LITMIR.BIZ

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and one thing led to another.”

      A hesitation, then, he managed to laugh faintly. “You always get the women.”

      “It isn’t like that.” Yet, he thought. It isn’t like that yet. “I haven’t told her who I am, but she’s scared, and she thinks the other Zuma shootings were incidental, in that she thinks the killer was after her.”

      “Why?”

      “Mostly because of her past . . .” Auggie gave him an abbreviated rundown of Liv’s mother’s death and the package that was sent, and finished with, “I don’t know if she’s right, but I want to follow this through. Even if it doesn’t pan out with the Zuma shootings, there’s something there.”

      “What about the neighbor?”

      “She was sick when she saw it on the news. She believes his shooting has to do with her, too, but doesn’t know why. That’s why I’m sticking close to her. There’s a connection there. Has to be.”

      The lieutenant humphed his agreement. “Nine’s on the case,” he said, answering one of Auggie’s earlier questions.

      “My sister?” He stared through the windshield, aware of a cop car ahead. “Hang on,” he said, pulling the phone from his ear. He didn’t want to be pulled over for using a cell phone while driving and he didn’t have Bluetooth, or an ear bud with him.

      Nine was the detective on the Trask Martin homicide? Nine?

      The deli was on his left and he pulled over and into a spot. “You still there?” he asked the lieutenant.

      “Yeah. How soon can you bring Dugan in?”

      “Uh . . . She’s got some trust issues, with the police. It’ll happen. Just give me a little time. Believe me, she had nothing to do with Martin’s death. She was with me the whole time.” An eely feeling slid down his back. But she was gone for a while last night. She went to see her brother.

      “Talk to your sister,” D’ Annibal said. “She can give you the particulars about the Martin homicide. Don’t take too long. I want Dugan brought in by Monday.”

      “Okay. Oh, and have someone look into the serial strangler who was around the Rock Springs area about twenty years ago.”

      “I remember that case,” D’Annibal answered. “What’s that got to do with this?”

      “I don’t know. Nothing maybe. Olivia Dugan’s from that area.”

      “All right. Monday,” the lieutenant reminded him as he hung up.

      Auggie sat for a moment, staring through the windshield.

      But Liv didn’t fake that reaction to Martin’s death. That was real, he reminded himself. Worry was scratching at his brain. He knew Liv wasn’t the Zuma shooter. Knew she wasn’t . . . But she’d taken her gun with her when she’d gone to see her brother, so she could have stopped by her apartment.

      But no. It just wasn’t true. Couldn’t be. She was too careful and responsible and nice.

      And he liked her.

      He punched in the number to his sister’s cell. “Well, good God,” Nine greeted him with when the connection was made. “How’re you doin’, big bro? What’s been happening in your life? Having a little R&R with one of our suspects?”

      “Not one of your suspects. Maybe a person of interest. How’re you doin’, yourself?”

      “Okay.” She sounded wary.

      “I am with Olivia Dugan,” he admitted. “I told D’Annibal about it.”

      “And how did that come about?” Like D’Annibal before her, he gave her a quick recap of how he’d come to be with Liv. She listened silently and when he finished, she said, “So, you’re bringing her in.”

      “Not quite yet. I’ve left out the part that I’m a detective.”

      “Oh, peachy. Why? No, I don’t even want to know. Just tell her, and let’s get her down here for a statement. The victim died at her doorstep, after all. I interviewed Martin’s girlfriend, Jo. She thinks we oughtta be looking at Olivia Dugan.”

      “Any particular reason for that, other than that they’re neighbors.”

      “Not as far as I can tell.” September filled him in on what she’d learned about the murder of Trask Burcher Martin, which wasn’t a helluva lot at this point.

      “What kind of gun was used in the killing?” Auggie asked. He tried to keep his voice on the edge of disinterest even though he was keyed to the answer.

      But his sister knew him too well. “Why?”

      “September . . .” he said on a long-suffering sigh. “Just tell me.”

      “A Glock.”

      Thank you, God. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Liv had a .38. That cleared her, unless she possessed a second gun, which was about as likely as igloos in Florida.

      “Auggie?”

      “I gotta go. D’Annibal told me to bring her in by Monday. I’ll do that.”

      “Why can’t you bring her in now?”

      “I love you, too,” he said.

      “Don’t play with me. You’ve got to tell her who you are!”

      “You’re breaking up. Gotta go.”

      “Liar!”

      He clicked off. When she rang back, he ignored the call. Pocketing his cell, he climbed out of the car . . . and remembered his wallet beneath his seat. He hadn’t asked Liv for money, and now how was he going to explain being able to purchase the soup?

      Maybe he should just tell her who he was. What would she do? What could she do?

      Peeling back the tape that held his wallet to the underside of the driver’s seat, he pulled it out and extracted a twenty, then put it back in place. He went inside and placed a to-go order for two bowls of chicken tortilla soup. A young woman served it into cardboard containers with plastic lids and placed them into a bag along with hunks of baguette. Auggie felt his mouth water as he headed back to the Jeep and then drove home.

      At the house, he parked the Jeep and yanked down the garage door. He slipped the key into the lock of the back door, twisted, gently pushed it open and called softly, “Lucy, I’m home . . .” into the darkened interior.

      She appeared like a wraith, standing at the edge of the kitchen in her jeans and a light top, the color indiscernible in the blackness of the room.

      “Can I turn on a light?” he asked.

      “Do you have to?” She sounded uncertain.

      “Are we hiding? I mean, more than before?”

      “I thought maybe . . . you wouldn’t return.”

      He flipped the switch and they blinked at each other. He realized her shirt was light pink and she had a black pullover in hand. Beside her was her backpack, zipped up and standing at the ready. The package was nowhere in sight. “You were leaving,” he said.

      “Thinking about it.”

      “Ye of little faith. Here.” He set the bag of food on the table and pulled out the containers of soup. The scent of chili and tomato was enough to send his salivary glands into overdrive once again. There were plastic soupspoons inside and he handed one to Liv.

      For a moment she hesitated, then said, “Did you—learn anything about Trask?”

      “A few things. Sit down and eat. We’ll talk afterwards.”

      Fifteen minutes later they were still at the table, but sated and quiet. Liv had been so certain he’d left her that she’d gone through seven levels

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