The Helium Murder

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Authors: Camille Minichino
Tags: Fiction, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths
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police car for me to get to the obvious. I opened Al’s book and looked under B. And there it was: Rocky Busso, 555-6754, $100 .
    Before I could talk myself out of it, I picked up my phone and pushed the numbers. I heard only one ring, then a machine hookup. I recognized the voice as that of a generic answering service, and hung up with relief. I certainly didn’t know what I would have said if a real person had answered.
    Less than a minute later, at 9:44 by the digital clock on my desk, my phone rang, and I flinched as if I’d been stung by an insect. I carried the phone to thewindow before pushing the talk button. As I watched the tiny red light on the front panel run back and forth, seeking the best channel, I felt my heartbeat following the same pattern.
    “Hello,” I said, when the light stopped and my pulse settled on a steady rate. I heard the catch in my throat, and cleared it as softly as I could.
    “Hello, I hope I’m not waking you.”
    When I heard Matt’s voice, I dropped into my rocker with such force, it almost glided off its tracks.
    “I figured you’d be down at the wake until nine or so,” he said.
    “As a matter of fact, I came up a little early,” I said. “I can barely hear you, by the way. Are you in your car?”
    “Yes, I’m down by Starbucks. If it’s not too late, I’d like to bring you a cappuccino.”
    “By all means,” I said, thinking “Yippee!”
    “See you in fifteen minutes.”
    I nearly skipped around my apartment, straightening the pillows on my couch, clearing away the evidence of my snack, and running a brush through my unruly wavy hair, which was a week past its optimum short length. I considered adding a squirt of cologne, but decided that would be too obvious, especially since I very seldom used it. I settled on shaking the crumbs from the creases of my skirt and smoothing out my vest, since I didn’t have time to change.
    On my way to the CD player to switch to a jazz disc that Matt had given me, I heard the buzz from the intercom that connects all the offices and my apartment,a remnant of the days when a caretaker lived on my floor.
    I pushed RECEIVE on the unit at the back of my desk and heard Rose’s voice. Within just a few minutes, my apartment and my mood had brightened considerably, as if someone had thrown a switch and introduced extra lighting.
    “Gloria, are you all right?” she asked. “Robert said you went upstairs early and looked sick or upset.”
    “I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll explain tomorrow. I’m sorry I fell down on the job. You must be exhausted.”
    “There are still a few people around outside, but we’ve just closed the parlors.”
    “Is Buddy still there?” I asked, amazed at my own question.
    “No, he came late and left early. Why do you ask?”
    “No reason,” I lied, justifiably, I thought, since I didn’t want to worry her.
    “Well, we were going to come up,” Rose said, “but I think we’ll just head home. Did you see the police car? They’re going to be there all night, just so you know.”
    “Frank told me,” I said. “And there’s going to be another one out there shortly, an unmarked one.”
    “Matt’s coming?” Rose was quick, and the delight in her voice, echoing from the tinny intercom speaker, embarrassed me. “Now we’re definitely not coming up,” she said.
    “It’s probably business,” I said, suppressing a grin, as if she could see my expression.
    “I’ll expect a report in the morning.”
    “You’ll have one.”
    Matt appeared on my doorstep carrying a cardboard tray with two paper cups bearing a familiar logo. He was still in work clothes, dark suit and tie and the raincoat that looked like he’d purposely wrinkled it to match Columbo’s.
    “I got in just before they closed,” he said.
    “This is wonderful,” I said, taking the tray, leaving him to wonder whether I meant him or the espresso drinks.
    “I decided it was time to brief you on a few things,” Matt said. “Since

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