arrived.
Sarah sidled up to me. 'Hey, Lucy. Ricky's home.' She chin-gestured to a dark-gray unmarked that had just braked to a stop, off-center detachable roof-light flashing red. Sheriff Jake Pavlik climbed out of the driver's seat and scanned the area before approaching the stage. He paused to say a few words to the cop who'd let us pass and then mounted the stairs.
Traditionally, his deputies and, apparently, the coroner himself got a kick out of keeping Pavlik informed as to my whereabouts. At first I think it ticked him off. Now, it probably served as a warning of where not to go. At least until after work hours.
Still, here he was. 'Traffic bad, sheriff?' I asked him as Sarah made herself scarce.
'Terrible.' Pavlik – voice and visage – was all business.
'Did someone call you?' The fact that he'd arrived with lights flashing indicated they had.
'Yup.' He slanted his blue-gray eyes toward the triumvirate of Anita, Brewster and Wynona Counsel. The two women were talking on cellphones, hopefully not to each other. Brewster, like a man in a fog, was staring at the coroner's back. 'My boss .'
Of course. While both the sheriff and the county executive posts were separate, elected positions, Brewster Hampton liked to believe he was master of all things 'county'.
Pavlik turned to the coroner. 'What do we have, doc?'
No wonder I didn't remember the official's name.
'The victim, JoLynne Penn-Williams, was in the inflatable. Up there.' Doc pointed at the gallows Sarah and I had just vacated. I didn't think I'd be telling either the coroner or the sheriff the nickname for that framework any time soon.
Pavlik lifted a portion of the decidedly deflated inflatable. 'What was this thing?'
'A nine-hundred-fifty dollar, five-thousand-gallon coffee cup,' I said glumly. I pointed to what was showing of the Uncommon Grounds logo near JoLynne's right leg.
'Why did you . . .?' Pavlik seemed to rethink his question. 'Why was Ms Penn-Williams in there?'
'Beats me,' I said. 'She wasn't supposed to be.'
Pavlik looked relieved that though I might be idiot enough to spend nearly a thousand dollars on a gimmick, I wasn't stupid enough to place a woman – dead or alive – in it.
Which begged the question. How had JoLynne gotten into the cup? The thing had sides five feet high – way too challenging to scramble over, especially if you were wearing a pencil skirt, silk blouse and heels as she was. Besides, someone at the dedication should have seen her trying.
I opened my mouth to ask the question, but Pavlik had one of his own. 'So, she died in the fall?' He was looking at the roughly ten-foot height differential between the gallows and the train platform below.
'Don't know,' Doc said. 'There's no apparent cause of death. We'll have to see what we find once she's on the slab.'
I was accustomed to cop-talk, even found myself using it occasionally, so I didn't cringe. 'Blunt-force trauma, I bet,' I said, for the second time that morning.
Both men looked at me.
I shrugged. 'No blood in the white cup.'
'How was that thing secured up there?' Doc asked in a grumpy tone.
'It wasn't secured so much as weighted,' I admitted. 'From what I could tell when I was up there—'
'Wait,' Pavlik interrupted. 'You were up there?'
'Yes.'
'When?'
'As the cup and saucer fell. I tried to catch it – them. Sarah, too.'
Pavlik looked terribly confused. 'You caught Sarah?'
'Who's Sarah?' Doc asked.
'My partner,' I explained. 'And no, I didn't catch Sarah. She hung on to me so I wouldn't go over with the inflatable.'
Doc was eyeing both Pavlik and moi curiously. 'I thought you two were . . .' He cleared his throat. 'An item.'
'We . . .' I finally got it. 'Sarah's not that kind of partner. We just own the coffee shop together.'
'Ahh.' Our coroner seemed relieved that his county's chief law enforcement officer wasn't into three-ways.
Two uniformed men with a gurney had made their way to the stage and now Doc waved them over. 'So the cup was
Sarah sidled up to me. 'Hey, Lucy. Ricky's home.' She chin-gestured to a dark-gray unmarked that had just braked to a stop, off-center detachable roof-light flashing red. Sheriff Jake Pavlik climbed out of the driver's seat and scanned the area before approaching the stage. He paused to say a few words to the cop who'd let us pass and then mounted the stairs.
