Digging Up Death (A Mari Duggins Mystery) Read Online Free PDF Page B

was in the studio when they told me Henderson had a heart attack. Can I go now? I don’t want to be late for my class.”
    “A few more questions.”
    I shifted my weight.
    “When I walked in, you mentioned someone named Fletcher.”
    “He was a guest on the show today.”
    “You think he brought in the soil?”
    “I assume. He tracked dirt all over the studio. Not uncommon for an archaeologist.” Detective Bozo.
    Lopez turned to the guy who was bagging the trash contents. “Benson, make sure you collect soil samples from the studio as well.” Lopez’s attention returned to me. “Does this Fletcher have a last name?”
    “Yes.”
    Lopez’s jaw tightened and released. Tightened and released. “What is it?” Tightened and released.
    “Murdock.”
    “What can you tell me about him?”
    Plenty, but I didn’t think Lopez wanted the unabridged history on me and Fletcher. “He’s a field archaeologist who recently returned from Egypt. He won’t stay in the states long. He never does.”
    “Was he the last one to see Henderson?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Were they both guests on today’s show?”
    “Yes.”
    “So they were in the green room at the same time?”
    “Possibly. I didn’t see him before the show.”
    “Who? Murdock or Henderson?” Lopez tapped his pen on his pad.
    “Fletch—Mr. Murdock. I saw Professor Henderson in the hall.”
    Lopez raised his eyebrows. “Was he alone?”
    “No. He was with a colleague.”
    “Name?”
    “Peter Kipling.” Should I mention the argument? Messing with Lopez’s head was one thing, but I’d watched enough crime TV to know withholding information could be serious. Yet, what information did I really have? If I mentioned the argument it would look bad for Peter.
    I couldn’t trust Lopez. He’d most likely turn this investigation into a circus. I had to speak with Peter face to face. It was the least I could do for an innocent man.
    “Here’s my business card.”
    I jammed it in my bag.
    “If you remember anything pertinent to this investigation, please give me a call. Before you leave, Officer Benson needs to fingerprint you and take photos of the bottom of your shoes.” He pointed to the guy on his hands and knees searching under the sofa.
    I hesitated, glancing at my boots that probably cost more than his paycheck.
    “You can either remove them yourself, or I can do it for you.”
    “Whatever you need. I wouldn’t want to impede this investigation.” I reluctantly pulled off my Dolce & Gabbana’s. “But these weren’t the shoes I was wearing when Henderson died.”
    “Then I’ll need those shoes.”
    I sighed and crossed my arms. At this rate, there was no way I’d make it to class on time.
    He raised his eyebrows. “Do I have to get a search warrant?”
    “Of course not, I have nothing to hide. But I hope you don’t spend too much of the taxpayers’ money on this ghost hunt. The man had a heart condition. There wasn’t enough time for him to be murdered.”
    Lopez straightened as if he grew a spine. “Mari, things aren’t always as they seem.” His coal eyes bored into my soul. “If Henderson was murdered, and I’m not saying he was, but if he was, I can promise you, someone is going down. Hard.”
    I held back emotion, the ache in my head ballooning. As if that could make up for letting my mother’s killer go free.

CHAPTER FIVE
    11:10 a.m.
    Lyndon University Department of Archaeology
    WHEN I WALKED INTO the Archaeology offices after class, I didn’t expect the tidal wave of emptiness to drag me under. The place usually surged with gossip and flirtatious interns. Not today. And I was glad. I was in no shape to paste on my condolences.
    I surveyed the empty lounge. Tribal masks, ancient tools, and posters of Egypt, Mesopotamia, Mayan ruins, and other exotic locations adorned the walls. In the corner of the room the white lights on the fake Christmas tree twinkled. Nothing out of place except the bouquet of flowers on the