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she decided to write a bunch of them. So now she has The House to Die For series. A new book and a new house to flip every
year. This time around Nora opened it up to a few of her friends. Terry's wife,
Marilyn, and Jo Drabyak are the two newest partners.'
    'Actually,
Marilyn and Jo are more like investors with opinions,' Tony said. 'My wife does
most of the day-to-day work.'
    'And
she gets a salary,' Charlie said.
    'She
earns it. Wendy makes it sound like our wives are involved in something
crooked.'
    'That's
not what I meant,' Wendy said. 'We all know that there are some real sketchy
characters in the contracting business. They cut corners, they bribe
inspectors, they hire illegal immigrants...'
    'They
cash your cheque, don't show up to do the work, so I wind up moving in with my
partner,' I said.
    'Here's
my point,' Wendy said. 'Some accountant hits on Jo Drabyak, she tells him to
buzz off, and he sends her flowers. What if the same thing happens on the
construction site with some illegal whose wife is still in Mexico? Maybe he
doesn't send roses. Maybe he follows her home and kills her.'
    'So
now you're saying some horny Mexican killed her?' Tony smiled and shook his
head. 'Hey, as long as you're projecting what the Mexicans would do, would you
care to hear a point of view from a genuine Mexican'
    'Go
ahead,' Kilcullen said.
    'Jo
was in charge of publicity for the project,' he said. 'She didn't interact with
the workers. Even if she had, she was a total sweetheart who got along with
everyone. My wife, on the other hand, is a hot-blooded Latina with a short
fuse. She's the line boss. She screams at the crew all day. She insults their
mothers.'
    He
smiled. We knew where this was headed.
    'What
I'm saying is, if those workers took a poll on who to shoot, Marisol would win
unanimously.'
    Nobody
argued the point. We all knew Marisol well enough to realise he was right. We spent
the next half hour tossing around theories. Since we all came from different
disciplines, we all had different ideas of who might want to murder a cop's
wife. Gangs. Organised crime. Rappers. I'm sure if we spitballed long enough,
OJ would have come up as a suspect.
    By
seven thirty Terry and I were back on the 101, inching our way toward the
Valley.
    'Long
day,' I said.
    'It's
not over,' Terry said. 'We have to look into this house-flipping business.
Which means when we get home, I'm gonna have to interrogate my wife.'

Chapter
Nine
     
     
    Marilyn
and Diana were in the living room, a bottle of wine and two glasses on the
coffee table between them.
    I
went over and kissed Diana. Marilyn got up and hugged Terry long and hard.
    'There's
no dinner,' she said. Her eyes were red. 'I went to church, and now I'm having
some wine. I'm pretty useless. Do you know who killed her?'
    'Not
yet,' Terry said.
    'She
was such a wonderful person,' Marilyn said. 'Why? That's all I've been saying
all afternoon. Why?'
    It's
a question Terry and I hear a lot in our line of work. We never have an answer.
Usually we just say sorry for your loss and stand there quietly until
the emotion subsides. But this was personal. Terry put his arms around her
again and whispered something in her ear.
    'Hey,
Dad. Hey, Mike.' It was Emily, Marilyn's and Terry's youngest daughter. Emily
is sixteen, same red hair and green eyes as her mom, only on a smaller frame.
Her older twin sisters had just started college. Sarah had decided to spend a
year at LA City, so she was still living at home. But Rebecca was in St Louis
at Washington U, which opened up a bedroom for me and Diana. As usual, Emily
was being followed by Jett, the black lab my father gave her.
    'Hey,
honey,' Terry said, not letting go of Marilyn.
    'I
heard about Mrs Drabyak,' Emily said. 'I'm really, really sorry. But I know you
and Mike are going to catch the person who did it.'
    'Did
you finish your homework?' Marilyn said, uncoupling from her husband.
    'Yes
and no,' Emily said.
    'Pick
one,' her mother said.
    'Madame
Bouchard is