Brazen Virtue

she shoved, knocking over the table. The phone fell on the floor beside her head.
    And he took the cord and wrapped it around her throat, pulling hard until the screaming stopped.
    S O YOUR PARTNER’S MARRIED to a psychiatrist.” Grace rolled down the window as she lit a cigarette. The dinner had relaxed her. Ed had relaxed her, she corrected. He was so easy to talk to and had such a sweet, funny way of looking at life.
    “They met on a case we were working on a few months ago.” Ed reminded himself to come to a complete stop at the intersection. After all, Grace wasn’t Ben. She wasn’t like anyone else. “You’d probably be interested since it was a serial killer.”

    “Really?” She never questioned her fascination with murder. “I get it, the shrink was called in to do a psychiatric profile.”
    “You got it.”
    “Is she any good?”
    “The best.”
    Grace nodded, thinking of Kathleen. “I’d like to talk to her. Maybe we could have a dinner party or something. Kathleen doesn’t socialize enough.”
    “You’re worried about her.”
    Grace let out a little sigh as they turned a corner. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to spoil your evening, but I guess I wasn’t the best company.”
    “I wasn’t complaining.”
    “That’s because you’re too polite.” When he pulled into the drive, she leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Why don’t you come in for coffee—no, you don’t drink coffee, it’s tea. I’ll brew you some tea and make it up to you.”
    She was already out of the car before he could get out and open the door for her. “You don’t have to make anything up to me.”
    “I’d like the company. Kath’s probably in bed by now and I’ll just stew.” She dug in her bag for her key. “And we can talk about when you’re going to give me that tour of the station. Damn, I know it’s in here somewhere. I’d have an easier time if Kath had remembered to leave the porch light on. Here.” She unlocked the door, then dropped the keys carelessly into her pocket. “Why don’t you sit in the living room and turn on the stereo or something while I get the tea?”

    She shed her coat as she walked, tossing it negligently at a chair. Ed picked it up as it slid to the floor and folded it. It smelled like her, he thought. Then, telling himself he was foolish, he laid it over the back of the chair. He crossed to a window to study the trim work. It was a habit he’d gotten into since he’d bought his house. Running a finger along it, he tried to imagine it at his own window.
    He heard Grace call her sister’s name, like a question, then call it again and again and again.
    He found her kneeling beside her sister’s body, pulling at it, shouting at it. When he gathered her up, she tore at him like a tiger.
    “Let me go. Goddamn it, let me go. It’s Kathy.”
    “Go in the other room, Grace.”
    “No. It’s Kathy. Oh God, let me go. She needs me.”
    “Do it.” With his hands firm at her shoulders, he shielded her from the body with his own and gave her two hard shakes. “Go in the other room now. I’ll take care of her.”
    “But I need—”
    “I want you to listen to me.” He kept his gaze hard into her eyes, recognizing shock. But he couldn’t cosset or soothe or tuck a nice warm blanket around her. “Go in the other room. Call 911. Can you do that?”
    “Yes.” She nodded and stumbled back. “Yes, of course. 911.” He watched her run out, then turned back to the body.
    Number 911 wasn’t going to help Kathleen Breezewood. Ed crouched down beside her and became a cop.

Chapter 4
    I T WAS LIKE A scene out of one of her books. After the murder came the police. Some of them would be weary, some tight-lipped, some cynical. It depended on the mood of the story. Sometimes it depended on the personality of the victim. It depended, always, on her imagination.
    The action could take place in an alley or in a drawing room. Atmosphere was always an intricate part of any scene. In the book she was writing, she’d plotted out a murder in the Secretary of State’s library. She’d enjoyed the prospect of bringing in Secret Service, politics, and espionage as well as police.
    That would be a matter of poison and drinking out of the wrong glass. Murder was always more interesting when it was a bit confusing. She was delighted with her plot line so far because she hadn’t quite made up her mind who the murderer was. It had always fascinated her to figure it out and surprise