He sounded very satisfied. I thought about asking him if he’d had a hand in that, but decided I didn’t need to know.
The song wound down just as I pulled up to Gan’s shop.
“Looks good with the fresh paint,” I said.
“Thank you. Come in sometime. We’ll have tea. You’ll love it. I promise.” He opened the door.
“What?” I said, “No excuses to follow me all the way to the station? I thought you gods were trading off the watch-Delaney duty.”
“I don’t know what you are speaking of.” His smile said he knew exactly what I was speaking of.
Crow tapped the top of the Jeep. “Hey, Boo-boo.”
“No. Good-bye, Gan. Please slam the door before Crow can get in.”
“Oops,” Gan said. “Looks like it’s too late.”
Crow ducked into the Jeep and shut the door himself. “So how’s our morning been?” he sing-songed.
“Annoying. The one man I wish would stick around had to leave, and all the other ones I wish would leave are sticking. Just sticking, sticking, sticking.”
“We’re a grumpy little bunny this morning, aren’t we? Is it because of me? Sticking,” he poked my shoulder, “sticking,” another poke, “sticking?” Poke, poke.
I slugged him on the shoulder, and even with the odd angle of the blow that took all the sting out of it, he put his hands up in surrender, laughing.
“I could arrest you,” I said.
“For what?”
“Harassment.”
“Moi?” He pressed fingertips against his chest. “I thought you offered to give me a ride.”
“I didn’t.”
“You gave Gan a ride.”
“I like Gan.”
“You like Crow too. You like Crow, Delaney. You love Crow.” He batted his eyes and widened them.
My phone rang, and I answered: “Chief Reed.”
“This is Than,” he began, like he often did when he was on duty.
“Hey, Than. What do you need?”
“There has been a murder.”
Chapter Eight
I didn’t havetime to kick Crow out of the Jeep. He wouldn’t have left if I’d asked. I made it to the scene of the crime in about two seconds flat.
“Who would kill someone here?” Crow was no longer yukking it up and being a fool. His gaze was sharp, and I knew he was looking for danger lingering in the early morning shadows.
“A killer.” I swung out of the Jeep, noting that Myra was here with her cruiser, and that Than’s pimp-mobile was nowhere to be seen.
The Heritage Garden was an acre of rhododendrons and iris and other flowers that had all been planted by one very clever nature sprite who had a particular knack with greenery.
