Page 49

B y the time I'd quit shivering, the place was crawling with official-looking personnel. I'd never known how many people were part of a crime scene. Police and sheriff-type people were all over the place. Some hard-looking men in rumpled suits. A woman in a suit — I had her pegged to be an assistant State Attorney. Fire and Rescue. Crime scene investigators. People with FDLE – Florida Department of Law Enforcement – insignia.

A wave of unreality washed over me. It felt like I'd fallen through a rabbit hole into one of those TV shows with the fake corpses. I expected to see Marg Helgenberger show up at any minute.

"I love her," I mumbled.

"This is December Vaughn, sir. She found the body." Deputy Blissful was back, standing stiffly at attention next to an older man who had board-straight posture.

Murder makes for good posture, I guess. I stifled the hysterical laughter that tried to bubble up through my lips.

"I'm Detective Harris. Can you stand up now, Ms. Vaughn?" he asked

I realized I was still sitting on the floor. No wonder everyone seemed so tall.

"Yes, sorry. It's kind of . . . I never, well, I never saw a dead body before. I never smelled one, either."

"How did you know the deceased?"

"I didn't. Well, I talked to him on the phone. Maybe I talked to him on the phone. I'm not really sure. Who is he?"

Harris and the deputy traded a look, as if trying to decide what to tell me. "His name is Richard Dack. Sound familiar?"

I shook my head. "No, I never knew his name. If that is the man I was here to meet."

Simmers narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying? This was some kind of mid-day blind date?"

"No, that's ridiculous. I was meeting him to discuss a case. Again, if it's even the same man. The man I was supposed to meet works for Orange Grove Productions. He wanted to tell me about an invoice in a case I'm working on."

Harris's eyes had sharpened when I mentioned Orange Grove Productions. "Dack worked for that company. He had business cards in his pocket. You'd better tell us about the case."

I explained the little I knew about the invoice with the wrong date, but I got the feeling they quit paying attention to me about the time I said "clerical error." Then Harris stopped to talk in a quiet voice to one of his men, then turned back toward me. "Tell me about your drug seller associates."

Oh, crap. Here we go again.

N early two hours later, they finally let me go, with my assurances I wasn't leaving town soon. I almost threw up in the parking lot when I realized the last time I'd sat in the car, I hadn't known what dead bodies looked like.

Or smelled like.

My stomach calmed down enough that I got in the car and head for the office. As obscene as it seemed to me to be going on with my day when poor Richard Dack was lying dead in a morgue somewhere, I didn't know what else to do.

About halfway to the office, my cell phone started ringing. I glanced at my purse, wondering if I had the strength to answer my phone. After three or four rings, I finally dug it out with one hand and answered. "Max?"

"Yep, it's me. I'm dying to hear about the mystery man, but I have three lines holding."

"Bad word choice," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'll tell you later." I could not have that conversation on the phone.

"All right. I just wanted to ask you to come straight back; Mrs. Zivkovich is here and her son-in-law is worse. Also, your furniture driver was sighted in Kentucky, so he's probably finally on his way south. No ETA," she said.

"Fine. I don't care. I'll be back in the office in around twenty minutes. Will you please make some very strong coffee? Maybe Mr. Ellison has some rum. He seems like he might have a flask."

"What? December, are you okay? What the heck happened? Is this still about the Founding Fathers?"

I choked out a surprised laugh. "No. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. There won't be any more of that for Richard Dack. See you in a few, Max." I flipped my phone shut, suddenly unable to talk.

By the time I reached my office and pulled into my parking space, the door of the red Jeep next to me opened, and Jake climbed out. He somehow looked crisp and cool in black slacks and a white, short-sleeved shirt, in spite or the oppressive heat. I got out of the BMW and stood there for a minute, staring at him. "How many cars do you have? Where is my Honda? And why do you always show up when bad things happen to me? Are you the death fairy?"

He walked around the front of my car and held out a hand for my briefcase. "Let me help with that, Blondie. You look like a stiff breeze would knock you down."

I laughed, the edge of hysteria still in it. "It's a good thing there's no such thing as a breeze in Florida in June, isn't it?" But I let him take my briefcase and followed him to the office door, which he opened for me. I couldn't see his eyes very well through his dark glasses, but he briefly put his hand on my shoulder as I walked in, and the compassion in the gesture nearly made me cry again.

