E is for Evidence Read Online Free PDF Page A

didn’t know a soul. What kept me was the sure knowledge that I had nowhere else to go. This might be the extent of my holiday celebration, and I thought I might as well enjoy it. I accepted some punch, helped myself to cheese and crackers, ate some cookies with pink and green sugar on top, smiled pleasantly, and generally made myself amenable to anyone within range. By 3:00, when the party was really getting under way, I excused myself and headed out the door. I had justreached the curb when I heard someone call my name. I turned. Heather was moving down the walk behind me, holding out an envelope embossed with the Wood/Warren logo.
    â€œI’m glad I caught you,” she said. “I think Mr. Wood wanted you to have this before you left. He was called away unexpectedly. This was in my out box.”
    â€œThanks.” I opened the flap and peered at the contents: inventory sheets. “Oh great,” I said, amazed that he’d remembered in the midst of his vanishing act. “I’ll call on Monday and set up a time to talk to him.”
    â€œSorry about today,” she said. “Merry Christmas!” She waved and then moved back to the party. The door was now propped open, cigarette smoke and noise spilling out in equal parts. Ava Daugherty was watching us, her gaze fixed with curiosity on the envelope Heather’d given me, which I was just tucking into my handbag. I returned to my car and drove back into town.
    When I stopped by the office, I passed the darkened glass doors of California Fidelity. Like many other businesses, CFI had shut down early for Christmas Eve. I unlocked my door, tossed the file on my desk, and checked for messages. I put a call through to the fire chief for a quick verification of the informationI had, but he, too, was gone. I left my number and was told he probably wouldn’t return the call until Monday.
    By 4:00, I was back in my apartment with the drawbridge pulled up. And that’s where I stayed for the entire weekend.
    Christmas Day I spent alone, but not unhappily.
    The day after that was Sunday. I tidied my apartment, shopped for groceries, made pots of hot tea, and read.
    Monday, December 27, I was back in harness again, sitting at my desk in a poinky mood, trying to wrestle the fire-scene inspection into a coherent narrative.
    The phone rang. I was hoping it was Mrs. Brunswick at the bank, calling back to tell me the five-thousand-dollar snafu had been cleared up. “Millhone Investigations,” I said.
    â€œOh hi, Kinsey. This is Darcy, next door. I just wondered when I could pop over and pick up that file.”
    â€œDarcy, it’s only ten-fifteen! I’m working on it, okay?” Please note: I did not use the “F” word, as I know she takes offense.
    â€œWell, you don’t have to take that tone,” she said. “I told Mac the report wouldn’t be ready yet, but he says he wants to review the file first anyway.”
    â€œReview the file before what?”
    â€œI don’t know, Kinsey. How am I supposed to know? I called because there’s a note in the action file on my desk.”
    â€œOh, your ‘action’ file. You should have said so before. Come pick the damn thing up.”
    Ill temper and intuition are not a good mix. Whatever inconsistency was nagging at me, I could hardly get a fix on it with Darcy breathing down my neck. My first act that morning had been to fill out a form for the Insurance Crime Prevention Unit, asking for a computer check on Lance Wood. Maybe at some point in the past I’d come across a previous fire claim and that’s what was bugging me. The computer check wouldn’t come back for ten days, but at least I’d have covered my bases. I adjusted the tabs on my machine, typed in the name of the insured, the location, date, and time of loss.
    When Darcy arrived to pick up the file, I spoke without looking up. “I dropped the film off at Speedee-Foto on