

“Fine. Piper and I agreed she wouldn’t post the video, that I would leave her alone, and that was that.”

“Did you threaten her?”

Leo writhed in his chair, and it protested again. He glanced to the door but wouldn’t make eye contact with Spats.

“Okay, I did,” Leo admitted. “I told her I could make things rough for her if she ever posted it. She agreed she wouldn’t.”

“Rough how?”

“I just would,” Leo said.

“You have friends?”

Now Leo glared at Spats. “It could have been taken care of. But I’m telling you I didn’t do anything, and she didn’t post it.” He paused. “At least not before she died.”

“So you know what happened to her?”

“Of course,” Leo said. For the first time, his demeanor cracked, and he ran a hand over his face, then quickly composed himself again. “People have been calling me, telling me about her murder. I don’t get what happened with the review.”

“I don’t either,” Spats said, again with befuddlement in his voice.

“Someone else must’ve posted it,” Leo said. “Piper swore to me she wouldn’t.”

“She could have scheduled it for later.”

“But why?” Leo asked.

I was wondering the same thing. As much as I didn’t like Leo and felt like he was slimy, it didn’t make sense that Piper had scheduled the review and then coincidentally had been killed.

Spats switched gears, trying to see if Leo would change his story. “Did she ever tell you she was going to post it?”

“No.”

Leo seemed genuine, but slick people are good at that. As I studied him, I wasn’t sure what to think.

“Who helped Piper film that day?” Spats asked.

Leo shrugged. “I don’t know. A woman.”

“Piper didn’t introduce her? You didn’t hear her name?”

“No.”

“Was it Piper sister, Delaney?” Spats described her.

Leo gave that careful thought, then shrugged again. “It could’ve been. I don’t remember.”

“You’re sure about that?” Spats asked.

I pulled out my phone and showed Leo the photo of Piper and Delaney that Ernie had texted me. I pointed to Delaney. “Her.”

Leo studied it. “It could’ve been her. I don’t remember, okay? They came in, and they wanted to set up for the review. I left them to it, because we were busy that day, and people were watching them. I wanted to let Piper be herself, and I didn’t want to influence her review in any way.” He snorted. “Little did I know what kind of review she was actually recording.”

Spats stared toward the ceiling, making a show of thinking, then stared long and hard at Leo. Leo tried to stay still and tried not to look uncomfortable. He didn’t succeed.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Spats asked.

“I didn’t kill Piper,” Leo replied. He pointed to me. “You know my cook gave me an alibi for the other night.”

I finally spoke. “He could be lying for you.”

“He’s not,” Leo said.

“Do you have surveillance video?” Spats asked.

Leo shook his head. “I had some cameras outside, but they haven’t been working lately.”

“Convenient,” Spats said.

Leo rose to his feet, his gaze taking us both in. “I didn’t kill Piper,” he said firmly. “If you want to ask me any more questions, you take me down to the station. Some people may threaten that they have a lawyer, but I do, and he’ll be with me.”

The lawyer threat again. Spats glanced at me, and we exchanged a subtle look. Now wasn’t the time to take him to the station. I’d get surveillance on him, and we’d see what he did next.

“Thanks for your time,” Spats said casually. “We’ll be in touch.”

We didn’t wait for Leo to escort us out of his office, and he remained in place as we left.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“What’d you think?” I asked as we stood at our cars in the Paradiso Italiano parking lot.

Spats rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Leo was angry with Piper, that’s for sure. But that doesn’t mean he killed her.”

I looked up, thinking through the interview. “Yeah, but he definitely needs to be watched.”

“Did he give you a list of employees?”

I shook my head. “That’ll be something to follow up on, see if the rest of the employees working that night can verify whether Leo was here.”

“He won’t want to give that to us.”

“Agreed. We’ll have to search through public records, and wage reports, if we can get our hands on that.”

“And social media.” Spats arched an eyebrow. “What about his threat to Piper? Think he has Mafia ties?”

I shrugged. “I wondered that. He had some way he felt he could scare Piper, and it seemed to work. At least until that video was posted.”

“Maybe Leo did know she was going to post it, and he thought by killing her, he’d stopped her. But he didn’t figure she’d scheduled the post.”

“I still can’t explain the review being posted after Piper’s murder. If she scheduled it, that’s one thing. But if she didn’t, and we say Leo did, then why? He was obviously upset about the review.”

“Like you said before, maybe he wanted to posthumously ruin her reputation, so he posted it, even knowing he’d have to do major damage control.”

“It’s a theory, but how do we prove it?”

Spats raised his hand. “I didn’t say I had the answers to everything.”

I laughed at that, then grew serious. “I’ll get surveillance on Leo, and Chandler as well. I want to know what both are up to.”

“Makes sense.”

My phone rang. I held up a finger. “Hold on,” I said to him, then answered with, “Spillman.”

“It’s Barrasso,” the detective said, back on duty. “Thought you’d want to know Tate Pinnock returned home. As far as I know, he’s still in his house.”

“That’s good news,” I said. “I’ll head there now to talk to him. If he leaves, follow him and let me know where he goes.”

“You want me to go with you on this one?” Spats asked when I ended the call. He’d overheard everything and knew what was going on.

I thought about that. “We’re spread thin, but it might be good if you do. Two against one seems to elicit good information.”

He smiled. “I’ll play the heavy, intimidate him just a tad, while you question him.”

I agreed, and he followed me from Arvada to Westminster, where Tate lived. On the way I called the station to get surveillance started on Chandler and Leo. I didn’t expect much from the effort, but if either one did anything suspicious, we’d know and could follow up with them. I soon parked in front of Tate’s house, and Spats pulled in behind me. I wasn’t worried what Tate might think. As far as I knew, he was still at home. We stood on the porch, and I punched the doorbell. Some children rode by on their bikes, and they looked at us curiously. A dog barked in a neighboring yard, and then the door opened. When Tate saw us, his mouth opened in surprise.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“I’d like a few minutes of your time,” I said. I left him little room to deny me the request.

“Okay.”

I glanced behind him to a living room that was messy, some crumpled paper, takeout food containers, and a bowl on a coffee table in front of a couch with cushions askew. No one else seemed to be there. The young man’s gaze strayed to Spats.

“Is something wrong?” Tate asked.

“Just a few questions,” I said.

Spats stood to my left, legs spread apart, hands in his pockets, not smiling. He wasn’t a big man, but right then he was formidable. As we’d agreed, he let me direct the conversation while he remained quiet. Tate looked at me.

“When did you last see Delaney?” I began.

“Last night,” he said. “She was here for a while, and then she left.”

“You two got in a fight.”

His mouth worked as he thought through an answer, possibly wanting to lie, and then he nodded. “Yeah, and she stormed out. She didn’t come back but spent the night at her apartment.”

“How do you know that?”

“I guess I don’t, but that’s what she told me when she called.”

“She called you later?”

“Yeah.”

“You left the house too, and you didn’t return.”

“You’re watching me?” He was a bit incensed at that. I waited him out. Then he said, “I was pissed, and I went to a friend’s house. I drank too much, and I didn’t want to drive home, so I spent the night there.”

A logical explanation, but there was more I wanted to get at, so I continued. “What’d you and Delaney fight about?”

Tate crossed his arms, clearly uncomfortable. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

I was losing my patience with people who didn’t want to answer questions, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I said.

Tate still hesitated. Spats cleared his throat, but that didn’t loosen Tate’s lips.

“There’s more going on with Delaney,” I said. “She was envious of her sister, right?”

Tate slowly nodded. “Yeah. Delaney didn’t like that Piper was getting so much attention with her Instagram and the reviews. Delaney didn’t think it was fair that she worked so hard at her job, and Piper was bringing in all that money just talking about food.”

“Did Delaney help with the videos?”

“Some.”

“Did that make her angry, that she didn’t get credit for helping Piper?”

“Yeah.”

I switched gears. “Did Delaney threaten Piper?”

Tate shook his head. “No, nothing like that. Delaney complained about Piper a lot, that’s all. I got kinda sick of it, to be honest.”

“You met Piper?” I asked, even though he’d shared that the first time I’d talked to him.

“Yeah. Piper was okay.”

I gave him a look. “Really?”

He scratched his cheek. “She was all right, but she could get angry.”

“Angry?”

He nodded. “Delaney and Piper fought like, well, like sisters. They get jealous of each other, at least that’s what I hear about from Delaney. I got two younger sisters, and they fight a lot too.”

“What about recently? How did Delaney and Piper get along?”

Tate hesitated. “Did you hear about the fight?”

“Yes,” I said. “When did it occur?”

“It was a big one, about a week or so ago. Delaney was furious with Piper.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Probably something about Piper’s Instagram account, but Delaney wouldn’t say.”

“Was she angry enough to do something?”

“You mean kill her sister? I don’t know about that.”

“You don’t seem too sure.”

He didn’t say anything to that, and I continued.

“Does Delaney own a gun?”

“Not that I know of.”

So far he seemed to be truthful, but now I wasn’t so sure.

“Come on, level with me.” I pressed him.

“I don’t know, okay?”

“Did she ever talk about shooting guns, or did she go to a range, maybe with you?”

He shook his head. “I don’t own any guns, and I’ve never gone shooting.”

I moved on. “Where was Delaney Wednesday night?” I didn’t tell him what Delaney had said when I’d talked to her at the restaurant.

Without missing a beat, he said, “She was with me.”

I flashed to my earlier interview with him, how poor a liar he’d been. It remained that way now, as his gaze flitted around, and he gnawed his lip.

“How about telling me the truth?” I said.

“I am,” he protested.

Spats shifted to where he could get a better look at Tate, and Tate stared at him. Then the young man looked at me, scratched his arm, and blew out a breath.

“Tate,” I said slowly. “If you’re withholding information pertinent to my investigation, it could go badly for you.” Nothing from him, so I pushed more. “We can take you down to the station and make this interview more formal, if you’d like.”

The threat worked. “She was at home,” he admitted.

“How do you know?”

He threw up his hand. “All right, I guess I don’t. But that’s what she told me.”

“She never came here?”

He shook his head. “We talked on the phone, and she let me know about her sister. She was upset, just like I told you before.”

“Do you think Delaney was home that entire evening?”

“I guess. We went out Tuesday night, and she spent the night, but then she went home early Wednesday morning. I guess she went to work, and I don’t know what she did that evening.”

“You should’ve told me this before,” I said.

His cheeks reddened. “I didn’t want to lie for her,” he tried to justify his actions. “That’s what we were arguing about last night. She was all scared about what you guys would think about her, that you’d find out she and Piper had gotten in that huge fight. I told her that just because she’d clashed with her sister it didn’t mean she would kill her, but I couldn’t reason with Delaney. She finally got me to agree to lie for her, that if anyone asked, to tell them she’d been here with me all night.” His face scrunched up, and he looked miserable. His eyes pleaded with me. “It was a stupid thing to do, I know, but you don’t understand Delaney. She can be really persuasive, and she gets what she wants.”

“You still should’ve told us,” I said.

He glanced at Spats, then me. “Am I in trouble?”

“What else are you lying about?” I asked.

“Nothing!” he said. “That’s the truth.”

He looked at Spats as if hoping my partner would validate him, but Spats remained in place, staring impassively. Tate eyed me.

“Did Delaney tell you she went downtown Wednesday night?” I asked.

He shook his head. “She said she was at home when she got the call about her sister. I believe her. She may have fought with Piper, but she wouldn’t have killed her.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugged and didn’t answer.

“Where’s Delaney now?” I asked.

“At Piper’s apartment. Her mom called. They need to get an outfit for . . . you know, for her sister. For the funeral.” He ran a hand down his face. “I didn’t particularly like Piper, but man, I can’t believe she’s dead.”

He was more real in that moment than he’d been with me up to now. For a moment, I felt sorry for him. But I was also irritated with his lies. I pressed him more on his answers, and I tried to keep him off balance. Everything he told me remained the same, and I finally thanked him for taking the time to talk with us. He was quick to close the door, and Spats and I headed down the sidewalk.

“Delaney has some explaining to do,” I said.

Spats nodded. “How about you handle that one, and I’ll get to work on Leo Marino.”

I let out a big sigh. “Does any of this make sense to you? Do you feel like we’re any closer to finding a killer?”

He looked into the sky, then shook his head. “It’s not coming together yet.”

I nodded, completely agreeing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Idrove to Piper Randall’s apartment, where Tate said Delaney would be. Delaney was shocked to see me, that was clear when the color drained from her face as she answered the door.

“Detective, uh, Spillman correct?” She didn’t wait for a reply but glanced behind me to see if I was alone. Then she said, “How did you know I was here?” Again, she didn’t let me speak but frowned and said, “You talked to Tate.”

Now I had my chance to speak. “I had an interesting conversation with him. He told me you weren’t with him Wednesday night.”

I got that far, then paused as I saw Frankie Kominsky, Piper’s neighbor, appear at the top of the stairs. As she walked down the corridor, Lucy Arbogast emerged from her apartment. Both women converged on me as I stood outside Piper’s door. Delaney eyed them as I stepped aside to let them pass, and Lucy went downstairs while Frankie gave me a look as she unlocked her door and disappeared into her apartment. I looked at Delaney again. To her credit, she didn’t try to lie to me, but let out a resigned sigh as she glanced up and down the corridor. Then she stepped back.

“Why don’t you come in, where we can talk in private,” she said.

I stepped into Piper’s apartment and stood at the end of the kitchen counter. Delaney shut the door, crossed her arms, and leaned against the wall. I stared at her.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you,” she said.

That seemed a common theme of late. I glanced around. The place was the same, nothing disturbed since I’d been there. Delaney noticed my look.

“I haven’t touched anything,” she said. “Mom didn’t want me to. We need to get through the funeral, and then we’ll take care of things.”

Her eyes grew soft, and she wiped away tears that tumbled down her cheeks. It was more emotion than I’d seen before, and I wasn’t sure what to think. It could’ve been genuine grief, but she was also on my suspect list. I treaded carefully in the conversation.

“I’m glad you didn’t lie again about the other night,” I said.

“I’m sorry.”

I nodded. “Where were you?”

“I was home the whole night. Like I said, I watched those Chicago shows on TV.”

I glanced behind her, as if I could see into the corridor. “Is there anyone who can verify that?”

“I doubt it. I didn’t see anyone. But I was home. Why are you focusing on me?”

I was direct with her. “Because some things aren’t adding up. I keep hearing how you and Piper didn’t get along, how you were envious of her, that you didn’t like her recent success.”

“I am jealous of her.” Her gaze roved around the apartment. “You know she was talking about buying a house? I make good money, but I can’t afford that. And people treated her like she was something special, just because of the Instagram account.”

“It can make you crazy.”

“Yes.” Her head whipped around to face me. “Don’t misconstrue me. I would never have hurt Piper. If you talked to everyone like you say, you would know that. I loved my sister, despite our differences.”