Max looked up as we walked in, and her quick smile vanished when she saw me. Or maybe when she saw Jake. Either way, she had a good frown on by the time the door closed behind us.

"If you keep taking up so much of December's time, Brody, I'm going to bill you."

He smiled. "Always glad to see you, too, Maxine. Get your boss some hot tea or something. She's had a rough day."

Max switched her attention to me. One long look, and she came rushing out from behind her desk. "D? You look horrible!"

"Gee, thanks. I guess I forgot to freshen up my makeup after I found my witness stabbed to death at the museum." I kept walking back to my office. "Thanks, but I don't want any hot tea. I may never drink hot tea again."

The mere thought of the hot tea I'd drunk at the museum brought the sight of Dack's gaping neck back front and center in my mind. I was going to have nightmares about that sight for a long time, I figured.

"What?" Max pushed past Jake and followed me down the hall. "What are you talking about?"

Mr. Ellison appeared in the doorway of the file room. "What's all the ruckus about? I've got news for you, too, girlie," he said, then caught sight of Jake behind me. "I mean, Miz Vaughn."

I waved a hand at him. "Later, okay, Mr. Ellison? I don't think I can take any more news today."

He and Max crowded in my office behind me, and I told them what had happened. I almost threw up again when I got to the part where I'd seen his head fall sideways, which made me realize I had eaten nothing all day and it was nearly four.

"I may never eat again," I mumbled. The thought made me sick. How could I eat when poor Mr. Dack would never eat again?

"I think December needs a little space and something to eat," Jake said, walking in with a sandwich on a plate and a cold ginger ale.

I shuddered. "I couldn't eat."

Max stared at Jake, hands on her hips, then nodded slightly. "Okay. Mr. Ellison and I will handle things out front."

I grabbed my arms with my hands and huddled in my chair, feeling the shivering return. "The smell, Jake. I thought it was a diaper, but the body releases, and the rust like Mars, but it was coppery rust, and it was blood. So much blood."

He put the plate down and pulled me up out of my chair and hugged me. I knew I shouldn't let him, but somehow the warmth of his arms helped stopped the shivering. "What is your deal, Brody? Why are you always around?"

He laughed and patted my back, then stepped back. "Hell, I don't know. Something about you has my protective instincts in overdrive. Or maybe you're a challenge. Life certainly isn't dull since you came to town."

I sank back down in my chair. "I don't need you to protect me, Jake. Or maybe I do. I don't understand any of this. I mean, there's no way this could be related to my sinus stalker, is there? Are random, unrelated bad things happening to me? What about Gina? What about Addy?"

"I talked to Gina's mom. She checked Gina into rehab right after the club incident. The rehab place said Gina has never left the facility. So she's not the one who painted your car."

"Then who is? And where is my car? I really don't want to be obligated to anybody for the loan of that Beemer anymore, Jake. I can't even pay my rent yet. Plus, who knows when somebody will decide to paint this new car?" I took a deep breath. "I hate coincidences. I don't believe in coincidences. Something is totally going on here."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'm thinking you need a security camera that covers your parking lot, especially if you're going to work late. I'll have Wrench stop by and set you up."

I shook my head. "I can't afford it. Seriously, I'll keep an eye out, but no more help or hardware, Jake."

"Okay. No more free rides. When you need investigative services, you use my firm. It's like a referral network. How's that?"

I wasn't too proud or too stupid to take advantage of the easy fix for my pride. "Okay, if you're really sure. I have to admit I'd be glad to have a little extra security. This is all getting to me in a big way."

"All right. I'm out of here. But if you need something, call me. You have my cell phone number."

I stood up to shake his hand. "Thanks, Brody. I mean it. You've been great, for whatever weird reasons you have."

He ignored my hand and reached out and tugged gently on a strand of my hair. "I'm just a weird guy, Vaughn. And you're welcome."

Then he left, leaving me standing there, staring after him, trying to think of all the reasons getting more deeply involved with him on any level was a bad idea.

At that very moment, I couldn't think of a single one.