Love Can Be Murder

Gary's scribbled note on the pad rose in her mind: Extra door key for Gordon . It was too pat to be a coincidence. "Beck, please—can you remember his last name?"
    He scratched his head. "I want to say it was a German name—something like 'bear,' but an unusual spelling." Then he shook his head. "I can't say for sure, but I can find out." He held up the picture. "May I borrow this?"
    She hesitated, then felt foolish—Beck had done nothing but help her. "Sure. Do you know how these men are connected?"
    He splayed his hand. "Movers and shakers, second-generation family businessmen. Like me," he added wryly. "They might belong to the same country club, or live in the same neighborhood."
    "Have you ever heard of them doing anything illegal?"
    Beck cleared his throat and sat back. "Like what?"
    Surprised by his retreating body language, she spoke carefully. "Detective Salyers told me that Gary had a record for dealing cocaine in Orlando."
    "And you think he might have gotten back into the business?"
    "I don't know." She wet her lips. "Do you remember last Wednesday when you found me sitting in my car outside the High Museum?"
    "Yeah, you were spooked."
    "I was spooked because when I got in the car, Gary was waiting for me. He had just gotten out of the car before you walked up."
    His head jutted forward. "Did he hurt you?"
    "No. He told me he'd been set up, that he hadn't murdered the woman who was found in his car."
    "I take it he didn't say who had set him up?"
    "No. But I wondered if drugs might be involved."
    Beck pulled on his chin. "I guess it's possible."
    There was that hesitation again, that reluctance. Beck had a lot of money at his disposal—perhaps he had dabbled in drugs himself. Unease invaded her chest and she decided to change the subject. She pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from the office clutter on her table and did a rudimentary sketch of the tattoo on Roger LeMon's wrist. "Does this symbol mean anything to you?"
    He squinted at the paper, then shook his head. "What is it?"
    "A tattoo that LeMon and Coffee both have."
    "Fraternity?"
    "Friday night at the media reception, Carlotta and I cornered Coffee and asked him about the tattoo. He said it had ruined his life."
    "What did he mean?"
    "I don't know—Roger LeMon interrupted us, made some joke about Coffee's wife not liking the tattoo, then put Coffee in a cab. I think by that time LeMon had recognized me." She took a long drink from her mug. "Last night LeMon filed a restraining order against me."
    " What ?"
    "He told the police that I've been harassing him, that he came to Sammy's party but had to leave because he was afraid I would 'accost' him."
    "I was there, and it was clear you were trying to avoid him. Do you think he had something to do with the murder?"
    She nodded. "I think he did it and set me up, then filed the restraining order to prove he left the party."
    "To give himself an alibi."
    "Right." Jolie stood and began clearing their impromptu meal.
    He joined her, his expression bemused. "So your theory is that LeMon killed the woman in your boyfriend's car and set him up for it, then killed your boyfriend and set you up for it?"
    Jolie's hands stilled. When he put it that way, the story did sound too fantastic to believe. She flushed and leaned against the kitchen counter, her energy suddenly zapped. She was focusing on the puzzle pieces to detach herself from the fact that Gary was dead. She covered her mouth with her hand. "You're right. It's probably much simpler than I'm making it out to be—a debt owed, a drug deal gone bad. Roger LeMon might have nothing to do with it."
    "Didn't you say that your boyfriend's apartment burned a few days after he disappeared?"
    She nodded.
    "Was the cause ever determined?"
    "I don't know."
    "Have you considered that the fire might have been directed toward Hagan as a warning? Or maybe to destroy evidence of, say, a drug deal?"
    She shook her head, then sighed. "The thought hadn't occurred to me. I guess I didn't want to think that Gary could be involved in something so sordid."
    "So...were you in love with this guy?"
    Startled, she looked up, and the air sizzled without the benefit of a fried sandwich.
    Beck lifted his hand. "Never mind—that's none of my business."
    Before she could agree or disagree, his cell phone rang. He stepped to the doorway to take the call, and Jolie decided to take advantage of the time to dress. She walked to the bedroom and closed the door, her mind racing with