The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree (Berkley Prime Crime)

retrieved the bullet. It was still inside her skull. A twenty-two caliber. Not a very big gun, but big enough to do the job.”
    Lizzy stared at him in wide-eyed dismay, still trying to put it all together. “But I don’t ... The left side? You mean, somebody shot at her through the car window? While she was driving? Is that why she crashed through that barricade and into the ravine?”
    “Uh-uh.” Grady shook his head. “Not through the window. The driver-side door flew off in the tumble and the window stayed intact. It was rolled up, and there was no sign of a bullet hole in the glass. Anyway, Doc Roberts says it was point-blank range. Whoever did it was close enough to put the gun right up to her head.”
    “But I don’t see—” She tried to puzzle it out. “Point-blank range. But that means ... That means she was sitting in the car, Grady. On the passenger side. And somebody else was driving. The same man—”
    “The same man that Fred Harper reported seeing when the car was stolen,” Grady said. “So now the sheriff is looking for a car thief and a murderer.” He laughed shortly. “And he’s still looking for that escaped prisoner as well. Got his plate full, I’d say.”
    The convict! “Maybe that’s who did this, Grady.” Lizzy leaned forward excitedly. “Maybe the convict kidnapped Bunny at gunpoint and forced her into the car and drove away with her.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ll bet that’s it! He grabbed her and made her go with him, as a hostage. She struggled, or tried to jump out of the car, and he shot her. Then he put her in the driver’s seat and pushed the car through that barrier and into the ravine, in order to hide what he’d done.”
    “My goodness,” Grady said mildly. “You’ve missed your calling, Lizzy. You oughta be writing stories for one of those true crime magazines.” He chuckled. “You’re right about one thing, though. The girl was in the driver’s seat, but she wasn’t driving that car when it went over the edge.”
    Lizzy stared at him. “How do you know?”
    “Because the engine wasn’t running.”
    “Wasn’t ... running? But how—”
    “When we righted the car yesterday, I noticed that the key was in the ignition but it was turned off. Fact is, the motor wasn’t running when the car went over the edge. Even if Doc Roberts hadn’t spotted the gunshot wound, there still would’ve been a big question about that wreck.” He hoisted himself out of the chair. “Well, I guess I’d better go. I’ve got work to do, and you have, too.” He looked toward Mr. Moseley’s closed office door. “Where’s the boss?”
    “He’s not here,” Lizzy said. “He said he was coming in a little late this morning and—”
    She didn’t get to finish her sentence. Grady bent down, put his hands on her shoulders, and kissed her. Then he kissed her harder, and his arms went around her, lifting her to her feet, pulling her against him. She tried once or twice to push him away, but only briefly, for she found herself melting against him, tingling suddenly as if there were an electrical charge pulsing between them, giving herself to the reckless, unruly moment, wanting it to go on and on endlessly.
    “Ahem,” said a dry voice. “Excuse me, but I believe I work here. If you don’t mind, that is.”
    Lizzy pulled away from Grady, feeling herself blushing furiously, mortified. How long had Mr. Moseley been standing there, watching? She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing.
    But Grady was grinning broadly. “Hello, Bent,” he said. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Nice to see you.”
    “Same here,” Mr. Moseley acknowledged. He didn’t sound enthusiastic.
    Grady picked up his hat and put it on his head, tipping the brim to Lizzy in a rakish way, his eyes glinting. “Later, doll.” He put his hands in the pockets of his pants, strolled out the door, and clattered noisily down the stairs.
    “Doll?” Mr. Moseley’s brown eyebrows arched. “Later, doll?” he repeated, amused.
    Lizzy, her face hot, pushed her hair out of her eyes. She sat back down at her typewriter table and turned the platen on the machine, bending over to look as if she were searching for the place where she had left off typing. But to tell the truth, she was trying, not very successfully, to catch her breath. She was still feeling the hardness of Grady’s body against hers. It was as if they had simply picked up where they had left off on Saturday night