LITMIR.BIZ

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for taking care of me and headed to bed. With luck, I’d even be able to sleep.

      “I’m making breakfast early, if you’d like to join us,” Sierra said. “Pain perdu.”

      God bless my sister-in-law. She could be a thorn in my side when she wanted to be, but she could also whip up the best breakfasts this side of New Orleans.

      Chapter 10

      After stopping by the Max to grab my gym bag and backpack, I headed up the stairs to my apartment over the garage. The interior was not only as hot as a toaster oven, it was stuffy. Because the outside temperature had finally dipped below 90, I bypassed the old air conditioner and opened the window over my bed. A breeze that was almost cool instantly freshened the whole room. I kicked off my sandals, sat down on the bed, and sighed. Here I was, back in my old apartment as though nothing at all had happened in the last forty-eight hours. The calm before the storm, I couldn’t help thinking. What would happen when everybody found out that I—not Sean—was the one who had discovered Marilyn’s body? It didn’t seem possible that it would stay a secret forever, and—did I even want it to?

      I stretched out with my clothes still on. I was certain I’d never fall asleep, having just lived through one of the most shocking days of my life. My mind whirled as I stared at the ceiling. Who would want to kill a person as generous and lovely as Marilyn Weaver? There had to be some dark secrets under that sweet philanthropic façade.

      God, I wished I could talk the whole nightmare over with David. My brother’s offer of counseling was thoughtful, but what I really longed for was the comfort of David’s bear-like embrace while we analyzed everything.

      Too bad, Copper. You’re on your own now, a star player in a celebrity murder investigation.

      Damn. Yesterday, writing about kids at the Parks Academy had seemed like a big journalistic break. But now—with a dead body in the picture—

      Shut up, Copper! Marilyn Weaver is still on a morgue table, and here you are thinking about how her death might catapult you to fame.

      The self-admonishment didn’t do any good. As I lay there, phantom footage rolled in my head.

       “Our guest tonight is Copper Black, the investigative journalist who solved the murder of Las Vegas philanthropist Marilyn Weaver. Her best-selling book … ”

      The camera panned over the audience. There, in the front row …

      Daniel! Oh, my God! He’d be here in less than two days.

      Seeing Daniel again would be challenging enough without throwing a murder into the mix. When he and I last parted right before New Year’s, we’d just had the huge fight that dealt our relationship a mortal blow. I’d been investigating a story I hoped would get me taken seriously as a journalist. It involved prostitutes and a family in distress, but he thought I was just being nosy. He couldn’t—or wouldn’t—understand that it’s a reporter’s job to find things out, even when it means a little invasion of privacy. He steadfastly refused to acknowledge that I have a professional obligation to poke into other people’s lives.

      And now you’re invading their closets! I could almost hear Daniel say it. I really didn’t have a good excuse for snooping in Marilyn’s bedroom. I couldn’t claim I was working on a story. Nothing more than plain old curiosity had led me to her body.

      I sighed. If Daniel can’t accept me for what I am, I told myself, he can just get back in his car and keep driving to Berkeley. We aren’t a couple anymore, even if we have never formally broken up.

      That thought made David pop into my head again. We aren’t a couple anymore, either, even though, once again, our relationship has not been formally terminated. God! That’s weird! What am I? Some sort of crazy person who can’t say good-bye?

      My mind kept spinning. I’ll never sleep, I thought. Never, never, never …

      And then it was morning.

      A cat was curled up next to me, and a slight breeze was blowing in the window. Sekhmet stretched and yawned along with me, and she showed no sign of wanting to leave after I got up.

      “Nothing to eat here, my darling,” I said, stroking her. “We both need Sierra for that.” I showered quickly, threw on my clothes, and headed into the vicarage. With work and moving day ahead of me, I didn’t want to miss Sierra’s pain perdu.

      Nicky was bawling at the top of his lungs from his high chair next to the kitchen table when Sekhmet and I walked through the back door. He stopped mid-wail when he saw me.

      “Copper! Copper! Copper!” he cried, dropping a spoon and holding his arms out. I crossed the room and hugged him. He was even better than a cat for making me feel wanted.

      “You’re truly amazing,” Sierra said. She was slicing strawberries next to the sink. “He’s been trying to convince me to let him play with a steak knife for the last fifteen minutes, and nothing I could think of would distract him. Then you walk in, and—”

      “More fun than a steak knife,” I said, ruffling his hair. “I’m flattered, Nick!”

      Sierra brought him some strawberries. “There’s coffee,” she said. “Oh, and the newspaper. Your story’s on the front page. Michael only made the local section.”

      I was still looking at the file photo of Marilyn Weaver, looking considerably younger than when I met her at the Boneyard, when Michael walked into the room. He was dressed for ministerial activity, but his hair was still damp.

      “Hi, Copper,” he said. “I never did find Curtis last night.”

      “Copper! Copper!” Nicky yelled. I lifted him out of his high chair and sat down at the table with him in my lap.

      “Sean wasn’t arrested. I did learn that much.”

      “That’s good news, at least,” I said, although it reminded me that I still had some investigating to do. I didn’t know much about Sean, other than what he had told me himself. He seemed fine, but what if he wasn’t what he appeared to be?

      “The situation with Curtis is a little more complicated,” Michael continued. “The police were still searching for him when I left the station last night. I’m going to do a little looking of my own later on.”

      “I hope you talk to the shaman dude first,” Sierra said as she set the table.

      “Shaman dude?” I said.

      “Front page, section B,” Michael said, lifting a squirming Nicky off my lap. “A Paiute medicine man is claiming the bones we found are from an Indian burial ground. He’s gearing up to hold a ceremony of some sort this weekend, and he could generate some serious media interest.”

      “Give him his fifteen minutes,” Sierra said, “Maybe it’ll blow over.”

      “We can hope,” Michael said. Nicky tugged at Michael’s collar. “Word is that Willie Morningthunder is coming.”

      “Who’s Willie Morningthunder?” I asked. The name seemed vaguely familiar.

      “A Lakota chief from South Dakota,” Michael said, “and former congressman.”

      “That does put a different spin on things,” Sierra said.

      Michael sighed. “I’m bracing myself for a very long weekend.”

      “Speaking of which, you want to have dinner here tomorrow night, Copper?” Sierra asked. “Hans and Dustin are coming over. Dustin’s making crêpes suzette, and I’ll try to hold my end up with coq au vin.”

      Oooh. Scratch the thought of a party at the Nash house.

      Hans and Dustin are my favorite neighbors, a gay couple who bought a wedding chapel in downtown Las Vegas as a retirement project. Dustin used to be a pastry chef at the Tropicana.

      “Daniel’s

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