Fortunes of the Dead

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Authors: Lynn Hightower
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sweater, bare feet, and the curling damp edges of my hair. “Did I come by too early?”
    I didn’t answer, just took the key. Miranda was clearly one of those unfortunate and annoying people whose timing and social skills could use some fine-tuning. I saw no sign of the stunned girl who had left my house late yesterday. Miranda looked well rested, and wore low-rise khakis and the same clogs. No backpack today.
    â€œDaddy wanted me to give you this, too.” She handed me a folded slip of paper. “It’s just a note that says we authorize you to be in the apartment. Daddy didn’t really sign it, he had me do that.”
    â€œThanks. Ask your father to give me a call, will you?”
    She smiled brightly. “Sure.”
    I studied her. “And nothing’s happened? You haven’t thought of anything else you want to tell me? You’re okay after … yesterday?”
    â€œYeah, I am really. I’m sorry, I—” She looked over my shoulder and I turned my head and saw Joel in the doorway.
    â€œLena, I’m headed out.” Joel’s voice was leaden.
    â€œDon’t you want some coffee?”
    â€œI’ll get it at the office.”
    â€œDetective?” Miranda said.
    She didn’t look surprised to see Joel. My theory had been correct; I’d been hired because of my relationship with Joel. I didn’t even want to think what he’d say if he figured that out. He wouldn’t hear it from me.
    Miranda was twisting the end of her shirt and looking up at Joel. “Since you’re here, I mean, is there anything new on Cheryl?”
    â€œNo, Ms. Brady. If there was, I’d have called you.”
    Miranda watched him like a crow tracks a shiny object. “Well, I guess two heads are better than one.”
    I didn’t have the nerve to look at Joel after that comment, and I decided to keep Miranda and Joel apart for the duration of the investigation. I also decided that I needed an office out of the house, and wondered if I could possibly afford it. On the other hand, I didn’t think I could afford not to have one.
    Joel nodded at her. “Good-bye, Ms. Brady. Lena.”
    â€œStay in touch,” Miranda said.
    She was not at her most charming this morning, but I recognized the tendency for someone in her position—a position of helplessness and frustration—to try to exercise some kind of control. Joel didn’t kiss me good-bye, and I didn’t blame him.
    â€œI’m having coffee, Miranda, would you like some?”
    â€œI’d like to stay, but I’ve got to go to work. Sorry, that’s why I’m here so early. I’m already late.”
    â€œWhere do you work?”
    â€œMichael’s Sporting Goods, off Man-of-War. We’re taking inventory, and I’m supposed to be there at seven-thirty.”
    â€œThanks for coming by, Miranda.”
    â€œSure. I like your backyard.”
    â€œI do, too.”
    â€œYou don’t have to walk me to the door.”
    â€œI don’t mind,” I said. I figured it was that or let her roam the house.

C HAPTER F IVE
    Cheryl Dunkirk’s apartment was on Euclid, a red brick fourplex set between bungalow houses built in the twenties and thirties. Some of the houses were residential, but most of the ones facing Euclid were offices or small shops. I knew the police had gone through everything in great detail, but I always like to see for myself.
    Certainly there was more to Cheryl Dunkirk than her love life. She was an ATF intern, she had ambition, she had goals, she had opinions that were loud and clear. On the other hand, when a woman disappears or turns up dead, more often than not there’s a sexual connotation to the crime, which is usually committed by someone in her life: a lover, a husband, an ex. Reality 101.
    I parked the Miata and made my way up the stained concrete steps, wondering why Cheryl lived in Lexington and not Richmond,

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