Traditionally, his deputies and, apparently, the coroner himself got a kick out of keeping Pavlik informed as to my whereabouts. At first I think it ticked him off. Now, it probably served as a warning of where not to go. At least until after work hours.
Still, here he was. 'Traffic bad, sheriff?' I asked him as Sarah made herself scarce.
'Terrible.' Pavlik – voice and visage – was all business.
'Did someone call you?' The fact that he'd arrived with lights flashing indicated they had.
'Yup.' He slanted his blue-gray eyes toward the triumvirate of Anita, Brewster and Wynona Counsel. The two women were talking on cellphones, hopefully not to each other. Brewster, like a man in a fog, was staring at the coroner's back. 'My boss .'
Of course. While both the sheriff and the county executive posts were separate, elected positions, Brewster Hampton liked to believe he was master of all things 'county'.
Pavlik turned to the coroner. 'What do we have, doc?'
No wonder I didn't remember the official's name.
'The victim, JoLynne Penn-Williams, was in the inflatable. Up there.' Doc pointed at the gallows Sarah and I had just vacated. I didn't think I'd be telling either the coroner or the sheriff the nickname for that framework any time soon.
Pavlik lifted a portion of the decidedly deflated inflatable. 'What was this thing?'
'A nine-hundred-fifty dollar, five-thousand-gallon coffee cup,' I said glumly. I pointed to what was showing of the Uncommon Grounds logo near JoLynne's right leg.
'Why did you . . .?' Pavlik seemed to rethink his question. 'Why was Ms Penn-Williams in there?'
'Beats me,' I said. 'She wasn't supposed to be.'
Pavlik looked relieved that though I might be idiot enough to spend nearly a thousand dollars on a gimmick, I wasn't stupid enough to place a woman – dead or alive – in it.
Which begged the question. How had JoLynne gotten into the cup? The thing had sides five feet high – way too challenging to scramble over, especially if you were wearing a pencil skirt, silk blouse and heels as she was. Besides, someone at the dedication should have seen her trying.
I opened my mouth to ask the question, but Pavlik had one of his own. 'So, she died in the fall?' He was looking at the roughly ten-foot height differential between the gallows and the train platform below.
'Don't know,' Doc said. 'There's no apparent cause of death. We'll have to see what we find once she's on the slab.'
I was accustomed to cop-talk, even found myself using it occasionally, so I didn't cringe. 'Blunt-force trauma, I bet,' I said, for the second time that morning.
Both men looked at me.
I shrugged. 'No blood in the white cup.'
'How was that thing secured up there?' Doc asked in a grumpy tone.
'It wasn't secured so much as weighted,' I admitted. 'From what I could tell when I was up there—'
'Wait,' Pavlik interrupted. 'You were up there?'
'Yes.'
'When?'
'As the cup and saucer fell. I tried to catch it – them. Sarah, too.'
Pavlik looked terribly confused. 'You caught Sarah?'
'Who's Sarah?' Doc asked.
'My partner,' I explained. 'And no, I didn't catch Sarah. She hung on to me so I wouldn't go over with the inflatable.'
Doc was eyeing both Pavlik and moi curiously. 'I thought you two were . . .' He cleared his throat. 'An item.'
'We . . .' I finally got it. 'Sarah's not that kind of partner. We just own the coffee shop together.'
'Ahh.' Our coroner seemed relieved that his county's chief law enforcement officer wasn't into three-ways.
Two uniformed men with a gurney had made their way to the stage and now Doc waved them over. 'So the cup was
Similar Books
Bound To Him: Three Dates with a Billionaire
Emma Lyn Wild
'Twas the Night After Christmas
Sabrina Jeffries
Coolidge
Amity Shlaes
Single Jeopardy
Gene Grossman
Walk (Gentry Boys)
Cora Brent
Flirting With Disaster
Sofia Harper
Lawman from Nogales (9781101544747)
Ralph W. Cotton
Hoofprints (Gail McCarthy series)
Laura Crum
Murder in Mesopotamia
Agatha Christie