I couldn’t get a feel for her, to know if she was telling me the truth, or if she was playing me. I didn’t like that. I moved into the living room, nonchalantly looking around.

“Piper had some nice things,” I said as I studied the art piece with coffee rings and wine stains that I’d seen before. “Is that an original?”

“Yes. She bought it recently.”

“Nice.”

“Piper was excited about decorating a new place.” Delaney moved toward the counter and picked up a brightly colored vase. “She got this on a trip to Hawaii. Some artist she liked.” She set it down, her back to me. “If you ask me, she may have had taste in food, but not in other things.”

Some of that envy was coming through.

“The apartment seems fine to me,” I said, mostly to keep her talking.

Delaney snorted as she touched the tray with the potted herbs that sat on the counter. “I mean, look at this? It’s kind of tacky, don’t you think? It’s doesn’t fit with the other decor.”

“Why’d she keep it?”

Delaney primped some of the plants, then turned around and brushed off her hands. “I don’t know. One of the neighbors gave it to her, so I guess she had to take it. But you’d think she’d get rid of it.”

“Maybe she liked having fresh herbs around. She liked to cook, right?”

She shook her head. “Yeah, but Piper said it was sort of an apology gift, that they’d gotten in a fight about something. But Piper didn’t like it.”

“A fight?” I thought about one neighbor. “Frankie Kominsky?”

“I don’t know about it so don’t ask.”

“Okay.” I casually focused the conversation back on her. “Did you and Piper do anything together, besides go out once in a while?”

“Yeah. We’d go to the movies or go dancing, and sometimes we went to yoga together.”

“Did Piper have other hobbies?”

“Not really. It was just food.”

“Was she interested in guns?”

Delaney froze for a moment, as if she’d been doused with cold water. Then she blinked, seeming to get her brain to reboot. “Where’d you hear that?”

“It doesn’t matter. What about you?”

She shook her head. “I’ve never touched a gun in my life, and I don’t think Piper had either.”

Again, I wasn’t sure about her answer. Someone outside yelled, and Delaney glanced away. I went on.

“When I talked to you before, I asked you about Piper’s review of Paradiso Italiano. It was quite negative.”

“Right. And I told you I didn’t remember it.”

I let a silence stretch between us, long enough to let her know I wasn’t automatically accepting what she’d said. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“You weren’t at Paradiso, helping Piper video the review?”

Her nostrils flared. “Did someone tell you that?”

“Someone thought you were there,” I said, not quite the truth but close. “You’re in marketing, and you said you helped her some.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I wasn’t there.”

“If not you, who might’ve been helping Piper?”

“Maybe one of her other friends.”

“Aubrey?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think Aubrey helped her, but it might’ve been one of the neighbors here. I think one time Piper said something about borrowing a tripod or something. Maybe they helped her with some recording.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.” When she saw my look, she tacked on, “Really. I don’t know.” Said with emphasis.

“Did Piper talk about Paradiso’s owner, Leo Marino?”

Her mouth started to form a ‘no,’ then stopped. “He owns Paradiso? Yeah, she mentioned him. He was a jerk to her, hit on her. That’s the restaurant?”

I didn’t see any need to deny it, and I nodded. “You never met Leo?”

“No, but Piper talked about him, said he was a real scumbag.”

“Did he threaten her in any way?”

“If he did, she didn’t tell me. She didn’t like him, that was for sure.”

No doubt, if Leo had hit on her, and then frightened her into not posting her review of his restaurant. But Delaney seemed clear that Piper hadn’t spoken about threats.

“What about Chandler Cohen?” I continued. “You said she was upset with him.”

“She was.”

“Something about his ‘not wanting her to talk about it,’” I refreshed her memory.

“Right. She mentioned him, and something about the restaurant, and about the host kitchen.”

“What does that mean?”

Her eyes fixed on something indistinguishable, as if the answer might materialize in the air in front of her. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask a lot of questions because she started in on the review of Rosemary & Vine, and I got tired of hearing about her reviews.”

“Did he threaten her?”

“I don’t know.”

I went over everything again, and when I finished, I was back where I’d started. I wasn’t sure whether I believed Delaney, and I wondered if she was trying to point me in a different direction, to keep the focus off her. She certainly had motive to harm her sister, and I’d seen envy do a lot of things to people. But I had no concrete proof of Delaney committing any crime, let alone murder.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” I asked.

“No.” Then she said pointedly, “Are you finished?”

“Yes. Thanks for your time.”

Delaney moved to the door and opened it, and I stepped into the corridor. The door closed behind me, and I went across the hall and knocked on Frankie’s door. She didn’t answer, and I tried again, then slowly walked down the stairs and left the building.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

When I got to the Cherokee, I moved it farther down the parking lot, where I could see the apartment building entrance, in case Delaney came out. I was curious if she’d have one of Piper’s outfits with her—validating what she’d told Tate and me—and where she might go. While I waited, I called Ernie.

“Sarah,” he said, his voice etched with enthusiasm. He rarely called me by my first name. Whatever he had must’ve been big. “I found some good information on Chandler. I knew there was something fishy with this guy, and it’s piling up.”

“What’s going on?”

“Okay, we know he operates Rosemary & Vine, Sapphire, Burger Basics, and Winging It. It took some digging through county and other public records, but I found a Chinese restaurant called Golden Dragon—creative,” he said sarcastically.

“That’s five restaurants.”

“Yes. And he only wanted to tell us about one. Why not mention any of the others?”

I couldn’t answer that. The parking lot remained quiet as Ernie went on.

“And get this. None of the addresses are the same—which would make sense—but they’re clustered in the same area as Sapphire, and I can’t find legitimate addresses for the last three.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely. I checked and checked again. And there’s another loan for Golden Dragon. I stumbled across a business license application, and the loan’s with a different bank, so I missed it the first time. I’ll bet he has even more loans somewhere.”

“Could be. Did you see anything about host kitchens?” I told him about my conversation with Delaney. “I’m not familiar with the term or what they are.”

“Let me google it.”

As Ernie worked on that, Frankie Kominsky walked out of the building. She looked my way, but I couldn’t tell if she spotted me. She crossed the parking lot to an older model Kia Soul—the boxy kind I never liked—with a dent on the front end, got in, and drove off. Still no Delaney. Then Ernie spoke again.

“I’m going to sound like Wikipedia.” Then he began to read from some kind of website, I assumed. “A host kitchen is a kitchen that uses existing space in order for two or more operations to run at the same time. For instance, a hotel could have a restaurant that would obviously have a kitchen. On a typical night, they don’t use a hundred percent of their space to prepare meals. They can set up a delivery-only restaurant that would utilize the extra kitchen space to prepare their food. And that brings in more income for the hotel restaurant. This can happen with any restaurant, café, bar, and apparently even schools and,” he paused, “hospitals sometimes do this. Huh. I never knew such a thing existed.”

“Neither did I.”

“You think Chandler’s doing something like that?”

“If so, why not tell us? What’s there to hide?”

“We should ask him that, but I’d like to know more about this latest restaurant first. I was thinking about driving over there to see what the operation is like. Care to join me?”

“I would,” I said. “What’s the address?”

“It’s on East Twenty-third Street, near Sapphire, in the South Park Hill neighborhood. I’ll text you the address.”

“I can pick up Sixth and be there soon, depending on traffic.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

I felt as if I’d been driving all over the city, and in a way I had. As I was afraid, traffic was heavier, and it took me longer than I would’ve liked to get to the address Ernie had texted me. He was parked down the block, but I had to find a space around the corner. When I walked back, he was waiting by his Camry. He pointed to a red-brick building across the street.

“That’s the address but there’s nothing to indicate a restaurant is there.”

“Let’s go in and see what’s up,” I suggested.

We crossed Twenty-third and approached a heavy wooden door that had the street number above it. Blinds in the windows were closed. Ernie looked around, then stepped back and glanced up, as if somehow there might be a restaurant, or seating, on the roof.

“I know this is the correct address,” he muttered. He went to the door and knocked. No one answered, and he tried the handle. “Locked.”

I tried peering in the windows, and I thought I heard something. “Listen.”

Ernie cupped his ear on the glass. “Sounds like something’s going on in there. And maybe music?”

He moved back and surveyed the street, a hound dog on a fresh trail. He headed down the block, motioning for me to follow, and we went around the corner to an alley.

“The restaurant’s in the middle of the building,” I said.

He nodded, and we walked past a dumpster and saw a back entrance to what had to be the rear of the supposed restaurant. The door was closed, but as we watched, an older sedan drove up, and a young man in shorts and an Oxford shirt got out, dashed up steps, and disappeared through the door.

“There’s no seating around here,” I said. “If there’s a restaurant, is there seating inside, and if so, why couldn’t we get in through the front door?”

“They’re closed?”

I pointed to the sedan. “Maybe you go through the rear door?”

He shrugged. We waited a moment, then headed to the door. I put my badge in my pocket, and Ernie did too. I wanted to see what we found before anyone knew we were law enforcement. We were close to the steps when the young man emerged from the building, carrying a large paper bag with a handle. As the door closed, I got a quick look inside and saw some people standing at metal tables, preparing food. As the young man hurried down the steps to his car, we approached.

“Hey there,” I called out to him and pointed to the door. “Is there a restaurant in there?”

The man shook his head. “You can’t eat in there, it’s just take-out.”

“For Golden Dragon?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s one of them.” Ernie and I started for the door, and the man kept talking. “You can’t go in and order something. You gotta do it online.” He put the paper bag in his car, and as he slid behind the wheel he said, “You know, like Grubhub.”

Ernie began to ask more about Golden Dragon, but the vehicle door was closing, and the kid backed up and drove out of the parking lot.

“That was strange,” Ernie said.

He pulled out his phone and got on the Internet, and after a moment, he showed me the screen.

“Here’s Golden Dragon. The kid’s right; we have to order online.”

“Should we do it?” I asked.

“And then what, give them this address to deliver the food to?”

I snickered at that and was pondering what to do next when another car drove up. This time a woman, probably in her twenties, got out. It was the same routine, her going into the building, then coming back out, this time with a full plastic bag with a Winging It logo.

“That’s a Grubhub delivery?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Ernie pocketed his phone and pointed to the door. “I thought Golden Dragon was in there.”

“You can get that too,” she said. She got into her car and drove off.

“Two restaurants at the same address?” I mused.

“What’s going on?” Ernie asked.

He glanced around, then marched to the dumpster that we’d passed. I followed, and he peeked over the edge, wrinkling his nose.

After a moment, he said, “Let me see something.”

He boosted himself up, feet dangling, his bulk hanging from the edge of the dumpster with one arm as he reached down inside with his free hand. He began throwing out trash, and I dodged a container.

“Hey, watch out,” I said.

“Sorry.”

A few more pieces of trash flew out, and then he dropped to the ground and gathered up several take-out containers. They all looked the same—round and white, with plastic lids—but he pointed to one.

“Look at this, it’s for Golden Dragon. And then this, for Winging It.”

“The containers are exactly alike,” I said, not sure what that meant.

It was as if he’d heard my thoughts churning. “Is that significant?”

I took a container and twirled it around. “Look, they have stickers on them. If you serve wings in one, you slap on a sticker for Winging It. If you’re serving Golden Dragon, you slap on a sticker for that.”

He took the container from me, then chucked it and the others back into the dumpster, brushed off his hands, and looked toward the restaurant entrance.

“I didn’t know you could have multiple restaurants in one place,” he said. “And none that have dining in.”

“Isn’t that a host kitchen?”

“I thought so, but maybe I’m missing something.” As he pulled out his phone he said, “Well, a host kitchen is where you rent out part of your space, right? If that’s the case, there should be an actual restaurant there.” He pointed toward the door.

I pulled out my phone as well. “I don’t know. This is out of my area of expertise.”

We stood for a moment, both of us googling the term “host kitchens,” trying to understand what was going on.

“Huh,” he said. “I don’t know how I missed this before, but I can order from Burger Basics online. But there doesn’t appear to be a restaurant.”

“A host kitchen should have an existing dine-in restaurant,” I said.

“Right. I’m trying to see if a host kitchen operates without any actual seating, if there’s a way for people to come in and order.”

As we searched the Internet, a pickup truck pulled up, and an older man went inside the building, returning with yet another delivery bag.

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “Here’s something about a ‘ghost kitchen.’”

“What the hell is that?”

I began reading from my phone screen. “A ghost kitchen isn’t part of a regular kitchen operation. It’s a stand-alone commercial kitchen facility that exists solely to prepare food for delivery and possibly takeout, and it often houses a variety of what they call ‘virtual restaurants’ that have no physical dining space. It's essentially a kitchen-only operation that prepares food for several different restaurant brands.”

Ernie was pacing. “So let me get this straight. A host kitchen has to have an actual space that serves people, with a delivery-only concept on the side. A ghost kitchen is where it’s all delivery, a bunch of restaurants at one location.”

I nodded. “That sounds about right.” Then it dawned on me. “Delaney must’ve heard ghost kitchen, not host kitchen.”

He thought for a moment. “What if Piper knew Chandler was running a ghost kitchen? But what’s the big deal about that?”

We both turned back to our phones, now googling ghost kitchens.

“Look at this,” I said. “There’s fraud with ghost kitchens, and recently with PPP loans.”

“PPP?” Ernie said.

“Those government loans during Covid,” I said and glanced at my phone. “The Paycheck Protection Program. In 2022, a company called Reef Technology operated ghost kitchens without proper permits, and they misrepresented their operations to both consumers and investors.” I read more. “And in 2023, there was a major case involving a ghost kitchen operation in New York that fraudulently obtained millions in COVID relief funds by creating multiple ‘virtual restaurants’ that were actually all operating from the same kitchen. They used fake addresses for each restaurant, but there was just one actual kitchen in operation. They didn’t need loans to operate several places because there was only the one.”

Ernie looked up from his phone. “And guess who had a bunch of cash deposits?”

“Chandler.”

“You think he’s committing fraud, and Piper discovered that?”

He nodded. “Right now I’d say that’s a good guess.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Sounds like we’re going back to Rosemary & Vine.”

“Yep.”

I smiled at Ernie. A man of few words.

CHAPTER THIRTY

When Ernie and I walked into Rosemary & Vine’s, Chandler was standing at one of a few full tables in the main dining room, talking to some customers. He was laughing but his smile vanished when he saw us. He said something else to them, then headed our way. Molly, the hostess, barely greeted us before Chandler walked up.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, careful not to say our names, or to note that we were detectives. His tone was clipped, barely dancing at the edge of politeness.

The people he’d been talking to glanced our way, but I wasn’t sure if they would peg us as detectives, since neither Ernie nor I had clipped our badges back onto our waistbands. Moments before, as we’d approached the restaurant entrance, Ernie and I had agreed he’d take the lead. Now, Ernie stared at Chandler, whose mask of civility was wearing thin.

