Love Can Be Murder

photograph of his parents, a Midwestern-looking couple dressed in sensible clothes, smiling as if they were having an appropriate amount of fun. She thought of her own parents and how frantic they would be if they had lived to witness this. A wry smile curved her mouth as she wondered which would consume her mother the most—her proximity to a hideous crime, or utilizing her hard-won college degree to sell shoes.
    There was a small photo album, which surprised her because Gary didn't seem like the sentimental type. The photos in the beginning were dated and yellowed—various shots of him growing up, labeled on the back in a neat, feminine script, and she guessed that Gary's mother had started the album and perhaps he had added to it after her death. The more recent pictures were mostly snapshots of him with various well-dressed people she didn't recognize. The women were numerous, but none of them seemed to have been singled out by the camera. As she turned pages, however, the faces of four men seemed to occur more often than others—and the men appeared to know each other. Could one of them be the Gordon who was to receive an extra key? She slipped out each photo, but none of the recent pictures was labeled on the back.
    There were also a couple of photos of Gary by himself outdoors. In one he was sitting on a rock, dressed in hiking gear and mugging for the camera. The next was of the same location, but a closer shot. Fingers obscured the lower edge of the picture—a woman's fingers, with nice nails. The picture was dated a year ago by the film developer, but again not labeled. Was the photographer the mysterious pink-lipped ex?
    She turned pages and scanned photos of holiday parties, then she smiled, surprised to see photos taken during their inner tube float down the river. She had felt awkward giving them to him, had been afraid he would think she was trying to force the issue of them being a couple, but had reasoned that the shots were group shots, not just of her and Gary. They were all smiling, everyone wet—even Sammy—having a good time. Jolie turned the page and stared at the last photo, then her smile evaporated.
    It was another group photo from that summer day, except Gary's tube was bumped up next to hers. She remembered the moment, had reached out to playfully push him away. But the way her hand rested on his arm looked proprietary.
    And it obviously had disturbed someone who had viewed the picture, because her face had been obliterated by a slashing red X.

Chapter Four

    "IS DETECTIVE SALYERS AVAILABLE?" Jolie asked, setting the box on the counter lip in front of a thick window that she assumed was bulletproof.
    The cop behind the counter pulled on his chin. "She's out on a case. Can I help you?"
    "My name is Jolie Goodman. She asked me to drop this off. It's related to a case she's working on."
    "Hold on." The man rummaged for a pen and paper, then slid both underneath the half-inch gap at the bottom of the window. "Write her a note, will you?"
    Jolie took the pen and scrawled, "From Jolie Goodman re: G. Hagan," and added her cell phone number. She stuffed the note down in the top of the box, and the man came through a side door to take it from her. "I'll make sure she gets it."
    Jolie thanked him, then exited the bustling station and jogged toward her car. If traffic wasn't too bad, she might make the sales meeting on time. She slid into her seat and closed the car door, fighting the urge to skip the meeting, to skip her shift—hell, to skip the entire day.
    But that would only make things worse. In fact, she really should be around people today, around crowds, to take her mind off the events of yesterday that were threatening to consume her. She started the car and turned it in the direction of Lenox Square, stifling a yawn, a result of the sleep she didn't get last night.
    She'd placed a giant cactus beneath her bedroom window and slept with a fire extinguisher—the only thing she had that could remotely be considered a weapon. She might have to use her employee discount to buy something more threatening today, although at the moment the most dangerous thing she could think of that Neiman Marcus had to offer was the employee discount itself.
    She maneuvered back roads to get to the mall and found a good parking place at this early hour. Ten minutes later she slipped into the room where, to her great relief, the sales meeting had just gotten under way. From the front, Michael Lane gave her