Double Take

dislike. “You’re looking particularly well, considering someone smacked you in the face and dumped you into the bay, Mrs. Ransom.”
    Julia knew Bigger believed she’d killed August and had gotten away with it. She hated how the inspector’s hostility made her feel defensive, reduced her to feeling unworthy to be alive. She said, voice clipped, “Thank you. Good genes.”
    “Or something else altogether,” said Inspector Bigger.
    Julia said, “Agent Stone, do you think I smacked myself in the jaw, then happily hopped over the railing into the bay for a nice evening swim?”
    “No, of course not,” Cheney said, and sent Inspector Bigger a back-off look.
    “No, that isn’t what yon mean, is it, Inspector Bigger?” Julia said slowly. “You’re thinking a falling out among villains, perhaps?”
    Inspector Bigger kept her mouth shut, but gave an elaborate shrug.
    Cheney was relieved the inspector did have some minimal sense of professionalism.
    Inspector Whitten said, “It would appear someone is out to hurt you, Mrs. Ransom.”
    “I’m thinking the knife put it beyond the ‘hurt me’ stage, Inspector Whitten,” Julia said.
    He nodded toward a beautiful Impressionist painting hanging over the Carrara marble fireplace. “That new?”
    “You mean did I purchase it with my ill-gotten gains?”
    That’s exactly what he meant, Cheney realized, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted to hear what Julia would say.
    Julia said, “August wasn’t fond of the Impressionists. I am. I brought it down from my study. It’s a Sisley. My husband bought it for me as a wedding present. Do you like it, Inspector Whitten?”
    “Well, yes, I do. Bet it cost Dr. Ransom a bundle. So who do you think is after you, ma’am?”
    “The man wasn’t a mugger or some crazy drug addict. Given how he behaved, what he did—it occurred to me he could be the person who murdered my husband. He would have killed me if it hadn’t been for Agent Stone.”
    “Yeah, Cheney is a hero,” Inspector Bigger said.
    Frank frowned at both inspectors. Maybe it hadn’t been smart to bring them, particularly Inspector Bigger. She was a tangled mess of anger. Why? He’d need to speak to Lieutenant Vincent Delion, who’d be back from vacation in a couple of days, or hell, maybe it was a week before Vincent was back. He said, “It’s been six months since your husband was murdered, Mrs. Ransom. Why would your husband’s murderer want you dead now? Perhaps you remembered something about him or her? Perhaps you found something that could implicate someone and this person
    found out?”
    “I don’t think so, Captain Paulette.” But Julia frowned. “I’ll have to give that a lot of thought.”
    Cheney said, “The attempt on your life means something’s changed, Julia. Think hard about what’s different now, about what could have drawn the murderer out into the open again.”
    Inspector Bigger said, “You’re still big buddies with all the psychics in the Bay Area, aren’t you, Mrs. Ransom?”
    “I see them occasionally.” Like Wallace, tonight for dinner.
    “Word is you all hang out together, like a club of sorts.”
    “What word?” Julia said to Inspector Bigger.
    “Bits and pieces, here and there,” said Inspector Bigger.
    Captain Paulette said, “I haven’t heard any word, Inspector. Maybe the real question here is, who stands to gain from your death?”
    “No one, Captain Paulette. I have no living relatives. Well, perhaps there are some cousins four times removed, but I don’t know who they are. I do have a will. Everything goes to various medical research foundations.”
    “All right. Now, please, Mrs. Ransom, if you’re feeling up to it, tell us exactly what happened.”
    Julia didn’t tell them she’d actually felt happy, that the paparazzi had finally abandoned their various posts in the neighborhood, that she’d felt so alive she’d walked all the way to Fisherman’s Wharf, sometimes running for the sheer joy of it, sometimes whistling, saying hi to everyone she met. “I was standing at the railing at the far end of Pier 39, looking toward Alcatraz, watching the fog roll through the Golden Gate. It was getting late. There weren’t that many tourists left. The lights were coming on. I realized I had to get home because I had a dinner engagement.” She paused, drew in a deep breath. “He was tall, black, nice clothes, smart eyes—you know, like he saw everything and knew what it meant. He wore