Read Online Poisoned Pins by Joan Hess - Free Book Online Page B

them as I edged forward, and therefore yelped when a flashlight caught me in the face and an unfamiliar voice said, “Hey, Lieutenant, we got a sightseer. You want I should sell her a ticket—or does she already have a season pass?”
    This did not amuse Lieutenant Peter Rosen, who shook off Jorgeson’s hand and stalked to the edge of the lights. “Claire,” he said with petulance rather than the enthusiasm for which I’d hoped, “what are you doing here? Just go to your apartment and wait, okay? I’ve got enough problems as it is, and the last thing I need is a nosy neighbor lurking nearby.”
    â€œI never lurk,” I said. “I am merely taking an interest in a crime committed not more than twenty feet from my back door. For all I know, the murderer is lurking in my kitchen.”
    â€œNo one said anything about murder,” he growled.
    â€œYou and the gang didn’t come out to investigate the theft of a dumpster, did you?” I shaded my eyes and permitted myself a small grimace. “My eyes have been subject to enough abuse tonight. Would you please ask your pyrotechnical expert to give me a break?”
    Peter gestured at the officer, then came over to me and gave me a look meant to intimidate me into flight into the nearest haven. “Civilians are not allowed at the scene of a crime,” he said in his steeliest cop voice. “We’ve got the weapon, and in any case, it’s unlikely you could be run down in your kitchen by a 1973 Buick. Please, this one time, let me do my job without your assistance. When I can get away, I’ll come by and tell you what happened.”
    â€œWas it one of the girls from the Kappa Theta Eta house?”
    He bit down on his lip in a manner I found incredibly virile, but I left it unspoken. He said, “We don’t have a positive ID yet. If she was carrying a purse, the impact knocked it into the brush or it was taken from the scene.” He glowered at me. “You don’t know them, do you?”
    â€œYes, I do. I had dinner at the house in the middle of the week, and am capable of identifying any one of them. However, I sense that I’m interrupting, so I’ll run along home and have a nice cup of tea while you and the boys get back to business.” I took a couple of steps backward to prove I wasn’t bluffing. “Call me when you can.”
    â€œWe’re not going to find her purse tonight, Lieutenant,” a uniformed officer called. “The undergrowth’s a damn jungle. Maybe it’ll turn up tomorrow when we can see what we’re doing.”
    Peter was now biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood, and I could see it took an effort on his part to relent and mutter, “See if you recognize her.”
    I allowed myself to be escorted between two police cars, and then forced myself to look down at the body sprawled on the eroded asphalt surface. Once I was sure, I spun away and bent over the hood of one of the cars, struggling not to lose the beer I’d imbibed. I squeezed my eyes closed, but the image of the lifeless face and ribbons of blood seemed all the more intense, more vivid than the reality.
    Peter rested his hand on my back. “Is she one of the girls from this sorority house?”
    I gulped back the bitterness that rose in my throat, and stood up. “Her name was Jean Hall. She was . . .” I harshly rubbed my temples as if my fingers could erase the image. “She was planning to attend law school at Yale in the fall. She was enrolled in one course this summer, and also worked for the dean of the law school here.” I moved out of the light and kept my eyes locked on Peter’s face. “What happened to her? She looks as though she’d been run down by a fleet of buses.”
    He pointed at a wide white car that was partially buried in a tangle of brush. “The lab boys are on their way, but we’re fairly