“Could we have a few moments of your time?” Ernie glanced to the sparsely populated dining room. “Things don’t look too busy.”

Chandler prickled at the comment but nodded. “Follow me please.”

Even without our badges visible, people seemed to pick up on our vibe. And so we endured stares as we passed through the dining area and into his office. Chandler went around his desk, but he didn’t sit down. The room was quiet, no music on now. Smells from the kitchen wafted in, some spices I couldn’t place. Ernie and I stood, even though Chandler gestured toward the lone chair that faced him. Now that he was away from prying eyes and ears, Chandler’s demeanor dropped its remaining pretense of calm, and color blazed across his cheeks.

“I told you the last time we spoke that I’d get my lawyer,” he said, anger seeping into every syllable.

Ernie wielded politeness like a weapon. “By all means, call a lawyer if you’d like. We can head down to the station now and wait for him, or her.”

Chandler’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and he stared long and hard at Ernie as he debated his options. Then he shook his head.

“That’ll take a lot of time,” he said. “What do you want?”

Ernie glanced at me with a look as if to say he’d called Chandler’s bluff, and it had worked. Sometimes a move like that might not have been prudent, and it risked backfiring, but I highly doubted Chandler had a lawyer at the ready, and Ernie knew that too.

“We discovered some interesting things today,” Ernie said, still with exaggerated courtesy. “About your restaurants.”

“Oh?” Chandler said.

Ernie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Yeah. So you have this place,” he waved a hand around, “and then there’s Sapphire and Burger Basics.”

Chandler exhaled shortly. “We’ve gone over this, Detective. There’s nothing to tell about any of those places, and if that’s all you have for me, I’m busy and I need to get back to the restaurant.”

Ernie glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t have a lot of customers out there.”

The red on Chandler’s face crept down into his neck. “Maybe so, but we have a lot of reservations.”

“I’ll get to it then,” Ernie said. “We discovered you own another restaurant, called Winging It, and there’s one called Golden Dragon.”

Chandler’s posture went rigid, and he glanced at me. I widened my eyes in return, and let Ernie continue.

“So?” Chandler said, trying for defiance.

“That’s five restaurants,” Ernie said. “You only told us about one. This one.”

“Is there a crime against that?”

“No. Not if everything is above board. But see, it doesn’t look that way. First, you said Burger Basics is closed.”

“It is.”

“But I can order takeout from it. I checked.”

Chandler gulped. “That’s what I meant.”

“Ah,” Ernie said. “I also researched your financials. You obtained several loans in 2020 and 2021, and then right after that, you transferred money to personal accounts.”

“Again, nothing wrong with that,” Chandler said.

Ernie nodded slowly. “Right, right. But shortly after the transfers, you had new loans, for things like a large mortgage and a boat and an RV. There’s plenty of loan money to pay off credit card debt too.”

“And?”

“Shouldn’t those loans go to help your restaurants?”

Chandler was silent as he drummed his fingers on his thigh.

“Here’s the thing,” Ernie said. “As I looked at these restaurants more, it would appear you’re running a ghost kitchen. You’re familiar with the term?”

“A what?” Chandler crossed his arms and looked down.

“A ghost kitchen,” Ernie repeated. “It's clever, really. You've got what, five different restaurants? But they’re all just your guys cooking in one kitchen. Customers order from Burger Basics, never knowing it's the same place making Chinese food for Golden Dragon. And it’s all take-out, delivered by Uber Eats or Grubhub, that kind of thing.”

“Even if I were doing that, it’s not illegal.”

“You are doing that,” Ernie said. “And I agree that in and of itself, it’s not illegal.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“If you obtained loans claiming you’re running separate kitchens with separate staff, that’s a problem.”

Chandler took a small step back, then said, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ernie sounded both slightly amused and puzzled. “So if I check into all your loans, I’m not going to find, say, PPP loans that you got fraudulently?”

“How would I do that?”

“I’m just speculating here, but what if when you applied for the loans, you faked employee counts and payroll numbers, or you had residential or fake addresses for these kitchens. The key for PPP loans is in the timing. Early during the process, the feds had minimal verification requirements due to the urgency in getting funds to businesses, so lots of fraudulent applications slipped through before stricter controls were put in place.”

“That’s absurd.” Chandler didn’t sound convincing.

“You seem like a smart guy, and you know the restaurant business. You saw an opportunity, and you took it.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Ernie let that go for the moment and moved on. “And then there’s the whole thing with Piper’s killing.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Chandler said. “You know that.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t know.”

“What’re you saying?”

“That someone who has fraudulent loans,” a stretch, but Ernie went on, “might have a motive for murder.”

“Motive?” Chandler wasn’t so sure of himself now.

“What if Piper knew what you were doing, and she threatened to expose that?”

“That’s absurd,” Chandler repeated.

“Is it?” Ernie asked, almost a whisper.

Chandler first had avoided eye contact, and now he stared at Ernie but didn’t say anything.

“Here’s how it went,” Ernie ventured. “Piper knew about the fraudulent loans, so you lured her here, maybe told her you needed to talk. She showed up but you didn’t let her inside the restaurant because of the surveillance cameras. No, you two went into the alley and you shot her.”

“You have no proof of that because it didn’t happen,” Chandler exploded. “I was the one who found her body and called you.”

“What’d she know?” Ernie asked.

Chandler’s fingers twitched restlessly at his sides. He looked at me, and I finally spoke.

“It’d be better if you tell us,” I said.

The expression on his face changed, morphing from confidence to calculated indifference and finally to resignation. As that happened, he swiveled the desk chair around and sank into it. His shoulders sagged, defeated. Then he looked up at us.

“You’re right about one thing. Piper knew about the other restaurants, and she suspected something wasn’t on the up and up with them.”

“About the loans?” I asked.

“We didn’t get into all that, but she figured it out.”

“It?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Fraudulent loans?”

He didn’t reply. I asked again, but he wouldn’t clarify what he’d meant. I wanted to push him more, to get him to admit he’d obtained fraudulent loans, but he was being evasive, too smart for that. I flashed back to my interview with Neil Lott, who’d also been too smart to get caught. But I told myself to let that go, to focus on Chandler.

“I don’t know how she knew about the other kitchens,” he said. “Maybe someone told her. I’ve been careful about the whole thing though, so I don’t get it.” He seemed almost awed that Piper had discovered what he’d done.

“She threatened to tell?” Ernie asked.

Chandler stared at the surface of his desk, then nodded. “I didn’t kill her. All I tried to do was get her to agree to keep her mouth shut.”

“How’d you do that?” Ernie went on.

Chandler looked at me. “You’re going to laugh, but she blackmailed me.”

“How?” I asked, taking lead for the moment.

“I have friends who own some bigger, more well-known restaurants, not just in Denver, but across the country. Places where they wouldn’t want someone recording reviews there. She didn’t have a big enough name, even though she had a large Instagram following. She wanted to use me, to get me to introduce her to some of the owners, to convince them to let her do a review.”

“Did that happen?”

He shook his head. “We were talking about all of that when she was killed.”

“Did you kill her?” I asked softly.

“No!” he said firmly.

“You don’t own a gun?”

“I told you, no.”

“Right,” I said. “You never really liked them.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you went to a gun range.”

“How do you—” He stopped. “You can rent guns there.”

“You’re familiar with weapons.”

“So?” He wiped sweat off his brow. “You may not believe this, but even with everything Piper was doing, I liked her. I thought she did a good job.”

“But she could ruin you,” Ernie interjected.

“Look at the surveillance video.” Chandler eyed me. “You saw me going in and out of the kitchen. There’s no way I could’ve met Piper in the alley without being caught on the cameras.”

I pointed to the window, where the blinds were closed, just as he’d said they always were.

“You could’ve sneaked out that way and no one would’ve known. You meet her in the alley, shoot her, and then sneak back inside.”

He shook his head. “That’s not true. It happened just like I told you. I was in here working, and I took trash out to the alley and discovered her body.”

“Speaking of the surveillance video,” I continued, “there was one day about a week ago where you were at the host stand, dancing with Molly. The camera captured that. Someone came through the front entrance, and you pointed at the person in the doorway and appeared angry. Molly said you went outside to talk to whoever it was. Piper?”

He leaned back and ran a hand over his face. “Yes. She wanted to talk about the other restaurants, pressing me about whether I’d help her. She threatened me and said I’d better start introducing her to some of my restaurant friends or she’d tell the police what I was doing.”

“Did Molly hear anything?” I asked, even though I’d gotten her version.

He shook his head. “I don’t think she knew who it was, or why she wanted to talk to me.”

That matched what Molly had said, but it didn’t rescue Chandler from his predicament.

“I didn’t do anything to Piper,” he said.

Ernie took over again. “I’m not sure I believe you.” He made a production of looking at me, and I shrugged.

“I’m telling the truth.” Chandler sighed.

“Where were you last evening?” I asked. “You say you’re almost always here.”

“Running errands,” Chandler said.

“Or at Sapphire? Or your ghost kitchen?”

He didn’t answer. I stared at him. He could’ve been telling the truth, and I asked the question to try to shake him up. He didn’t bite.

Ernie glanced at me. We were at an impasse, getting the same information from Chandler. We had a lot of suppositions, and things we needed to follow through on. I had more questions for him though.

“Was anyone with Piper when she filmed her review of this restaurant?”

Chandler shook his head. “She was alone, but I know she had help, at least sometimes, because she mentioned it.”

“Who helped her?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Her sister, and maybe someone else. They were envious of her.”

“How do you know that?”

“She’d talk about it.”

“Any names?”

He shook his head. “You should be looking at others, not me. Her sister, friends, a neighbor. Not me.” He clamped his jaw shut. I signaled to Ernie, who then looked at Chandler.

“Is there anything else you want to tell us?” Ernie asked him.

Chandler shook his head. “I’ve said enough. If you want to discuss anything else, I will call my lawyer.”

“We’ll let you know.” Ernie was back to casual mode.

Chandler stared at us, and I turned to leave his office, Ernie at my heels.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Just stay calm. The police won’t figure out what happened.

I was too careful. I am too careful.

They won’t figure out how things went down. Surveillance cameras could be a pain but not impossible to deceive. And the gun. Easily bought on the black market. No way to trace that, and it’s gone, now down a street drain. Piper didn’t suspect a thing. Just talking about the review, and then turning to see the gun. Quick, and quiet with the silencer on the weapon. Then out of the alley fast. Not running into anyone.

The police think they’re smart, but I can handle their questions. Even if they catch a lie or two, it’s not proof of anything.

And I’ll get away with murder.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ernie and I walked in silence until we reached our cars. He leaned against the Camry, crossed his arms, and looked at me.

“Well?” There was so much in that one word, heavy with shared understanding—we’d both watched Chandler dig himself a deeper hole with every answer he’d given us.

“You noticed he never actually admitted to anything fraudulent,” I said.

“Yep. He admitted that Piper knew about the ghost kitchen, and she’d threatened to expose that. But expose what, if there wasn’t something illegal?”

“He wasn’t clear about that, or about what went on between them.” I pulled out my phone. “There’s nothing illegal about a ghost kitchen, in and of itself?”

Ernie shook his head. “Not that I saw.”

I stood on the sidewalk and checked some internet search results, then shrugged and looked at him.

“If Chandler obtained fraudulent PPP loans, that would be illegal,” I said.

“Right. It’ll take more digging to see if that’s true.”

“Did you buy the part about her blackmailing him?”

Ernie’s face scrunched up as he contemplated that. “I don’t know. Was he deflecting, trying to get us to look elsewhere? If Piper had been doing that, it would make sense that they’d been talking on the phone, and that she’d shown up at the restaurant to talk to him.”

“Think he’s hiding something else?”

“That he’s a murderer?”

I nodded. “I’m not sure what to think. And what was that bit about looking at everyone else?”

“He was working hard to keep the focus off himself.”

“Delaney was envious, at least according to others, and she doesn’t have an alibi for Wednesday night.” I thought about that. “Are we missing something?”

“Good question. If she killed her sister, where’s the evidence?”

“If Chandler killed Piper, we have to find that proof, too.”

Ernie uncrossed his arms and looked at me. “Be careful. We don’t want to pin a crime on an innocent man.”

“I’d never do that,” I snapped, then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want this to end like the Lott case.”

“We’re a long way from that,” he said. “There are still plenty of stones to turn over. Who knows what we’ll find?”

I sighed. “It’s getting late, and I need to meet Harry for dinner. Why don’t you pick up your research on Chandler Monday? We’ll need to get a subpoena for his business records, credit card statements, any other bank information. All that stuff. In the meantime, we have surveillance on him, and Leo Marino, so we’ll know what they do over the weekend.”

He was nodding while I talked, and he said, “Zo has basketball practice tomorrow, but I can spend some time writing up a subpoena this weekend so I can hit the door running first thing on Monday.”

“I’ll do more digging too. We have a lot of surveillance video, and I’ve never looked at all of Piper’s social media. Maybe I’ll uncover something we missed before.”

Ernie pushed himself away from his car, then glanced to Rosemary & Vine. “I’m not sure how this will go—whether we’ll find something fraudulent. If we do, we can interview Chandler again. I don’t care if he gets a lawyer. And if we need to, we could try a polygraph test, something to rattle him, especially if he fails any part of it.”

I was thinking about Gloria Lott, how her husband had failed a lie detector test. And yet, it hadn’t made a difference. He’d never admitted to any wrongdoing, and polygraph exams aren’t admissible evidence in Colorado. It’s frustrating. Even if Chandler submitted to an exam, it would only be a tool to get an admission from him—if he were guilty. And I wasn’t feeling positive about that, but I nodded anyway.

“Call me if you need anything,” I said to Ernie.

He jingled keys in his hand. “You do the same.”

I waited until he drove away, then I texted Harry to say I would be able to meet for dinner. After that I drove to the station. I wanted to give Rizzo an update, in person if I could. On the way, Harry replied and said he’d see me later. I smiled at that. It had been another long day, and I looked forward to a break. When I walked into the detective’s room, Rizzo was in his office, on the phone. Spats was at his desk, and he wasted no time updating me.

“I tracked down a few of Leo Marino’s employees,” he said. “But none who were working Wednesday night.”

“Things are moving in our direction too,” I said and told him what had happened since he and I had spoken to Tate Pinnock.

“Sounds like you’re focusing on Chandler as a prime suspect.” Spats motioned to his laptop. “What about Leo Marino?”

“Keep focusing on him,” I said. “We could be barking up the wrong tree with Chandler.”

He fiddled with his tie. “What’s your gut tell you?”

“At bare minimum, he’s committing fraud with his ghost kitchen.”

“Proof?”

“Ernie’ll keep researching that. I’m not sure how the dots connect.”

“To murder?”

