of day out of the darkness.
Peggy’s remains had been placed in a black body bag and transferred to a gurney that
was being wheeled out through the gate under the direction of a man Jaye assumed was
the coroner. The crime scene investigators, along with Brock and the sheriff, were
slowly crossing the side yard, their shoulders touching, their heads down and their
eyes focused so intently on the ground that none of them seemed to notice she was
there. It didn’t take much crime savvy to figure out they were scouring the area for
clues—a speck of blood, a shred of cloth, anything that might help them piece together
what had happened there.
“Crap.” Brock stopped in his tracks, causing his colleagues to stop as well.
“What’s wrong?” the sheriff asked. “What is it?”
“Dog crap,” Brock grumbled, dragging his left foot along the ground.
Jaye choked back the laughter that was bubbling up her throat, the tension of the
night making the moment more comical than it otherwise would have been. In spite of
her best efforts, a small hiccup of a laugh got away from her, instantly drawing all
their eyes in her direction. Judging by their faces, no one else saw any cause for
amusement.
“This area is off-limits, Miss,” the sheriff said, his expression as steely as his
tone.
“Don’t go into the house either,” Brock added, hopping to keep his balance on one
foot while he checked to see if his shoe required further attention. “It still has
to be processed.”
Murmuring an apology, Jaye wandered back toward the patio, feeling like a weary seabird
with no place to land. She might be free to leave, but she had no intention of going
anywhere until she’d had a chance to speak to Sierra.
She was relieved to see that Anastos was finally on his feet. From a few of his words
that carried to her, he seemed to be delivering his version of the “don’t leave town”
advice she’d received. He nodded at Jaye as he strode past her.
“You okay?” Jaye asked, settling into the chair he’d vacated. In the amber glow of
the patio light, Sierra looked dazed.
“I could never kill anyone,” she said so softly that she might have been talking
to herself. Then her eyes focused on Jaye. “Cal suggested that maybe Peggy attacked
me, and I was just trying to defend myself when . . .,” her voice trailed off. “I
guess it makes sense from his point of view.”
“Sierra, you cannot allow people to put words in your mouth,” Jaye told her sternly,
“especially not the police.” She’d learned from personal experience that sometimes
you had to be firm with people in distress. Being too coddling or sympathetic often
fed into their emotions, causing them to fall apart faster. And Sierra needed to pull
herself together now.
Chapter 3
Jaye heaved a sigh of relief after hearing Sierra’s recap of her interview. Their
statements had been consistent with each other in all respects. Not surprising, given
that they were based on the same set of facts. Yet it would hardly have been the first
time jittery nerves scuttled the truth. The crime scene investigators had finished
going through the house, and the detectives had cleared Sierra to stay there, with
one caveat—Frosty wasn’t allowed in the yard where he could muck up clues that might
have been overlooked.
It was after one o’clock when Jaye finally returned home. She’d tried unsuccessfully
to talk Sierra into coming with her instead of spending the night alone. Although
there was only one bed in her apartment, Jaye swore she didn’t mind camping on the
floor. But Sierra had insisted she’d be fine at home with her pal Frosty to keep her
company. Besides, she’d added practically, if she took refuge with Jaye tonight, she’d
just find it harder to stay at home the next night. Jaye couldn’t argue with her reasoning,
which was impressive since Sierra hardly ever dipped her toes in