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TJ. “I’d like to thank you for helping me out. It was a rough night.”
    “No thanks necessary,” TJ replied. She reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of Don Pilar tequila. Top-shelf stuff. “That’s a lot of thanks.”
    “There is something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
    TJ picked up the baby monitor and led Gemma to the other side of the room, where they sat across from each other on matching leather chairs.
    “I’d like to hire you,” Gemma said without preamble.
    TJ felt butterflies rising in her stomach. This job could mean the end of her recent boredom with her work.
    “To do what?” she asked, and hoped she already knew the answer.
    “I told you that Norman Teschler was a good friend of mine. I called the fire inspector. He wasn’t very helpful, but he did tell me that so far they believe the explosion was caused by a gas leak. The house was old and one of the gas connections was the kind that was relatively easy to turn. It had been removed from its place on the end of the pipe, either intentionally or because it hadn’t been fastened properly. They didn’t find it in the rubble, but he said that doesn’t necessarily mean it wasn’t there; it could have landed two blocks away. He said sometimes they work their own way off and that people need to have their connections checked every year by the gas company.”
    TJ knew where Gemma was headed. It wouldn’t be the first time a suicide or an accident was faked. She had first-hand experience with that. The cause of the explosion could be reported as accidental or undetermined in spite of the fact there were clues suggesting foul play.
    “So there are other ways it could have come off—other than intentional,” TJ clarified.
    “Yes, but none that would convince me it wasn’t a deliberate act. Like I told you, Norman was a fanatic about his house.”
    “Are you sayin’ there were people that might have wanted him dead?”
    Gemma whisked her hair off her forehead. “That’s the problem. I don’t know anyone who would have done such a thing. I do know that if the connection had been faulty or even loose, Norman would have noticed.”
    “Well, people get busy, forget things.”
    “Not Norman. And especially not since he started cutting his time at the business. He was writing a book and spending more time at home in front of his computer.”
    TJ wanted the case so badly she could taste it, but wasn’t sure there would be much to go on. “What about valuables? Could he have been robbed, then the house set off to cover it up?”
    “I doubt it. He didn’t believe in having money around the house. And I can’t think of anything he owned that anyone would want bad enough to kill him. He didn’t collect coins or other valuables. If Norman had anything of value, it would have been in his safe deposit box.”
    “How about the book?” TJ asked.
    “I don’t think the book could have anything to do with it. He wasn’t even halfway finished with it. Norman was a first-time author and planned on self-publishing.” She grinned. “He said he was too old to go the other route. Getting traditionally published can take a new writer decades.”
    TJ started taking notes. “So the only reason you think this wasn’t an accident is because he was careful?”
    Gemma said, “No, there is another reason. Norman gave up smoking a few years ago. He was practically a chain smoker, and since then he had a habit of allowing himself one cigar at the end of the day. He smoked it before he went to bed at night. He’d relax in his favorite chair with a glass of wine, his cigar, and a good book.”
    “You’re sayin’ anyone would have known he’d light up and ignite the leaking gas. But wouldn’t he have smelled the gas if there was enough to blow up the house?”
    “See, that’s the thing,” Gemma said, “Most people would smell that much gas, but Norman had serious allergy and sinus problems that eventually left him with no sense