I shrugged. “That’s why we keep looking at everything.” I glanced at the time. “Unless you have anything pressing, go home and enjoy the weekend.”

He eyed me. “Why’d you come back here instead of taking your own advice? You could’ve called me with an update.”

“I didn’t tell you about Burton.” I then told him about running into the cop outside of Rosemary & Vine. “I want to talk to Rizzo about that.”

“I have no words,” Spats said as he got up and carefully took his coat from the hanger. He nodded toward Rizzo’s office. “You want me in there for moral support?”

I shook my head. “I can handle it.”

“I have no doubt about that.” He grinned and gave me a little salute. “Let me know if you need anything this weekend.”

“You too.”

He sauntered between desks and down the hall, and when he disappeared around the corner, I got up and went to Rizzo’s office. He was off the phone now, and he waved me in.

“How’re things going with the Randall case?” he asked.

“Getting some movement, but I’m not sure what it means.”

For the second time in a matter of minutes, I went over everything that had occurred earlier in the day. It was a lot, and it took several minutes. I ended with, “I thought you needed to know about Burton too.”

He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the edge of his desk, then laced his fingers together and placed his chin on them. He took a long time to think, and I didn’t say anything. When he spoke, his head bobbed up and down.

“I was hoping everything with Burton would blow over, and that he’d stay in his lane. But that isn’t happening.”

“I don’t know if he has any more information pertinent to my case, or if he’s holding something back,” I said.

“I’ll check with Chief London on that.” He sighed heavily. “I don’t like to see someone get into trouble, but it would appear Burton has been asking for it. Something needs to be said before he does some real damage.”

“It’d be nice if he’d retire; a lot of people might be relieved.”

He nodded again, then laid his hands on the desk. “Maybe that’ll end up happening. I’ll take care of it, though. Unless something urgent comes up, take the weekend to recharge and get to it again on Monday.”

“Yes.”

I thanked him, returned to my desk, and spent a few minutes updating the whiteboard. Once I’d finished, I studied it, not seeing anything new or earth-shattering, only things that didn’t tie together or point to a killer. I chewed on the investigation as I logged off the computer and left.

***

Harry and I had a nice, casual dinner of pizza and wine, then went home and watched a thriller with Mark Wahlberg. I can’t say I was wowed by it, and by the time I went to bed, I didn’t even remember the title. I spent Saturday morning with Harry, working in the yard, and the whole time I felt tension building in my shoulders. I wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, but I felt the case slipping away. Depending on what we unearthed, we might be able to pin fraud charges on Chandler, but I couldn’t see anything to connect him directly to Piper’s murder.

After lunch, I helped Harry prepare apple pies, and at four we drove to Diane’s house, in a ritzy neighborhood south of the Cherry Creek Mall. Her two-story Tudor and yard are big—like others on her block— and her two boys, Tim and Max, greeted us happily when they opened the door.

“Uncle Harry, how’re you?” Max asked. “We got a chess set. Do you want to play?”

“No croquet?” Harry asked, already being tugged on the arm by my younger nephew.

I took the pie containers from Harry as he was quickly whisked away by the two boys.

“Croquet was their thing, but they seem to have outgrown that,” Diane said as she walked up, gave me a little hug, and smiled.

“Where do you want these?” I asked, holding up the pie containers.

“In the kitchen.” She turned and headed down the hall. “The chess set’s on the back porch, so at least the boys are getting some fresh air.”

“If I know them, chess won’t last long before they’ll have Harry throwing a baseball.”

She laughed. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes,” I said.

We went into the kitchen, where Hunter was putting ice in a glass.

“Hey, Sis,” he said to me. “You look good. Did you get some sun today?”

I nodded. “Harry and I worked in the yard.”

“Me too,” he said. “There’s always something to do.” He reached for more glasses. “I’m fixing Moscow Mules. You want one?”

“That sounds great. Harry would probably like one too.”

Hunter nodded toward the glass. “No worries, I’ll fix him one as well.”

As he cut up limes, I took a second to study him. He had nice color in his face. The dark circles that had been perpetually under his eyes for so long were gone. He looked more relaxed than I’d seen him in quite some time. However, I didn’t say that. We were all well aware of everything that had transpired with Cassandra, and he didn’t need to be reminded of that.

“Mom and Dad are running late,” Diane announced.

“That’ll give us a chance to catch up,” Hunter said.

He finished with the drinks, and we went to the back porch and sat in deck chairs, visiting with my brother-in-law, Aaron.

“Glad you got the weekend off,” he said to me. “Sometimes that job runs you ragged.”

I smiled, noticing Harry give me a little look as he sat at another table, playing chess with Max. Tim was watching intently, coaching his younger brother.

“I’m trying to slow down,” I said. “And you know me, that’s not an easy thing to do.”

The conversation rambled a bit, each one of us talking about our work, and then my parents arrived.

“How close are we to dinner?” my mother asked. “I’ve got to throw this salad together.” She was no-nonsense, just like my sister.

Diane got up. “We can get the steaks on the grill now, and I’ll get you and Dad drinks.”

My dad raised his hand. “That’s my job.”

Dad saw himself as a grill master, and I had to admit, he knew what he was doing. Steaks, hamburgers, or whatever we were grilling always turned out perfectly if he was in charge. Manning the grill also gave him an opportunity to talk to Aaron, to catch up on things.

“Anything I can do?” I asked.

“We’ve got things covered,” Diane called over her shoulder. “Enjoy yourself.”

I didn’t argue but stayed next to Hunter. We watched the hubbub around us for a moment, and then he spoke softly.

“I know you’re dying to say it.”

I glanced sideways at him and grinned. “You look good.”

“I feel good, more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time.” He eyed me. “You know, I’d say the same about you, but I’m not so sure. Is everything okay?”

I had to think about that for a minute, to assess what I was really feeling. “I’m discouraged about a case,” I said truthfully.

“What’s going on?”

I shared a few brief details in a low voice, knowing the others didn’t need to hear it, nor would they want to. When I finished, Hunter didn’t placate me.

“That has to be frustrating, knowing someone might get away.”

“It is,” I murmured.

We sat for a moment, and then Hunter changed the subject to the boys. That was the last I spoke about the investigation the rest of the day, or Sunday, but it still weighed heavy on my mind.

Monday morning, I was the first one of my team at my desk. The room was quiet, only one other detective in the room. Ernie had called to say he was on his way to visit a judge, and that he had prepared the subpoena paperwork over the weekend. He vowed to keep me updated. Spats was also out and about, tracking down more Paradiso Italiano employees. I first checked with the surveillance teams who had been keeping tabs on Chandler and Leo. Neither man had done anything suspicious over the weekend, both spending most of their time at their respective restaurants.

As I sipped coffee, I went over everything we had gathered since Piper’s murder. I’d spent some time on Sunday watching some of her Instagram videos, and now I tackled the surveillance videos Spats had gathered from businesses around Rosemary & Vine. As I watched them, I checked the notes he’d written from canvassing the neighborhood. Then I saw something I hadn’t seen or noticed before. Parked on the street a couple of blocks from the restaurant was a boxy-looking SUV. I paused the video and stared at the screen. I couldn’t tell whether it was a Kia Soul—that boxy vehicle that reminded me of a toaster—or some other make and model vehicle. It was light-colored, a streetlight shining down on it. If my guess was correct, it was silver colored, and the front end appeared to be dented.

Then something occurred to me. Frankie Kominsky, Piper’s neighbor, drove a Kia Soul. I looked at the video more closely. The vehicle might’ve had a dent on the front end, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Things began rolling around in my head. Leo Marino had said someone had been with Piper when she reviewed Paradiso Italiano. Delaney could’ve fit the description, but now that I thought about it, Frankie could as well. That alone didn’t necessarily mean anything. I kept thinking. Frankie had been irritated when I’d talked to her, not what I would call cooperative. Because she had something to hide? And what about the manager who’d said that Piper was being loud in the corridor, and that there had been some arguing. However, he hadn’t been sure who she’d been with. Frankie? Furthermore, Delaney had said a neighbor had given Piper the tray of potted herbs after a disagreement. Given what the manager had said about arguments in the hallway, had that neighbor been Frankie? If so, what had they been fighting about? Something really bad? I was speculating, and I didn’t know whether any of what I was thinking made sense.

We had the surveillance video from Piper’s apartment complex, and I quickly found it and zoomed through it, focusing on Wednesday night. I didn’t see Frankie’s vehicle in the parking lot. Had it been parked somewhere else? I couldn’t answer that, but I knew one thing.

I needed to look into Frankie Kominsky more.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

When I arrived at Piper’s apartment complex, I went to the office and found a different manager sitting at his desk, shuffling through paperwork. He looked up when I walked in, and then he saw my badge, and he seemed to put some pieces together.

“Is this about Piper Randall,” he asked flatly. “Is there a problem?”

I introduced myself, and he said his name was Tom. I began with, “Just a question or two, if you have a moment?”

“Um, sure.” He was on the older side, with long gray hair pulled into a ponytail.

“We spoke to a manager the other day, and he mentioned some issues with Piper and her neighbors.”

“That must’ve been the new guy, Greg. He’s right, there was some stuff going on recently.”

“Between whom?”

“Like you said, Piper and one of her neighbors.”

“Who?” I asked, trying to be patient, but not succeeding very well. I thought of one of the neighbors Ernie had seen briefly. “Crystal Wu? Lucy Arbogast?”

He shook his head. “Frankie.”

“You’re sure?”

Tom nodded. “Yes.”

“Other tenants complained?”

“Yes,” he repeated, then stared at me. “I filed some of the reports myself, but I really can’t say who complained.”

“That’s fine. What was said?”

He nodded. “Someone said Frankie yelled, ‘You can’t keep doing this.’ I don’t know what that meant.”

“Whoever talked to you was certain they heard Frankie?”

He shrugged. “That’s what they said. It was Frankie.”

I studied his face, looking for hesitation. There wasn’t any. But something nagged at me. I didn’t think Frankie had told me everything she knew about Piper, and I needed to follow up with her.

***

Frankie was surprised to see me.

“Detective, what can I do for you?” she asked coolly.

I glanced up and down the corridor. “Do you have a moment?”

“I’m working, and I have a meeting in ten minutes.”

If she thought her statement would sway me into leaving her alone, it didn’t. I smiled sweetly. “That should give us time.”

Now that she was trapped, she seemed to weigh her options, then opened the door wider. “Come in.”

I stepped into a living room with an old blue couch. Potted plants were catching the morning light that came through a sliding glass door, which led to a balcony. On one wall, a large abstract painting with swooping blue and green curves drew the eye. A TV on a small stand stood against the opposite wall. The air conditioner blew cold air about, and I felt an instant chill.

Frankie had a laptop set up at a small dining table between the living room and kitchen counter, and rock music played softly from a phone nearby. She grabbed it and cut off the music. Behind her, dishes dried in a rack by the sink, and the smell of coffee was strong. Papers were spread across the table around her laptop, and a cardigan hung over one of the mismatched dining chairs. Everything felt lived-in, ordinary.

“What do you want?” she asked, her tone clipped.

“I’ve been going over some things, and I wanted to discuss them with you.”

She was casually dressed in capris and a gray shirt, her feet bare. She ran a hand through her hair and didn’t say anything, just waited.

“Do you mind if I read you your rights first?”

She stared at me for a second, then shrugged. “Sure, if you want to, but I don’t see why.”

She didn’t seem bothered or nervous as some people would be when asked that same question. I read her rights to her, had her acknowledge she understood them, and then I waded in, not exactly sure where I was going with my questioning, only feeling that I’d missed something, and she held the answers.

“The first time I talked to you, I didn’t get the sense you liked Piper,” I said.

“There’s no law against that, is there?”

“No, that’s true. However, when I asked you about any issues with Piper, you downplayed those.”

“Why do you say that?” Her tone had softened a bit, not quite as defiant.

“You said you weren’t happy about her music, and you mentioned something about fights.”

“Between her and Jesse,” she said. “I told you that.”

“Yes, you did. But you left out the fights you had with Piper.” I pointed emphatically at her. “You two didn’t get along.”

“Who’d you hear that from?”

“Is it true?”

She seemed to calculate her reply, then said, “She could be difficult. If I pointed out anything to her, like her music or her loud conversations in the corridor, she’d get mad. I’m sure you’re like other people; they know about her blog and her Instagram account, and they think she’s totally cool, and nice. But she’s not like that when you meet her. She could be difficult.”

“What’d you argue about?”

“Her music, and the fights with her boyfriend. Just stuff.” She was consistent.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. “It wasn’t a big deal, no matter what the manager might’ve told you.”

She’d put that together, not that it mattered.

“You own an older model Kia Soul,” I said. “It’s silver, correct, with a dent on the front side?”

She nodded. “So?”

“There was one parked a couple of blocks from where Piper was murdered the other night.”

“It wasn’t mine.”

“Where were you?”

“I went dancing and came home after the club closed.”

“What time?”

“Close to one.”

“People can verify that?”

She nodded. “Of course. My boyfriend, and some other friends.”

I had her give me their names and contact information, and as I wrote it down, I wondered if I was being too impulsive, that I’d made some assumptions about her I shouldn’t have. Frankie was too sure of herself, which made me unsure of my thinking. I decided to keep prying anyway.

“Did you help Piper with any of her videos?”

She snorted. “The restaurant reviews? No way. That didn’t interest me at all.”

“Tell me about Paradiso Italiano.”

Her brow furrowed. “What’s that? Sounds Italian.”

“You’ve never been there?”

She shook her head. “I don’t really like Italian; too much garlic.”

I jumped back to her interactions with Piper, hoping to keep her off guard, so she couldn’t think before she replied.

“I heard you and Piper got into some bad arguments,” I said.

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Did you say something about ‘you can’t keep doing this?’”

She started to shake her head, then stopped. “I remember hearing that fight, and it wasn’t me.”

“Who then?”

She didn't hesitate. “Piper and Lucy.”

That wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. “Lucy Arbogast?”

“Yeah. She and Piper were always going out together—restaurants, coffee shops, that kind of thing.” She pursed her lips. “For a while, Lucy was probably Piper’s closest friend in the building. Although not so much lately. And there was a big fight one time in the corridor.”

“What else do you remember about their fight?”

“There was something about their Instagram accounts and their reviews. Then they went inside, or left, because I didn’t hear any more.”

“They were fighting about Piper’s Instagram account?”

“Or Lucy’s.”

I tried not to show my surprise at that. “Lucy has a review site too?”

“Yeah. At first it was something with food—like Piper—but then Lucy switched to home decorating because she said there was too much competition with food reviews. I don’t pay that much attention.”

“Lucy?” I said slowly. I thought about what Aubrey Noble—Piper’s friend—had told me days ago. Piper had been working with someone, both of them building their sites together, and that there was some conflict about Piper’s site growing faster than the other person’s.

