Page 14 of The Body in the Backyard

The woman tilted her head conspiratorially. “Between you and me, I’m surprised it’s taken this long. I’ve never met someone so vapid and self-obsessed. And that’s saying something considering I used to live in LA. You might as well come inside. I’m Belinda, by the way.”

They followed her across the threshold. The two-story foyer was a dark, cavernous space with huge beams and a chandelier that looked as if it could take out an eight-piece band if it fell. Belinda led them into a library cluttered with books, paintings, and knickknacks. Several shiny awards were tucked onto shelves and side tables.

Riley paused at the framed photo just inside the door. Belinda was on a red carpet posing between two people who looked an awful lot like Harrison Ford and Michael B. Jordan. On second glance, she was almost certain they were the real deals.

Their hostess gestured toward the low leather sofa in front of the marble fireplace. “Please, sit. Would you care for some refreshments?”

Riley was just shaking her head when Nick said, “Well, itismy birthday.”

Amused, Belinda turned toward the doorway and bellowed, “Thomas, we require treats!” She turned her attention back to Nick and Riley. “Now I suppose you’ll want to know if I own any firearms, where I was at the time of the shooting, and whether I have any experience with body waxing. And since you’re not a cop, you’re hoping I’ll still provide you with answers.”

“You’ve either committed a lot of crimes or done your research,” Nick said.

Riley’s nose twitched, and suddenly she was transported into a room where several people were gathered around the table. A younger-looking Belinda stood at the head of the table, holding what appeared to be a wickedly long blade. “I told you! Carotids are a messy business. It’s called arterialsprayfor a reason.” She made a slicing motion that had Riley flinching and flying back into her body.

Belinda gestured at an acrylic frame on the coffee table. Inside it was a stack of bound papers titled,The Man behind the Badge: “Pilot.” Story by Belinda Farnsworth.

“It comes with the territory for the showrunner of a police procedural in the nineties,” she said.

“Seriously? I loved that show,” Nick said.

“So did I,” Belinda said and leaned back in her chair.

Riley relaxed. Just because the woman had shown a bunch of TV writers how to slit a throat didn’t mean she was capable of murder in real life.

A man in jeans and a tight-fitting T-shirt appeared in the door carrying a wood tray with mugs, a carafe, and a platter of cookies. “This is my chef, Thomas. He stands between me and too many hot wing deliveries.”

“Thanks for the goodies, Thomas,” Nick said, diving for the cookies. “So where were you today between twelve thirty and one fifteen p.m.?”

“I was looking disheveled on a conference call here in my study after returning from a trip this morning.”

“Coming back from vacation?” he asked, taking another cookie.

“I was addressing a hotel ballroom full of aspiring authors in Philadelphia yesterday and spent the night. The car service delivered me here promptly at noon. Thomas served me a delightful lunch of salmon, wild rice, and mixed greens, which I inhaled with no manners before joining a one p.m. video conference with some producers on the West Coast. That call lasted an hour, and Thomas brought me coffee in the middle of it, so he can confirm my whereabouts.”

Nick looked pointedly at Riley and nodded toward Belinda.

Riley sat up straighter. He was letting her take a crack at a witness. “Um. How well do you know Griffin Gentry and Bella Goodshine?”

“Well enough to know they’re the kind of neighbors you don’t want to have a dispute with over garden statuary and that you’re the ex-wife he left for the weather girl.”

“Ah. Yes. Well, you didn’t live here when I did, so I didn’t know…if you knew…” Riley was definitely going to review her interview techniques textbook when they got home.

“What kind of statuary?” Nick asked, smoothly retaking control.

“My next-door neighbor commissioned a twelve-foot-tall statue of himself, which I highly doubt is to scale seeing as it’s nude,” Belinda reported. “The, shall we say, ‘generous’ genitalia was pointed at my house, and when I went next door to request they at least point it in a different direction, Griffin explained it was his gift to the world and then tried to hand me a signed headshot.”

“Did you think maybe he deserved to get his chest waxed and then possibly be shot at for that?” Nick prompted.

Belinda scoffed. “And give up all this? Of course not. I may write about murder, but I certainly don’t try to commit it. If I did, I wouldn’t be so sloppy. I simply annoyed his lawyer with my lawyer until they came to an agreement, which took much longer than it should have. But I was motivated to teach the man-child a lesson.”

“How long ago was this?” Riley asked.

“It started about a year ago, and it took six months of back-and-forth with his attorney. Griffin ended up not moving the statue since it was important to him to see it when he wakes up every morning. So he had a contractor build a pergola over it. At least now I’m no longer traumatized when I venture into my own backyard.”

“You playeddouble-dimple charming boy toy in there,” Riley said as they headed back down the driveway. The landscapers were gone, but there was a Summer Daze Pools van parked next to a cleaning service car by the garage.

“Gotta read your suspect and adjust your approach accordingly,” Nick explained.