Maybe so.But— “I’m sure a coincidence is all it is.Even if Steven is having an affair with the girl, why would either of them kill Mrs.Grimshaw because of it?”
“She called the police,” Rachel said.
“On me.It had nothing to do with them.”
“They wouldn’t know that,” Rachel pointed out.“There you were, looking very official in your black SUV.Official enough that Mrs.Grimshaw calls the police to report you.And here’s Mendoza, in his cop car.He talks to you, and he talks to Mrs.Grimshaw, and then Steven leaves and you follow him.”
I nodded.“But why would they worry about any of it?Sleeping around isn’t a crime.Mrs.Grimshaw can call anyone she wants.If all they’re doing is cheating on Diana, there’s nothing I or anyone else can do about it.”
“Steven might not think about it that way,” Rachel said.“He might have recognized you and figured you were spying on him for Mrs.Morton.”
“But if so, wouldn’t he shoot me and not Mrs.Grimshaw?”
Unpleasant idea.It gave me a little frisson of fear down the back of my spine.It wasn’t that long ago that I’d found myself facing the business end of a pistol.I had no desire to repeat the experience.
Rachel shrugged.“Maybe he didn’t recognize you.Maybe he recognized Detective Mendoza and thought the detective would tell Diana.”
“Same question,” I said.“Why shoot Mrs.Grimshaw and not Mendoza?”
“Maybe he’s planning to shoot Mendoza.Maybe Mrs.Grimshaw was just the beginning.”
It had a crazy, overblown sort of logic.“Maybe I should call Mendoza,” I said.
Rachel nodded.“I think you should.”
“I’ll go do that right now.Keep an eye on—” I looked around.“Where is she?”
“She went that way,” Rachel said, jerking her thumb down the hallway toward the offices.
“And you didn’t think to mention it?”
I scurried down the hallway after the dog.
She wasn’t in my office.She wasn’t in the spare room, where Farley and David had kept their files.She wasn’t in the bathroom or the kitchen.I finally tracked her down in Zachary’s office.At first I didn’t think she was there, either, but then I heard a snuffling, wet sort of noise, and followed it to find her hidden in the space under Zachary’s desk, flat nose buried in a pizza box.The wet, snuffling noise was the sound of her licking at the grease and cheese stuck to the bottom of the box.
It looked like the Michelangelo’s box from last night.Maybe Zachary had brought in the leftovers to have for lunch.Hopefully the dog hadn’t eaten them.
I disposed of the box in the kitchen, and took the dog into my office, where I dropped her on the sofa.“Take a nap.”
She gave me a look.
“Or you can just stay there.As long as you’re quiet and don’t get into any trouble.”
Fat chance, her expression said.She was kind of cute, in an annoyingly pop-eyed, flat-nosed way.Or she would be, if I were in the market for a dog.As it was, she would probably end up going to Mrs.Grimshaw’s next of kin.She must have been married at some point—or she’d be Miss or Ms.Grimshaw, not Mrs.—so there might be a child or children who’d inherit everything, including the dog.
Maybe the murder had nothing at all to do with Steven and the girl next door.Maybe Mrs.Grimshaw was obscenely wealthy, or even moderately wealthy, and her next of kin had killed her for the inheritance.It happens.
Nonetheless, I called Mendoza.Just in case it wasn’t the next of kin and someone had it in for him.
Or me.
The phone rang a couple of times, and then he answered.“Mrs.Kelly.”
He obviously had my name and number programmed in his cell phone.I wondered whether I should feel encouraged by that, or whether he did it for all his suspects.I wasn’t a suspect this time—at least I couldn’t think of a reason why I would be—but I had been one not too long ago.
“Detective,” I said.“I just wanted to update you.”And hopefully get an update in return.“The dog is clean.She’s here at the office with me.I’ve had to change my clothes twice.”
I could hear amusement in his voice.“Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?”