“Yes.” She grabbed her phone from the table. “Let me find it.” She worked on her phone for a moment, then said, “Huh, that’s weird. I can't find it. Maybe she deleted it.”

“Why?”

“You’d have to ask her. My guess is Lucy was jealous of Piper’s success, and Lucy gave up on her own Instagram stuff.”

I thought about that. A food account that suddenly changed focus, then disappeared entirely? That was interesting.

Frankie checked her laptop, then looked at me. “I have a meeting in a minute. I don’t know where you’re getting your information about me, but it’s wrong.”

Correct information, incorrect assumptions? I thought to myself. Had I been looking at things all wrong? I’d gotten so suddenly focused on Frankie I might’ve missed what was right in front of me. And what about Chandler? I’d wondered if he’d killed Piper to keep her quiet about PPP loan fraud, but was I making the same mistake there? Maybe he was guilty of fraud but not murder.

“One last thing,” I said. “Did you give Piper a tray of herbs?”

“Herbs?” she repeated, eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, you mean that potted plant thing Piper had on her counter?”

I nodded.

She laughed. “I didn’t give that to her, Lucy did.”

“How do you know?”

She pointed toward the door. “I came home from work one day, and Lucy was outside Piper’s door, showing it to her, and then Piper took it.”

“Lucy could corroborate that?”

“Ask her yourself. I think she’s home.”

That I will, I thought to myself.

“My meeting’s about to start,” Frankie said.

I turned toward the door. “Thanks,” I said to her as I put my hand on the knob.

“I hope you find whoever murdered Piper,” she said. “I wasn’t fond of her, but I wouldn’t have wished ill will against her.”

I didn’t say anything as I left.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Istood in the corridor, my head spinning with everything Frankie had just revealed. The Instagram accounts. The competition between Piper and Lucy. The arguments between the two women. Each piece felt like it was clicking into a new position, forming a picture I hadn’t seen before. I texted Ernie and Spats to see if either was available, so I could run my thoughts by them, and to see if either could meet me here before I talked to Lucy.

Someone’s clothes dryer was running nearby, the rhythmic tumbling a backdrop to my thoughts. The whole floor smelled of fabric softener mixed with traces of whatever people had cooked for breakfast—bacon, and maybe eggs. Scrambled, like my thoughts?

I waited a few minutes, but neither partner returned my text. I debated what to do. The Lucy situation felt delicate, like holding something that might shatter if I gripped too hard. If I waited for backup, I risked losing the element of surprise. Lucy could talk to Frankie, and realize what I might know. Or worse, if Lucy was hiding something, she could use the time to further clean up her digital footprint, to delete more evidence. The Instagram account was already gone—what else might disappear while I waited?

I was in the same position I’d been in with Chandler Cohen. I had no proof of any wrongdoing on Lucy’s part, but my gut was roiling, as if it knew Lucy had a lot of explaining to do. I could talk to her and see what she’d say, but I had to be careful. One wrong move and I might shut her down. Then I’d be no closer to determining her guilt or innocence.

And there was the Neil Lott factor. I hadn’t had backup during my final interview with him, and he’d managed to dodge and weave his way free of any charges. Having a partner might’ve made the difference then. However, maybe this time, the direct approach would work better. Just Lucy and I, one on one. Sometimes people let their guard down more with a single interviewer, especially another woman.

I grimaced. Could I afford to wait?

After more precious time passed by without a reply from Ernie or Spats, I made a decision, went to Lucy’s door, and knocked, three crisp raps. The noise of the dryer was louder. I stared at the peephole in the door and saw the light momentarily fade, and after a pause that lasted a beat too long, the light returned, and the door opened. Lucy wore black yoga pants and a fitted lavender tank top, her brown hair pulled back in the kind of messy-but-perfect bun that probably took twenty minutes to arrange. Her surprise at seeing me seemed genuine, but there was something else—a flicker in her eyes before she managed to control it.

“Yes,” she said, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she tried to place who I was.

“Detective Spillman,” I said. “We talked last week about your neighbor, Piper Randall?”

“Oh yes.” Her voice was carefully modulated. “Is everything okay?”

“I was in the area, and I’m just following up on a few things. Do you have a moment?”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second, the sound of the dryer running behind her. “Of course.” She stepped back and gestured for me to come inside.

Where Frankie’s apartment looked lived-in and casual, Lucy’s felt like a page torn from an interior design magazine, or maybe I should say, a page from a home design website. Everything was cream and pale gray with strategic pops of dusty blue. A large sectional couch sat in the living room, its throw pillows arranged at precise angles. A coffee table held three art books and a white orchid, all perfectly aligned. A massive mirror dominated one wall, making the room appear twice its size, while floating shelves displayed carefully curated succulent arrangements and what looked like expensive vases.

The air carried the artificial sweetness of a plug-in air freshener—vanilla and something flowery—almost too strong, as if trying to mask the laundry odors. Everything felt staged, like a model apartment or an Instagram backdrop. Which, I realized, it probably was.

“Please, sit,” Lucy said, indicating the sectional, while she perched on the edge of an accent chair upholstered in a geometric pattern. Her posture was perfect, but her fingers kept adjusting the smart watch on her wrist.

I sat on the edge of the couch, noting how the cushions felt barely used. “I appreciate your taking the time.”

“Of course.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Though I’m not sure how much help I can be. As I mentioned before, I didn’t know Piper very well.”

“Yes, I remember. Before we start, I should read you your rights.”

Her reaction was different than Frankie’s. Lucy stiffened slightly, and she held a careful gaze.

“Is that necessary? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“It’s for both our protection.”

“Okay.”

She waited until I’d read the rights, then said she understood, and I began.

“You didn’t know Piper?”

“Not that well,” she repeated.

I pursed my mouth, pretending to ponder what she’d said when we’d first talked. “You saw her around the complex, at the pool during the summer, and at the gym. You’d chat.”

A muscle twitched in her jaw. “Right.”

I glanced around the room again, taking in details. A laptop sat open on a small desk in the corner, its surface spotless except for a single Post-it note. Lucy’s chair was positioned in front of a counter, and behind her, the kitchen was white cabinets and stainless steel, spotless—looking more like a showroom than a working kitchen. Strange, for someone who supposedly had an interest in food.

“I’ve been talking to other residents,” I said, keeping my tone conversational. “Trying to get a better picture of Piper’s life here in the building.”

“Oh?” Her hand moved to her neck, then dropped quickly when she noticed me watching.

“Several people mentioned that you and Piper spent quite a bit of time together.”

“Well . . .” She shifted in her chair. “We were neighbors. Sometimes we’d run into each other. Normal neighbor stuff.”

“The property manager mentioned some arguments between Piper and a neighbor. Loud disputes. People complained.”

Her laugh sounded forced. “This building has thin walls. People probably hear all sorts of things and misinterpret them.”

“These weren’t misinterpretations. These were specific incidents.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

She reached for a water bottle behind her and took a sip. When she set it down, her hand trembled slightly, causing the bottle to clink on the countertop. The dryer clicked off, leaving the room suddenly quiet. In the silence, Lucy’s slightly elevated breathing was noticeable.

“Someone specifically heard you say to Piper, ‘You can’t keep doing this,’” I said.

Color drained from her face before she caught herself. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I say that? As I told you, I didn’t know Piper very well.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Maybe it had something to do with your Instagram account?”

Her eyes widened fractionally. “My what?”

“Your food review account. The one you changed to home decorating content.”

“I don’t have an Instagram account.”

“Did you delete it entirely?”

“I don’t . . .” She stood abruptly and moved to adjust a picture frame that was already perfectly straight. “I had a personal account, stuff for family and friends.”

“About food, and then home décor?”

“It was a hobby. I like HGTV and that kind of stuff, and I have good ideas. I always wanted to be an interior decorator.”

“How many followers did your account have?”

“I don’t know. Maybe several thousand.”

“A hobby with thousands of followers?”

She turned back to me, and I could see her struggling to maintain composure. “Social media isn’t real life, Detective Spillman. People follow and unfollow all the time.”

“Right. Here’s the thing though. I heard your account was important to you, and that you were envious of Piper’s success.”

“I didn’t pay much attention to what she did.”

“Really? Wasn’t there too much competition with food reviews, so much competition, in fact, that you switched your account to focus on other things?”

“Of course not.”

She seemed adamant, so I switched directions, hoping to solidly catch her lying. “I heard you and Piper were close, that you were her best friend in the building.”

“That’s not true.”

“Really?” I repeated, acting puzzled. “But you and Piper went to restaurants or coffee shops together, right?”

“We might’ve been at those places together, but I never—” She held up a hand. “Oh, there was one time after we worked out where she suggested we get a bite. Maybe that’s what you mean.”

“I heard you two went out a lot,” I pushed.

“No.”

She was good, dodging every point I made. However, as my questions became more pointed, her tells became more pronounced. She’d started our conversation perched elegantly on her chair, but now she sat rigid, her shoulders tight, her breathing shallow and quick. A pulse point flickered visibly at her throat. I went on.

“You and Piper were close, at least until you had a fight.”

“I don’t remember.” Her voice had taken on a brittle quality. “Like I said, it was casual between us.”

“You argued in the corridor about your Instagram accounts and reviews.”

“I never—” She caught herself. “I mean, I told you, I didn’t really know Piper. That fight must’ve been with someone else.”

“No way it could’ve been you?”

“Who are you getting this information from?” She didn’t let me answer, then said, “You’re wrong.”

A door slammed somewhere in the building, making her jump. I pressed on. “Did you give Piper an herb tray?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Someone saw you give it to her.”

“They’re wrong.”

Could be, I thought. Her word against Frankie’s. But somehow I didn’t think Frankie had lied to me about that.

“Why does a tray of herbs matter?” Lucy asked.

I noticed she was standing closer to the kitchen now, as if unconsciously putting distance between us.

“Everything matters in a murder investigation,” I said. “Like where people were the night Piper was killed. What about you?”

“Here. At home. All evening.”

Short, clipped answers. Another sign she might be lying.

“Alone?” I asked.

“Yes.” Her eyes darted to the window, then back to me.

I thought about the surveillance footage the management company had given us. I hadn’t specifically watched for Frankie or Lucy. I’d have to check to see if I could see her coming or going around the time Piper had been killed.

“What were you doing?”

“Watching TV. I don’t remember what show.”

The Neil Lott case flashed through my mind yet again. He’d been so smooth, so careful, never admitting his guilt. Lucy was doing a similar dance now, and I felt that same frustration building. She stared at me, waiting for me to go on. I finally did.

“I find this all interesting,” I said as I stood up. “Other people have very different memories of your relationship with Piper. About your interactions. About your arguments.”

“They’re mistaken.” Her voice was tight, controlled.

“Am I mistaken about seeing you leave the building the night Piper was killed?”

An outright lie on my part, one I didn’t feel the least bit guilty saying. I got a reaction too. She flinched.

“What?” she said carefully.

“Did you leave?”

Now she was careful with her reply, taking a breath to steady herself. “I told you, I was home.”

“All evening?”

“Yes.”

“Then it must have been someone else returning to your building late that night?”

Her hand gripped the back of the accent chair. “It must have been. There are a lot of tenants in this complex.” Then she played the same card Frankie had to end the conversation. “I need to get back to work.”

I now went for blunt. “Did you murder Piper?”

“No.”

“You were envious of her, her success with her food blog and her Instagram account.” She was shaking her head as I continued. “She could be difficult, not as nice as she seemed to the public. It got to be too much, so you fought with her about it. Then what? Something happened between you two. You snapped, and—”

“That’s enough,” she said forcefully. “You need to leave.”

I swore to myself. Pushing her hadn’t worked. I stood and moved toward the door, noting how she relaxed slightly at my apparent retreat.

“I’ll be checking the surveillance footage again,” I said. “And talking to more people about those arguments.”

“Do what you need to do.” Her attempt at nonchalance fell flat. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

But she hadn’t. Not even close. She stayed rooted in place as I left. I closed the door behind me, the artificial sweetness of her air freshener clinging to my clothes, as false as her denials. The corridor seemed darker now, ominous like my thoughts. There was so much to check about Lucy, about her deleted Instagram account and the herb tray she claimed not to remember. About how she’d said she wasn’t close to Piper despite multiple witnesses saying otherwise. I also needed to check the complex’s surveillance video to see if I could in fact see Lucy leaving the building last Wednesday night.

Behind Lucy’s door, the dryer started up again, its rhythm now like my beating heart, beating hard with my frustration. I wouldn’t let another killer slip through my fingers. Not this time. Lucy might be good at maintaining her façade, but she might’ve slipped up. Neil Lott had gotten away with driving his wife to suicide, but Lucy wouldn’t get away with murder. However, I needed to prove what I already suspected.

I walked toward the stairs, still thinking about the night Piper had been killed. There was surveillance footage from the apartment complex, and maybe someone had seen something that night. Someone we hadn’t talked to before.

As I descended the stairs, the thumping of the dryer faded and was replaced by the sounds of my footfalls and of my own determined breathing. Lucy’s performance had been good, but not perfect. And those imperfections—the nervousness, the quick denials, the subtle tells—they all pointed to one thing: she was hiding something. Was she a killer?

If so, I would find out.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

My phone rang as I pulled into the precinct parking lot. It was Ernie.

“I’ve been digging into Chandler’s finances,” he said without prelude. “Chandler did get PPP loans. Several hundred thousand. But here’s the thing—I can’t find where all the money went, besides the boat and whatnot. No separate kitchens or costs for building renovations, let alone equipment purchases or upgrades. No major staff increases during that period. I’m still looking though.”

I killed the engine but stayed in the car, pressing the phone closer to my ear. “That tracks with what we thought. Listen, I need to tell you something. I went to Piper’s apartment complex, and I just interviewed Frankie Kominsky and Lucy Arbogast.”

“The neighbors? What happened?”

I told him about the chat with the second manager, Frankie’s revelations, the Instagram rivalry between Piper and Lucy, the herb tray, and my confrontation with Lucy. As I talked, I could hear the frustration creeping into my voice.

“I wanted you or Spats with me when I talked to Lucy, but when I didn’t hear back, I decided to talk to her alone.” I explained my reasoning. “I tried, Ernie, just like I did with Neil Lott. I wanted to get her to crack but I might’ve gone in too hard, and instead . . .” I trailed off as I pictured Lucy’s careful denials, and her increasingly defensive posture. “I should’ve waited for backup.”

“Hey, you tried to reach us,” Ernie said. “Sometimes you have to move when you’ve got the chance. Did she give you anything useful?”

“She lied. A lot. Said she barely knew Piper, denied any arguments between them, and claimed she didn’t have a business Instagram account, just a personal one. But her body language was screaming that she was hiding something.”

“Body language doesn’t hold up in court.”

“I know.” I rubbed my temple with my free hand. “I’m heading up to look at the complex’s surveillance footage, see if I can spot Piper or Lucy that night.”

