Love Can Be Murder

Hale?”
    “No. But Daniel and I haven’t been seeing each other for a while, so I wouldn’t know everything going on in his life.”
    “To your knowledge, was he involved in anything illegal—drugs or gambling?”
    I wracked my brain for a bone to toss her way, but as far as I knew, Daniel’s only vice was blondes. And redheads. And brunettes. “No.”
    Salyers studied me for a long time, then pushed away from the table. “We’re done here, but don’t leave town. How can I reach you?”
    Grant extended a card to the detective. “She’ll be staying with me.”

    ***

    EVEN THOUGH IT WAS out of character for Grant to speak for me, I didn’t argue with him because I’d been at the police station all afternoon and still hadn’t had a shower. I could smell Daniel’s cologne on my skin and the cloying stench of it had driven me to gnawing my nails down to the quick, a habit I’d kicked in grade school. I was grateful—giddy, even—for Grant’s offer of hospitality. I couldn’t bear the thought of staying in my apartment tonight, and a hotel seemed too sterile.
    Grant took me back to my place to pack a bag and grab my briefcase. Someone had turned off the air conditioner, leaving it stifling and pungent with odors of garbage that needed to be emptied and other, more foreign smells. While I gathered my things, Grant studied the crime scene. I couldn’t bring myself to walk into the living room—the bloodstains alone were burned into my brain. I wondered if I’d be able to live here again…assuming I didn’t get sent to prison.
    One of my fears was allayed rather quickly—I met both Mrs. Bingham and Mr. McFelty, the neighbors who’d exchanged expletives with Daniel, as we were leaving. Mr. McFelty looked bleary-eyed, but kindly asked how I was handling things. I felt a pang of regret because the man worked three jobs and last night wasn’t the first time Daniel had awakened my neighbors. On top of everything else, I felt as if I’d unwittingly exposed them to a criminal element. Mrs. Bingham, the resident cook, patted my arm with an oven-mitted hand and managed to pass the card of her cousin in Marietta who specialized in crime scene cleanup.
    “Vivian did a terrific job when Roy in the apartment upstairs shot himself last year. The new renter says she can’t even tell where the drywall was repaired and painted.”
    I winced. Roy had been a troubled young man who’d blasted heavy metal music and apparently had taken the violent lyrics to heart. It was the music, looping over and over, that had led the superintendent to his grisly discovery. If Vivian had extricated brain matter from the ceiling, a little blood on the upholstery and carpet would be a cinch.
    “Free air freshener,” Mrs. Bingham added cheerfully.
    “Er, thanks. I’ll call.”
    Grant walked up and saw the business card in my hand. “That can wait. I need to get our own forensics person in here.”
    That made sense, of course. I marveled over how all of my training and know-how seemed to have moved to the recesses of my mind in the wake of needing legal advice rather than doling it out. I informed Mrs. Bingham where I was staying and told her she could have my daily Atlanta Journal-Constitution for the time being.
    “If that friend of yours stops by,” Mrs. Bingham said, “I’ll let her know you’re going to be gone for a while.”
    “Friend?”
    “The pretty blonde,” the older woman offered. “She was here yesterday asking which apartment was yours. She didn’t give her name, but she said she was supposed to meet you for lunch and had gotten delayed in traffic. Said she wanted to slide a message under your door.”
    I froze. There was no blonde friend, no lunch, no message. But I had an inkling of who it could have been. “Was the woman tall?” As in long, lethal legs.
    “Why yes, she was quite tall. And slender, like a model.”
    Leora Painter. “What time was that, Mrs. Bingham?”
    “Around noon. I remember because I was coming back from checking the mail.”
    I said goodbye, then rushed to fill Grant in on the presumed identity of the woman. “It must have happened like you said—she followed Daniel here after the charity dinner and killed him! And framed me !”
    Unfortunately, Grant didn’t share my excitement. “But the detective said the Painter woman didn’t raise their suspicion.”
    “So she’s a good actress. It’s too much of a coincidence that Leora is at my apartment the same day