“Good plan. If Lucy’s involved, we’ll find proof. These people always slip up somewhere.” He paused. “I’m hitting another bank about Chandler’s financials. We’ll catch up later?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ernie.”

I ended the call and walked inside the building. The detective floor was half-empty when I arrived, the usual buzz of activity muted by the mid-morning hour. People were gone, chasing leads, interviewing suspects. I sat down and nudged my coffee cup away. It had gone cold, but I didn’t bother getting more. I logged into my computer and pulled up the surveillance footage from the apartment complex, settling in for what would likely be an hour or more of monotonous viewing. I’d barely started when my phone buzzed again—Spats this time.

“Sorry I couldn’t answer earlier,” he said. “I just had a long conversation with one of Leo Marino’s employees. I got a lot of gossip but nothing that helped me.”

I barely let him finish before I gave him the quick version of my morning with Frankie and Lucy, then questioning whether I’d done the right thing in talking to them alone. He whistled low when I finished.

“Don’t worry about us not being there,” he said, as supportive as Ernie. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

“I know, I know. But I wonder what might’ve happened if you or Ernie had been with me. Where are you?”

“On my way to meet with another of Marino’s staff. So far, two employees said he was at the restaurant Wednesday night until late. I’ll head back when I’m done.”

“See you soon.”

After hanging up, I focused on the surveillance footage. Piper’s apartment complex had decent coverage—multiple cameras capturing the parking lot and building entrances. I started with the night of Piper’s murder, tracking from an hour before the time her body had been discovered.

The footage played out like a silent movie of ordinary life. A food delivery guy showing up at ten. A woman walking her dog at 11:23 PM. A couple arriving home from what looked like a date—him in slacks and shirt, her in a dress—around 12:30. Two college-aged kids stumbling back at 1:05 AM, dropped off by an Uber driver.

My eyes were starting to blur when I spotted Frankie returning, just as she’d said, around 2 AM. She moved quickly across the parking lot, head down, pausing at the building entrance with her keys, then disappeared inside. Nothing suspicious there.

But as I continued watching, something caught my eye. At 2:17 AM, a figure in a hoodie appeared at the edge of a frame, walking along the side of the building. Whoever it was stayed close to the shadows and seemed to move with purpose. With head down, the figure approached the building entrance and went in. I backed up the video and watched it again. It was obvious the person knew where to go, and where the cameras were. The face was never visible.

This triggered something in my memory. We had similar footage from a surveillance camera near Rosemary & Vine. Someone in a hoodie had walked down Stout Street around the time Piper had been killed. I made a note to pull that footage for comparison. I looked around and saw Chad Lattimore at his desk.

“Hey, Chad?” I called across the room. “Got a minute?”

He got up, stretched, and came over. “What’s up?”

“You went through all of Piper’s Instagram videos, right?”

“All of it,” he said with a look.

“Do you remember seeing Lucy Arbogast in any of them? Brown hair, about five-seven, very polished looking?”

Chad frowned, thinking. “There were a lot of videos. Maybe? The name’s not ringing any bells, but check my notes.”

“Ah, right.”

I opened a word file he’d sent me with his report. I searched through it. “You didn’t mention her name.”

“I would’ve if I’d seen it in any of the video descriptions or captions. Piper was getting huge engagement though, potentially thousands of likes on everything, hundreds of comments. It was growing fast, and I might’ve missed something.”

“Let’s look again. I’ve got a hunch.”

We pulled up Piper’s Instagram feed on my computer. Chad leaned in as I scrolled through posts. Some comments stuck out.

“Best dumplings in Denver. Prove me wrong!”

“You wouldn’t know authentic food if it hit you.”

I pointed to that one. “Not everyone thought Piper was great.”

Chad nodded. “Wait,” he said suddenly. “Something’s different.” I paused, and he pointed. “Scroll slowly.” I did, and then he told me to stop, his brow furrowed. “There was a review video from a restaurant up north. I know I watched it the other day, but it’s gone now.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah.” He went to his desk and returned with a legal pad with scribbled writing on it. “I can sometimes picture what I wrote.” He flipped through pages of meticulous notes. “I kept track of the post count because I was logging everything.” He leaned in and looked at the Instagram account, then grabbed the mouse and scrolled through the feed and glanced at his notes. “We’re missing at least three videos that were there yesterday.”

“Which ones?”

“That one up north. That one stuck out because Piper was rather critical of one item on the menu, a chicken salad sandwich. I learned a lot about chicken salad,” he said drily. “There was another one about a pop-up restaurant in Lakewood, and . . .” He consulted his notes again. “A behind-the-scenes video of some kind. I didn’t watch that one fully.”

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the office air conditioning. “Could Lucy have access to Piper’s account?”

“I suppose. It would explain that harsh post that went up after Piper’s murder and the deleted ones. Anyone who had access to her account could add and delete posts.”

“What else did you notice about Piper’s account?”

Chad scanned his notes as quickly as he could. There were a lot of them. “Her posting schedule was consistent—three times a week. Two posts about food in general, usually Sundays and Tuesdays, and a restaurant review on Thursdays. Lots of interaction with followers. She responded to comments, and recently started some Q&As with her fans.”

“Any hostile comments? People she blocked?”

“Some criticism, especially on what her reviewers saw as negative reviews, but nothing that screamed stalker or threat. She handled it professionally.”

I opened a new tab and searched for Lucy Arbogast on social media. As Frankie had noted, Lucy’s Instagram was gone. No TikTok or X accounts either. But there was a Facebook account, the profile setting public, which meant I could see everything she’d added. There were no recent posts.

“Look at this,” I said, suddenly clicking on a post. Chad leaned closer.

The post was over a year old, with a photo of Lucy and Piper together at what looked like an upscale restaurant, both smiling at the camera, wine glasses raised in a toast. The caption read: “Perfect evening with my favorite foodie friend! Nobody does restaurant reviews like @TasteAndTellAll. #blessed #foodiefriends.”

“The hashtag classifies or categorizes the post or text,” Chad explained.

“Right.”

As I scrolled, I found two more photos, Lucy and Piper at a food festival and at a cooking class.

“So much for barely knowing each other,” Chad muttered.

I sat back and stared at my monitor. “If Lucy scrubbed her social media accounts, she missed those. Or she didn’t go back far enough to find them. Either way, she lied to my face about their relationship.”

We read the comments on all three photos, which showed an easy friendship between the two women, inside jokes, plans to meet up.

“Why lie to you?” Chad asked. “What’s Lucy hiding?”

I was about to answer when Spats walked in, a black jacket draped over his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said as he hung up his coat.

“You won’t believe what I found,” I said.

“Try me.”

I waved him over and started explaining about the surveillance footage and the Facebook photos that proved Lucy hadn’t been honest about her relationship with Piper. As I talked, I could see his expression changing from skepticism to interest.

“Okay,” he said when I finished. “So we’ve got someone who definitely lied about knowing the victim, who had a documented rivalry with her, and who might have had access to her social media accounts.”

“And reports that Lucy was envious of Piper,” I added.

“There’s more,” Chad added. “Those deleted videos were all from the last few months, and I know they were deleted in the last day or two. Someone would need Piper’s password to remove them.”

Spats sat at his desk. “Walk me through the timeline again. When exactly did these posts disappear?”

“I finished my review Friday, so sometime between then and this morning,” Chad said, consulting his notes.

“And what about the post that went up after Piper’s death?” Spats asked.

I pulled up the timestamp. “Posted Thursday afternoon.”

Spats looked at me. “By whom?”

“That’s a good question,” I said.

As we dove into the details, I felt that familiar surge of energy that comes when pieces start falling into place. Lucy Arbogast might’ve thought she covered her tracks, but she’d left breadcrumbs. Now we just had to follow them to the truth. I also told Spats about the surveillance footage from Piper’s apartment complex: The hooded figure moving through the frames, anonymous and purposeful.

“Lucy?” he suggested.

I shrugged. “If it was, what else will we find once we start really looking at her?”

“Challenge accepted,” Spats said as he turned to his computer.

Lucy’s careful lies were covering for her, at least for now. But it felt as if we were drawing closer to finding answers. I wondered whether I was right about her. If not, as we chased the wrong person, the killer was still out there, getting away with murder.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“Let’s start with the basics on Lucy,” I said as I turned to the police database login screen glowing on my monitor.

“Start with any priors,” Chad suggested.

“Even a parking ticket might tell us something about her movements,” Spats said.

“I might be able to find traces of Lucy’s social media posts,” Chad said. “Even deleted stuff leaves digital footprints. You know what they say about the internet—it never forgets. Even if she deleted her accounts, she can’t control what other people do, what they post, archived versions of her stuff, screenshots people took of her reviews.”

I straightened in my chair. “What’re you thinking?”

“People save weird things for weird reasons,” Chad said as he got up. “They’re always sharing and reposting each other’s content. Someone might have saved some of Lucy’s posts, or tagged her in their own posts. Plus, there are archive sites that crawl the web, saving snapshots of pages.”

“Can you look into that?” I asked, feeling a spark of hope.

“Already on it.” Chad called from his desk, his fingers flying across his keyboard. “It might take some time though. These archive sites aren’t exactly user-friendly, and if she was smart about when she started deleting . . .”

“I’m checking NCIC,” I said, which would look for any criminal history across state lines. “Nothing.” Then I moved to the local system, pulling up DMV records, residential history, and any contacts with police.

“Running her through CLEAR,” Spats said.

I nodded, and while Chad worked on Lucy’s social media presence, Spats and I covered the same databases that we had with Chandler Cohen and others. We were thorough, and two hours later, we’d combed through every database available, and we had a frustratingly thin file on Lucy. Her record was basically clean. A parking ticket from 2022, paid promptly. No arrests, no complaints, not even a noise violation.

“It’s like looking at a blank slate,” I muttered as I rubbed my eyes. “Credit score of 782. Pays her rent on time. No issues with her job, at least as far as I can tell.”

“The perfect citizen,” Spats said, but his tone was thoughtful as he gazed across his desk at me. “We need her financial records. Credit cards, bank statements, everything. If she was running a competing food blog, there’d be expenses. Camera equipment, website costs.”

“And restaurant tabs. You can’t review restaurants without eating at them. A lot.” I thought for a moment. “What about her car?” I turned back to my computer and pulled up Lucy’s vehicle registration. “Another white SUV, like half the cars in Denver. Generic enough to blend in anywhere.”

“You have the surveillance footage I gathered when we canvassed the neighborhood around Rosemary & Vine? The camera view a couple of blocks away?”

I nodded. “Why don’t you look at the footage with me, in case I missed something.”

“I could’ve too,” he said as he came over.

I switched screens to the surveillance video and began playing it at a faster speed, starting an hour before Piper’s estimated time of death.

“Watch this section,” I said after a few minutes. “No sign of Lucy’s car, but look at this figure in the hoodie.”

The grainy black-and-white footage showed a person moving along the sidewalk, head down, hands in pockets. Moving from the right side of the frame, walking with purpose.

“Play it again,” Spats said as he leaned closer to my monitor.

I backed up the video, and this time we both focused on the figure’s gait and build.

“Think it’s Lucy?” I asked.

“The height looks about right,” Spats replied. “Can’t tell much about body type with that baggy hoodie, though. Still . . .”

“That quick, purposeful stride—this isn’t someone wandering around downtown, drunk.”

We watched it two more times. Each viewing revealed small details—a glance over the shoulder, a quickening of the pace after passing the restaurant.

“Could be her,” I finally said. “Could be anyone. But combined with everything else?”

“The timing works. The physical description may fit.” He pointed to the screen. “And wearing pants and a hoodie on a hot August night?”

“Suspicious for sure, but does it mean anything?”

“It doesn’t point to Lucy.”

“By the time we get her financial records, she’ll have covered her tracks.” I tapped my pen against my desk, the plastic clicking against wood in a rhythm. “What we really need is her laptop, her phone. That’s where we’d find proof if she accessed Piper’s accounts.”

Spats shook his head, his expression grim. “No judge is going to give us a warrant based on what we have. A deleted social media account and old Facebook posts of her with the murder victim? Her neighbor telling us about her. Not enough probable cause.”

“You didn’t see her though.” I stood up, unable to contain my restless energy. “The way she reacted when I confronted her, how carefully she chose her words. She’s guilty. I know it.”

“Your instincts are usually good,” Spats said carefully as he watched me pace. “But we’ve been here before.”

“Yeah, yeah, believe me, I know. Neil Lott,” I said as I stopped and looked out the window. Below, traffic swooped by on Cherokee Street. “Gloria’s death is still unsolved because I couldn’t prove what I knew was true. Neil’s out there somewhere, probably sleeping just fine at night.”

“It’s the eternal problem,” Spats said as he returned to his desk. “The gap between knowing and proving. Between instinct and evidence.”

“I know. But this is different. Lucy’s tells were so obvious—the way she tensed up the longer we talked, and how she almost lost it when I laid out my assumptions. It’s like she caught herself right before she was going to tell me the truth. I just needed a little more time.”

“It could be guilt,” Spats acknowledged. “It could also be anxiety about being questioned by the police. People react differently under pressure.”

I dropped back into my chair, the springs protesting. “If Lucy murdered Piper, I don’t want her to get away with it. Not like Neil did. We can’t let another killer walk because we can’t connect all the dots fast enough.”

Spats smoothed his tie subconsciously, deep in thought. Then he said, “What if we give it one more try, only I’ll go with you, and I’ll play the heavy, hit her hard with what we have. I won’t give her time to think. And you give her a good look, like we have something on her.”

I gave that careful consideration as I turned to look at the whiteboard. All that information, and it may have been wrong. What should our next move be? Whatever we did, I did not want to jeopardize our investigation.

“Agreed,” I said after a minute.

Spats smiled. “Where’s that Facebook photo?”

“Look up her name,” I said as he pulled out his phone. I wondered what he was cooking up.

***

Forty minutes later, we stood at Lucy’s door. Spats caught my eye with a look that said everything—hope tempered with uncertainty—then knocked. When Lucy opened the door, surprise flickered across her face before she controlled her expression. She wore the same black yoga pants and fitted lavender tank top, but now her brown hair was down, and I could see how much she resembled both Frankie and Delaney.

“Ms. Arbogast, I’m Detective Youngfield,” Spats said. “You know Detective Spillman.”

“I’m actually quite busy—” she started.

“Ms. Arbogast,” Spats cut in, his tone professionally firm. “We need to discuss some new information that’s come to light. May we come in?”

She hesitated, one hand still on the door handle. The dryer wasn’t running, and it was deathly silent.

“I really don’t—” she tried to deflect us again.

“This won’t take long,” Spats said, already stepping forward.

Lucy retreated into her apartment, her movements jerky, like a puppet with tangled strings. I followed Spats in. The apartment was spotless, just as I remembered. Her laptop was still open, her email up.

“Ms. Arbogast, before we continue, I need to advise you of your rights.” Spats’s voice filled the room, bouncing off hard surfaces.

“Again?” she asked.

“Yes.” He didn’t wait for her to say more, just took out a small piece of laminated paper and read it, then said, “Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them?”

The color drained from Lucy’s face like water down a drain. “I . . . yes. But I don’t understand why that’s necessary.”

I hung back and watched. She balanced on the same accent chair with the geometric pattern, then glanced at me and sensed I wasn’t going to conduct the interview, so she turned to Spats. Her hand trembled slightly as she pushed her hair behind her ear.

“We know you deleted your social media accounts,” Spats said. “All traces of your Instagram presence, and possibly other accounts. Why would you do that, Lucy? May I call you Lucy?”

“Yes, of course. And I didn’t—”

He interrupted and went over the same things I had, how others had said she and Piper had been close, at least until they’d had a big argument, and how she had lied about not giving Piper the herb tray. How there was surveillance video showing someone downtown, and then video of her returning to her apartment building in the hours after Piper had been murdered.

“That wasn’t me,” Lucy said, but as she tried to stare down Spats, her denials didn’t seem as strong as before.

Spats was undaunted as he went on. “See, things aren’t adding up.”

“That’s not my problem,” she said.

“You helped Piper build her following, right? You taught her about photography, about how to do good reviews. But then she started getting more successful than you’d ever been.”

Lucy’s lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line. “You have no proof of anything.”

“Actually, we do. When someone logs into social media, it leaves traces. IP addresses, device information. We can track exactly when and where Piper’s account was accessed. Even after posts were deleted.”

I kept my face neutral, knowing Spats was stretching the truth. Lucy’s breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling rapidly under her pristine tank top.

“You had access to Piper’s accounts, didn’t you?” he asked.

“No,” she said, her denial unsure.

“Here’s the interesting thing,” Spats continued as he pulled out his phone. “You were thorough. Really thorough. Scrubbed everything clean. Except . . .” He held up the screen, showing the Facebook photo. “Except this.”

Lucy’s eyes fixed on the image of herself and Piper at the restaurant. Both smiling, both looking genuinely happy, wine glasses raised in a toast.

“Looks like you two know each other well,” Spats said softly. “What happened, Lucy?”

She didn’t respond, but her whole face tightened like a fist, her expression frozen in a mask of control.

“It got to be too much, didn’t it?” Spats’s voice was eerily calm. “Watching her succeed? All those followers, the restaurant owners courting her attention, the money she was making. While you . . .” He let the sentence hang in the air like smoke.

Color flooded Lucy’s cheeks. Her hands balled up, perfectly manicured nails digging into her palms. Still she remained silent.

“And she was so insufferable about it, wasn’t she?” Spats said. “So confident. So sure of herself. It must have driven you crazy.”

“You don’t know anything,” Lucy snapped, her voice rising to fill the apartment. “You don’t know what she was really like. How she used people. Used me!”

“Tell us,” Spats said quietly.

The dam broke. “She deserved it!” Lucy’s voice cracked like thin ice. “Little Miss Perfect, stealing my ideas, my contacts, everything I’d built. Do you know how many restaurants I introduced her to? How many techniques I taught her about photography, about preparing reviews? And then she just went with it, like I meant nothing. Like I was just another stepping stone on her path to fame.”

Lucy slid from the chair, her careful composure shattered as she gestured wildly. “Her Instagram account grew like crazy, and she was raking in the money. I had to work so hard, and she just . . . she made it look so easy. And everyone loved her. Perfect Piper. But she wasn’t perfect. She was a fraud!”

She suddenly seemed to realize what she’d said, and her mouth slammed shut, her eyes wide with horror.

I stepped forward. “Lucy, we need you to come down to the station with us.”

Her body language shifted from combative to conquered, her shoulders drawing inward. She looked around her perfect apartment, at the gleaming surfaces—no dust or grime anywhere—as if she was seeing it for the last time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The station room hummed with the usual end-of-shift energy—detectives wrapping up paperwork, phones ringing with last-minute calls, teams working at whiteboards. I scrolled through some notes on the Piper Randall case, double-checking details while Ernie and Spats worked at their desks. Then I turned to look at the whiteboard, studying it.

“Lucy really thought she could pin everything on Chandler,” I said.

“Tell me about Lucy’s confession,” Ernie said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze encompassing Spats and me.

He’d spent the day tracking down Chandler’s financials, and had just returned to the station. While he’d been doing that, Spats and I had arrested Lucy and brought her to the station. She was a defeated woman at that point and had refused legal counsel. My take—she’d wanted to talk, to tell us about Piper, to justify her murder. I’d heard that kind of thing before, and I hadn’t been impressed. Spats and I had also been extremely careful with our interview. We did not want Lucy to get away.

Spats looked up from his monitor. “She laid it all out.”

“Envy’s a powerful thing,” I said. “All that time, watching Piper’s success, feeling like she deserved it more.”

“One of the seven deadly sins,” Ernie said. “A resentful covetousness.”

Spats nodded. “Lucy was smart in some ways, how she used a burner phone to text Piper to get her to Rosemary & Vine last Wednesday night. She thought that through.”

“Lucy wanted to make it look like Chandler was involved?” Ernie asked.

I brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, mentally cataloging the steps that had led us to Lucy’s confession. “She knew people would connect Piper to the restaurant. Then all she had to do was get Piper into that alley.”

“The light rail was clever,” Ernie added.

“No car to trace, and she wore that hoodie to avoid surveillance cameras,” I said. “But she couldn’t hide everything.”

“What got me,” Spats said, subconsciously playing with his tie, “was how casual she was about buying a gun. ‘With the internet, you can find almost anything.’ Those were her exact words.”

Ernie frowned. “She’s right. You can google anything, and find just about anything. I worry about that with the girls. It’s so hard to protect them from all the crap out there.”

“Tell me about it,” Spats muttered. “Jada’s hit that age where she wants to be on social media, and we fight about it. She sort of gets that I want to protect her, but she’s missing out on stuff her friends do.”

“You’re getting into the fun teenage years with her,” Ernie said wryly.

Spats groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

“Did Lucy access Piper’s social media accounts after she killed her?” Ernie asked.

I nodded. “Lucy posted that negative review on Paradiso Italiano, trying to destroy Piper’s reputation after killing her. Lucy said she wanted people to know who the real Piper was.”

“That was cold,” Spats said. “At least she confessed. Made our jobs easier.”

I looked at Ernie. “Okay, you heard about our exciting day. What’d you find on Chandler?”

“Oh, his crimes,” Ernie’s face brightened. “I finally got more of his financial records. Four separate PPP loans—one for each of the restaurants that are a part of his ghost kitchen.”

“How much?” Spats asked.

“Total? Just over eight hundred thousand.” Ernie gestured to his monitor. “A bunch of files are being sent to me. Chandler claimed each restaurant had between ten and fifteen employees, and he had matching payroll documentation. All fabricated. None of the restaurants existed before 2020.”

“How’d you find all that?” I asked.

“I got more bank records. Plus, the payroll numbers didn’t match his tax returns. Classic fraud indicators.” Ernie seemed pleased. “He’s in a lot of trouble.”

“Not the murderer we thought we were investigating,” Spats said, “but at least he’s not walking away clean.”

Ernie studied me. “We got a two-fer with this.”

“I’m glad no one got away,” I said.

“You and me both,” Spats agreed.

I wagged a finger in the air, signaling them to wrap up. “Go home. There’ll be plenty more to do tomorrow.”

Ernie glanced at his watch. “Yeah, I gotta go. I promised to take Liz out to dinner. Assuming I can get home and change before our reservation. The girls are home alone tonight—God help the neighborhood.”

“They partying behind your back?” Spats asked.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Ernie said as he stood up. “Their friends come over—ostensibly to do homework—and they sit on the back porch and talk and giggle and squeal.” He rolled his eyes. “Brooke’s got this boy in her chemistry class—Tyler something. Straight-A student, plays soccer. Seems like a good kid. But Zo caught them texting at midnight and now she’s holding it over her sister’s head.”

“Ah, sibling blackmail.” Spats grinned. “A time-honored tradition.”

“Liz says we should let them work it out, but I caught Brooke trying to get Zo’s phone yesterday, hoping to see her texts. This could escalate to full-scale warfare if we’re not careful.” Ernie shook his head. “Sometimes I miss when their biggest fight was over who got to watch what on TV.”

“Speaking of TV battles,” Spats said as he donned his coat and adjusted his sleeves, “Trissa has to fight to get Jada to do her homework and keep the TV off. One thing that’s worked is Demarcus. Jada loves to have him ‘help’ her—which mostly means having him sit in her lap while she reads her homework to him. Yesterday, he kept pointing at all the pictures in her social studies book and saying ‘What?’ Or what sounded like ‘what?’ Must’ve taken her an hour to get through three pages.”

“Big sisters are a powerful force,” I laughed.

“Trissa’s loving it,” Spats continued. He and Ernie headed for the doorway. “Says it’s good for him to get in touch with his gentle side.”

“Just wait until they start fighting,” Ernie said.

“I hope Jada wants to protect him more than she wants to fight with him.”

“I remember a doozie of a fight between the girls,” Ernie went on. “They were . . .”

They were still trading parenting war stories as they went down the hall and disappeared. I turned to my computer and was wrapping up a few things when Commander Rizzo appeared in the doorway.

“Have a minute?” he asked as he settled into Ernie’s chair.

“Sure,” I said.

“Good work on the Randall case,” he began. “Glad to see you got a confession from her.”

“Thanks.” I stifled a breath of relief. I was glad it had turned out the way it did.

“I wanted to fill you in on Burton.” Rizzo’s expression turned thoughtful. “London’s handling it. A formal reprimand’s going in his file, but we’re keeping it low-key. All his time on the force counts for something.”

“He did try to tank my investigation.”

“And that’s being addressed. But he’s close to retirement, Sarah. London’s making sure he understands that interfering in active cases isn’t acceptable, regardless of his seniority. We don’t need to destroy the man’s pension over it.”

I nodded, understanding the politics at play. “As long as he got the message.”

“Trust me, he did. London may be diplomatic, but he doesn’t pull punches. Burton knows he’s on thin ice.” Rizzo stood. “Sometimes these old-timers need reminding that the department’s evolved. We can’t run investigations like it’s 1985 anymore.”

“Changes are good though. Better forensics, better technology.”

“Better detectives,” Rizzo added meaningfully.

I knew what he meant, and I felt my cheeks flush. “Just doing the job, sir.”

“Do me a favor?” He got up. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

He went into his office, and I logged off my computer and headed out. The drive home gave me time to decompress, to mentally file away the day’s events into their proper compartments. The investigation against Lucy was progressing, Chandler would face consequences for his fraud, and even the Burton situation had been handled. Not a bad day’s work.

Harry’s car was in the garage when I pulled in, and the house smelled amazing when I walked into the kitchen—garlic, herbs, and something grilling.

“Perfect timing,” Harry called from the back deck. “Everything’s almost ready.”

We’d touched base earlier in the day about dinner, and I found him manning the grill, chicken breasts sizzling over the flames. A bottle of wine breathed on the table, along with a colorful salad and what looked like roasted potatoes.

“You’ve been busy,” I said, accepting both the glass of wine he offered and the kiss that came with it.

“Had an easy day at the office. Thought we could eat out here?” He gestured at the table he’d set. “It’s supposed to be clear tonight. Perfect for stargazing later.”

I kicked off my shoes and settled into one of our deck chairs. “How was your day?”

“My client meeting went smoothly, and I actually left the office before six.” He flipped the chicken. “But I want to hear about yours.”

“I got a confession.” I filled him in on what details I could share.

“Your suspect didn’t get away,” he observed as he took the chicken off the grill, brought it to the table, and sat down.

“She couldn’t hide her anger and envy forever.” I took a bite of the chicken—perfectly done, as usual. “Speaking of Chandler, turns out he’s not completely innocent. Ernie found evidence of PPP loan fraud.”

“The pandemic relief funds? That’s federal, isn’t it?”

“It’ll be someone else’s problem soon.”

I switched topics and, while we ate, we discussed the yard and what we might do over the coming weekend. The evening air grew softer around us. After dinner, we stayed on the deck, holding hands and watching the stars emerge one by one. The mountains were profiled against the darkening sky, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked at nothing in particular.

“You seem better,” Harry observed.

I thought about the last several days. Although the investigation into Piper’s death had taken some strange turns, we’d been able to discover her killer, and that felt good. And now that I thought about it, there was some sense of peace about Gloria Lott. Neil was still free, but maybe down the road he would slip up—like Lucy had done—and we’d be able to press charges against him. Those thoughts left me with a little hope.

“I feel better,” I said, squeezing his fingers.

We stayed outside until stars filled the sky, talking about everything and nothing, and the day’s tensions melted away, replaced by the comfortable rhythm of a life shared.

Later, curled up on the couch with the windows open to catch the night breeze, I thought about Lucy Arbogast, about choices and consequences, about the complex web of relationships that could lead someone to murder. Then I looked at Harry, absorbed in his book beside me, and felt grateful for simpler things—a quiet evening, a shared meal, the solid presence of someone who knew all your stories and wanted to hear them anyway.

Tomorrow would bring new cases, new challenges. But for now, this was enough —more than enough. It was everything.

THE END

Click here to get book thirteen in the Detective Sarah Spillman Mystery Series

GUNNING FOR TROUBLE: A JO GUNNING THRILLER

CHAPTER ONE

She wasn’t like all the other teenagers who lounged nearby. The others had the look of runaways with time on the streets—disheveled and worn clothes, uncombed hair, dirt on their faces and under their fingernails. They tried to look cool, with forced laughs and nonchalant nods at each other as they smoked. But their eyes betrayed them, hollow and haunting, speaking to their lives on the run.

The girl who hung on the periphery was different, though. Her shoulder-length, wavy brown hair was neatly styled, her heart-print V-neck blouse unwrinkled, her white shorts clean. This girl hadn’t been a runaway for long, and her innocent gaze spoke volumes. It wouldn’t be long before someone took advantage of her.

A teen boy with tattooed arms held out a cigarette to the girl, who shook her head. He pressed her to take it, and she finally did. Once he lit it for her, she took a drag, then coughed. He laughed, showing a toothless grin. She shrugged and tried to act cool as she took another drag. This time, she didn’t choke on the smoke as much.

The other kids mostly ignored her as she looked off into the distance.

Jo Gunning watched it all, at first mildly disinterested, but her gaze kept going back to the girl. There was something of herself in this one. Not the girl’s naïveté; Jo had always been able to read people, and she had street smarts. However, she knew what it was like to be a fish out of water, to not fit in.

It was a pleasant Monday, and people walked about Rawlins Park. A few mothers pushed babies in strollers. The gaggle of teenagers loitered by the fountain, too high to do much. The afternoon sun beat down, and Jo wiped sweat off her brow. A skinny girl with stringy black hair approached the girl in the V-neck blouse, and they began talking.

Jo edged her way nearer. Trouble was brewing. None of them seemed to notice her, even as she got close enough that she could hear them talking.

“I’m Sammy,” the skinny girl smiled. “You gotta trust me, okay?” She was obviously trying to convince the other girl of something.

The brown-haired girl shrugged and shook her head. Sammy pointed toward the far end of the park. Jo’s gaze followed her finger to a man in jeans and a blue T-shirt. He lounged on a park bench, one leg crossed over the other, smoking a cigarette. But he was eyeing the group of teenagers. The brown-haired girl looked toward the man.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Sammy smiled and offered a joint. The girl shook her head, and the others laughed. Sammy motioned with her head, and the man on the bench stood up. He smoothed his blond hair as he sauntered toward the teenagers. Sammy began talking faster.

“Leroy will be able to help you.” Her jeans hung a bit too loose, and she fiddled with an earring as she talked. “And you’re gonna need it, you know? You don’t got a place to stay tonight.”

The brown-haired girl shook her head. “No, but I’ll be all right.”

“Yeah, I said the same thing. But Leroy’s okay. He can help you, you know? Get you something to eat, that kind of thing.”

“I guess I could talk to him,” the brown-haired girl replied.

Leroy closed in, but before he could talk to the brown-haired girl, Jo stepped up and blocked his way. The man’s eyes were so cold and dark, she felt a chill run down her spine.

“Why don’t you move along,” he said with a hint of a Southern accent.

Jo glanced over her shoulder at the girl, who was watching them cautiously.

“I could say the same thing to you,” Jo said as she turned back to the man.

Leroy stiffened, and his brow furrowed. She smelled cigarette smoke on his clothes, saw the danger in his eyes. He gestured toward the teen girls.

“I’m just going to talk to them.” His tone was smarmy.

Jo slowly shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Hey lady,” Sammy said. “Leroy’s okay.”

Leroy smiled. “See? Sammy thinks I’m okay.” He licked his lips as he stared at the brown-haired girl.

“Leroy’s just gonna talk to her.” Sammy nodded at the other girl. “Tell him your name.”

Before the brown-haired girl could say anything, Jo held up a hand. “Don’t tell them.”

The brown-haired girl looked at her. “Why?”

“Because knowledge is power,” Jo said. She glared at Leroy. “And he doesn’t need it.”

Leroy swore softly. “You trying to interfere in my business?”

“Nope.”

“You know her?” he asked the brown-haired girl as he jerked a thumb at Jo.

The girl shook her head. “No,” she said softly.

“Then there’s no problem with you and me.” Leroy grabbed the girl by the arm. “Come on.”

Jo shook her head as she took a step toward him. She was five-nine and in shape. Leroy wasn’t much taller, and he hesitated, clearly feeling the threat of her presence. He had a threat of his own, though. With his other hand, he inched his shirt up to reveal a small pistol tucked into his waistband. The brown-haired girl gulped, and the teens stepped back.

“Don’t mess with Leroy,” Sammy said.

Jo met Leroy’s gaze carefully. Then she leaned toward him and whispered in his ear. “Let her go.”

Leroy shook his head. Jo never underestimated an opponent, but Leroy had made two critical mistakes. His right hand was occupied with the girl’s arm, and his left was holding up his shirt. He could do nothing as Jo struck out with a fist and punched him in the gut. Leroy sputtered as he let go of the girl and doubled over. A heavy blow to the solar plexus caused instant pain and a desperate struggle to breath. The other teens stepped back and murmured in astonishment as Leroy gasped for air. He tried to swear, but no words came out.

Jo stepped back and looked at the brown-haired girl. “May I have a moment of your time? I think I can help you.”

The brown-haired girl hesitated, then looked at the other teenagers around her. Finally her gaze rested on Leroy. He glanced up with a leer, and that made her decision for her.

“Sure,” the girl said.

Jo backpedaled a few steps and gestured for the teen to follow her. They walked away from Leroy and the others, who muttered among themselves.

CHAPTER TWO

“Hey,” the girl called out. “What’s going on?”

Jo kept her stride long as she headed to the far end of the park, where an unoccupied bench sat under towering maple trees. She took a seat and gestured for the girl to join her. Rush hour traffic was growing, and the buzz of cars disturbed the peacefulness of the park. The girl eased herself down. Glancing over, she drew in a breath and waited.

Jo looked across the park. The teenagers still loitered around the fountain, and Sammy was talking to Leroy, who had managed to get to his feet. He held one arm over his stomach, waving his other hand angrily. Sammy gazed toward Jo and shrugged, but she wasn’t moving. Jo felt sorry for the girl. She would probably have a long night ahead, and who knew what Leroy would do to her? Something to address, but not now. She shifted and rested an arm on the back of the bench, then contemplated the girl beside her.

“What’s your name?” Jo asked.

The girl smiled slyly. “I thought you said I shouldn’t tell. You know, the knowledge that you would gain.”

Jo nodded. Not a bad reply. “Yeah, okay. You got me there.” She tipped her head toward the kids at the fountain. “But I did save you from a bad situation. Isn’t that worth something, like your name?”

The girl shrugged. “I’m not sure you saved me from anything. I could handle them.”

Jo looked down her nose at the girl. “Please.”

Her cheeks reddened. “I could have,” she said in a small voice. She managed to meet Jo’s gaze, then quickly glanced away and sighed. “It’s Brooke.”

Jo stared at her for a moment. “That’s a nice name. Better than mine.” Time to use the intelligence-gathering skills that she’d acquired over many years in Civil Affairs. She could make people comfortable, and she used that to her advantage. Jo had been a highly trained Army soldier with CA, and she was fluent in several languages, was an expert markswoman, and had worked with several secretive Special Operations units. She’d gathered human intelligence in dangerous places, where those who were caught were generally tortured or killed.

The girl looked at her. “What is your name?”

“It’s Jo. Short for Josephine.” She frowned. “I never liked Josephine. It’s too long, sounds too fancy.”

Brooke laughed. “Yeah, my name is like a river. But I kinda like it.”

Jo waited while two men in shorts and T-shirts walked by. Seeing Brooke up close, studying her, Jo was even more certain that the girl had gotten in over her head. Her haircut was stylish, her makeup artfully applied, nail polish on manicured fingernails. She didn’t belong with that group of teenagers, not at all.

“You live around here?” Jo asked.

Brooke shook her head. “North Springfield.”

Jo nodded. “Nice area. Want to tell me how you ended up in the park today?”

Brooke shifted, stretching her feet out in front of her and crossing her arms across her chest. She stared down at the ground. “I ran away from home.”

“I gathered that. Why?”

“Because it sucks at home. My parents argue a lot, and they completely ignore me. It’s like they’ve been in their own little world, and they don’t seem to understand what I’m going through.”

“What are you going through?”

Brooke gnawed her lip. Then she wiggled her foot. Jo waited. Finally, the girl went on. “There’s a couple of girls at school. They give me a hard time, tell me that I’m stupid to focus on my grades, that I’m a teacher’s pet. Just because I don’t want to hang out and party with them all the time.” She snorted. “I’ve done things, you know? I’ve been drunk, and I’ve been high.”

Jo tended to doubt the last, based on the girl’s defensive tone, but she wasn’t going to point that out. She stared across the park again. The group of teenagers had moved on, and so had Leroy. But they’d be back.

She looked at Brooke. “You think you fit in with that group of kids by the fountain?”

“Sure,” Brooke said, a bit too fast.

Now Jo laughed. “I don’t think so. You couldn’t even smoke that cigarette without gagging.”

Brooke’s cheeks turned red again. “So what?”

Jo softened her approach. “You said your parents were arguing a lot, but was anything else going on?” The girl shrugged, and Jo went on. “Did your parents do anything to you?” It was a not-so-subtle way of asking if she’d been abused. A lot of teenage runaways faced some kind of trauma at home.

Brooke shifted once more. “No, nothing like that.”

Jo believed her. “I have to be honest, it doesn’t sound like there’s too much going on.” Just a lot of teenage angst, she thought but didn’t say.

Brooke wiggled her foot for a moment. “What do you know?”

Jo considered that. Her own childhood had been okay. Her parents had been strict with both Jo and her younger sister, Avery, but Jo wasn’t sure how unfair the treatment had been. She’d always felt as if she needed to overachieve, and she had. Just not in the arena that her parents had hoped for. They certainly hadn’t wanted her to join the military, which eventually led to working with Civil Affairs.

Growing up, Jo had never once thought about running away—although her choice of career, which had taken her all over the world, could’ve been seen that way.

She pointed across the park. “You don’t want to end up with those kids, and certainly not with Leroy.”

“Why?”

“You can’t be that naïve. Most of those kids were strung out, and you know Leroy’s a pimp. He saw you as his next mark, and before you know it, you’d be doing the same thing Sammy is. She’ll be working for Leroy to get her next fix.” She knew she sounded harsh, but she wanted to make a point.

Brooke stared at the ground, her body tense. Then she nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

Brooke turned to look at Jo, surveying her. “How do you know so much? You a cop or something? You hit Leroy, and it looked like you knew what you were doing. You weren’t scared of him.”

“I can handle myself.” Jo arched an eyebrow. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Brooke mimicked her, a little too harshly.

Jo let out a sharp laugh. “Leroy would eat you for lunch. You don’t know how to handle someone like that.”

“Oh, and you do?” Brooke didn’t hide the sarcasm.

“I’ve done a lot worse,” Jo said, her tone cautioning.

The girl stared at her for a moment. “Like what?”

“I’ve . . . taken care of the bad guys.”

“Who?”

“No one you need to know about.”

Brooke sat straighter. Her curiosity made her seem innocent. Her guard was coming down a bit. “What do you do?”

Jo hesitated before answering. She didn’t like to share about herself, but she wanted to keep the girl engaged in the conversation. “I used to be in the Army.”

“When did you get out?”

“About a year ago.”

“Why’d you leave?”

Jo’s reply caught in her throat. How could she explain that it was because she’d made a mistake? Officially, that hadn’t been the case, but she knew. Things had happened, terrible things, all because she’d missed the signs.

“It was just time.”

“And Virginia’s your home? You work with the government now?”

Jo smiled. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Hey, I told you about me.”

That brought out a laugh. “You remind me of my little sister. She would ask a lot of questions, too.”

“Yeah?” Brooke said. “I don’t have any siblings. Is it nice having a sister?”

Jo stared past her toward the street, where cars zoomed by, streaks of color against the gray canvas of buildings behind them. “She’s ten years younger than me. I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“Why?”

“I was busy with my job.”

“Were you deployed?”

“Something like that.”

The look Brooke gave her carried understanding, a shrewdness Jo hadn’t expected. “My parents work for the government. I hear things. You weren’t just a grunt, were you? Not the way you act. Were you part of some special forces? Something like that?”

Jo shook her head. There was a lot of classified information that she supposed she could talk about, but she wouldn’t. She still had too much loyalty to the military. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

They both stayed silent for a minute, listening to the symphony of Rawlins Park, people talking, kids laughing. Stretching, Jo tapped Brooke on the arm.

“Are you going to go home?”

Brooke shrugged. “I guess.”

“Trust me, it’s way better than being on the streets.”

The girl nodded slowly. She seemed lost, but Jo knew what she was talking about. Brooke would never survive out here.

“I don’t know.” Brooke pursed her lips. “My parents might be mad.”

“Do you have any money?”

She shook her head. “A few dollars.”

“No credit card?”

“No.”

Jo sighed. “I can get you an Uber or Lyft,” she offered.

Brooke shook her head. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I don’t mind.”

She shook her head again. “No.”

“Why don’t you call your parents to come get you? If they don’t know you ran away, you can make up something so you don’t get in trouble.”

Brooke drew in a breath. “I don’t have my cell phone.”

“Were you worried about being tracked?”

“What? No. I didn’t even think of that. I left it at home because I didn’t want them calling me.”

Jo rubbed her forehead. “And you didn’t get a new one? A phone is a lifeline, especially on the streets.”

“I guess I made a mistake.” A petulant tone.

“I’ll call your parents.” Jo pulled out her own phone.

“No way.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “I’m just trying to help.”

Brooke crossed her arms, closing herself off again. “I’ll call them when I’m ready. And don’t try calling the police.” She gestured around. “I’ll just leave here, and the cops won’t find me.”

Jo nodded. She couldn’t force the girl into going home. But if she was going to stay on the streets, she at least needed a phone. Tapping on her screen, Jo found a Target five blocks away. She pocketed her phone, stood up, and gestured at Brooke.

“Come on.”

Brooke stared up at her. “Where’re we going?”

“To get you a phone. You can use it to call your parents, when you’re ready.”

“You don’t have to.”

Jo put her hands on her hips. “Listen, kid, at least let me do this.”

Brooke let out a huff of air, thinking for a moment. “You sure are pushy.”

Jo smiled and walked away from the park bench, trusting that the girl would follow.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

Dear Reader,

If you enjoyed Deadly Envy, would you please write an honest review?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Renée's early career as a counselor gives her a unique ability to write characters with depth and personality, and she now works as a business analyst. She lives in the mountains west of Denver, Colorado and enjoys hiking, cycling, and reading when she's not busy writing her next novel.

Renée loves to travel and has visited numerous countries around the world. She has also spent many summer days at her parents' cabin in the hills outside of Boulder, Colorado, which was the inspiration for the setting of Taylor Crossing in her novel Nephilim.

She is the author of the Reed Ferguson mysteries, the Jo Gunning Thriller series, the Sarah Spillman police procedurals, the Evelyn Chambers Senior Spy series, and the Dewey Webb historical mysteries. She also wrote the standalone suspense novels The Girl in the Window and What's Yours is Mine, Nephilim: Genesis of Evil, a supernatural thriller, along with children's novels and other short stories.

Visit Renée at www.reneepawlish.com or at Facebook or Instagram.

RENÉE’S BOOKSHELF

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The Girl in the Window

What’s Yours Is Mine

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Take Five Collection (Mystery Anthology)

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Codename Richard: A Ghost Story

The Taste of Blood: A Vampire Story

This War We’re In (Middle-grade Historical Fiction)

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author once again gratefully acknowledges all those who helped in the writing of this book, especially: Beth Treat and Beth Higgins.

Randy Powers, retired, Chief Deputy, continues to provide his expertise and time. I greatly appreciate his help. Any mistakes in police procedure are mine.

If I’ve forgotten anyone, please accept my apologies.

To all my beta readers: I am in your debt!

Dianne Biscoe, Tracy Gestewitz, Sherry Ito, Becky Neilsen, Joyce Stumpff, Jennifer Thompson, Patricia Thursby, Albert Stevens, Marlene Van Matre