The soft glow from Manny's 60-inch flat screen was comforting somehow. The dull lighting flickered blue against the walls creating a sort of peace deeper than any trance. The sound from the tv was high but my mind was drifting off to slumber, so little about it registered but white noise. I yawned against Manny's shoulder, snuggled a little closer, and curled my legs deeper into the sofa cushion.

          "Tired?" His voice seemed both close and distant at the same time.

          My eyelids fluttered open. "No, no. I'm awake. I'm listening. So, um, the lab fucked up?"

          That was his cue to resume ranting. His voice became strained, almost agitated. I tried my hardest not to yawn. "Yeah, they fucked up. I sent that shit in two days ago. So, I called, and they hadn't even started!"

          "Really?" I pressed my lips together to ward off a looming smile.

          Manny was too caught up in his story to notice. "I told them to take their thumbs out of their asses and get me my results!"

          The bewildered laugh that rattled up from my gut shook the both of us. "I take it they didn't like that?"

          "The Chief called me into his office. Told me to play nice with the techs."

          "So, you're like a mean boss then?" I pushed up and looked at him fully, an amused smile spread across my face.

          He stared back, a smile of his own growing wide. "I wouldn't say mean. But I expect competency."

          "My man said, 'Get it right or fuck off'."

          "Well, yes I did. But politely, though."

          "Man said, 'Run me my results'."

          "The longer they take, the less likely we are to find the culprit."

          "Man said, 'Procedure? Ain't nobody got time for that shit'."

          "You're such a goofball." He laughed and reached his hands out to tickle me in the dark. I broke into a fit of giggles and fought back gallantly but my attacker was too powerful. Once he had his fill of entertainment he leaned back and asked, "So, how was your day?"

          I looked over, still smiling. "Pretty boring."

          "How's the case?"

          That perked me up almost more than the tickling. "Oh my God. Let me tell you 'bout this shit." I sat up fully and turned my whole body to face him. "First of all, the nurse is missing."

          "What do you mean 'missing'?"

          "Like after the funeral she disappeared. The family doesn't seem to know where she is but that's not the craziest thing." My movements were overly animated, but he listened attentively. "I called her employer. They've never heard of her."

          "What?"

          "Yeah! No one knows where she came from. At this point I'm not even sure if she's an actual nurse." Or how she got hired in the first place. "How do you even pull off that level of fraud?"

          "Fraud isn't my expertise. They have detectives for that just like homicide." A loud commercial suddenly blast through the speakers of his tv making me jump and making Bertie raise her head from the doggie bed she was sleeping on in the corner. Manny grabbed the remote and put it on mute. "If you're having trouble with the background check try searching for an alias."

          "I have no idea how to do that."

          "The same way you usually run backgrounds." When my face remained perplexed, he explained. "Okay. Say you look up Bob Smith but there's no info except his sister Jane Smith. So, you look her up and it says she has a brother named Bob Smithson born the same day and same city as Bob Smith. What does that tell you?"

          "That Smith and Smithson are probably the same person."

          "Right."

          "So, then I just crosscheck?"

          "Exactly."

          I pursed my lips; another thought on the tip of my tongue. "Follow up question. How hard is it to get a body exhumed for autopsy?"

          His eyebrows shot up. "It's petition the courts hard."

          "So, that's not happening then."

          "No." He confirmed it with a decisive shake of his head. "Not unless you can prove it's necessary."

          "Damn. That would have made this much easier."

           "For the record, I think you're doing great even without the ability to exhume bodies."

           "Really?"

          "Yeah! You're doing everything I would do but with way less resources. I'm impressed."

          Suddenly I was having trouble meeting his gaze. "Well, you know...I try."

          "Look at you getting all embarrassed. That's cute, Scooby." He reached out and stroked my cheek with a tender finger. "Did you have a chance to look at that link I sent you?"

          It took me a moment to remember the website with the upgraded surveillance gear he'd passed my way after calling the cheap recording device I'd bought trash. "Yeah! Everything looked good so I went ahead and ordered another recording device and a GPS tracker." The recorder had automated voice activator, seventy-hour lifespan, and USB compatibility. "Won't be here for about three weeks though."

          "You toss the old one."

          "Nah. I know I should but it's hard to throw away money. Even when you know what you bought is shit."

          He cackled. "You can always use it as a paper weight."

           "Okay, you know what..." I was interrupted when his laughing turned into a coughing fit. "You alright?"

          He cleared his throat and wheezed, "I'm gonna get some water. Want something to drink?"

          "No, thanks."

          "Okay." He stood and cough-laughed his way to the kitchen.

          Discovering an alias of our shady nurse could be the breakthrough I needed. If she was working under a different name that would help me find her employment history, which could in turn reveal if she was a nurse or not—

          Manny's phone vibrated hard against the coffee table. I looked over expecting to see the screen light up and realized for the first time that he'd left the phone screen-side down.

          What the hell? Is he hiding something? Should I check it? No. Manny doesn't lie. What would he even lie about? I'm sure its fine.

          Now the matter at hand was Corrine. The where, what, and why of it was paramount to the case...my eyes drifted back to the coffee table. The phone called to me.

          I glimpsed back toward the kitchen and calculated how long it would take him to come back...probably not as long as it would take me to check his texts. I knew the password. I knew how to maneuver his home screen. I knew...no, no, Evie. This is absurd. What did I think I'd find? Cheating? He wouldn't do that to me. He loved me...

          Unless...his little love declaration was a calculated maneuver to throw me off. Give me something to obsess about while he carried on with god knows who...

          But that's silly, right? Why am I questioning this? Why am I stressing and giving myself grief over a phone? I should just accept it like Alice said. He knows lots of people, he's on the phone all the time.

          But its screen-side down...

          When he walked back in the room with his fingers wrapped around a glass of cold water, he looked different to me than before. Was that scheming and not love I saw in his eyes? Or was I self-sabotaging because I couldn't handle his affections?

          That was probably it. It's me not him. I need to up my therapy sessions with Dr. Deb, not check his phone and watch him like a hawk. That's not healthy.

          I smiled as he set down his glass and retook his seat, seemingly oblivious. All that panicking for nothing.

          But then the phone was screen-side down...

************

          The next day I spent a little time running background checks on all my suspects—after I tried calling Henry to get his man opinion on the phone thing. He didn't pick up and I was being ridiculous anyway. I put it out of my mind and got back to business.

          Destiny and Malik were mostly spotless. Criminal was clean and financial pretty average for American lendees of their caliber. Destiny had gone to college for some kind of art thing, paid back her very expensive loan in full, married, divorced, and racked up some credit card debt that was small potatoes for someone who was reaping the benefits of alimony from her high powered attorney ex. The only question was why she chose to live in the manor when she had more than enough to have a decent sized house for her and the kids. Maybe she wanted to be near her mother when she passed. Or maybe she wanted access to kill her.

          Malik likewise went to school for business, paid those debts, and had a lucrative career climbing the corporate ladder with such impressive titles as CEO, COO, and Vice President. The most relevant of which was the turn he took as CEO of Dupont Cosmetics—nepotism if I've ever seen it, but I can't say I wouldn't do the same for my child...No marriages. No children. No criminal record of any kind. Not even a parking ticket.

          My other suspects didn't come out near as clean. Gabe—Gabe, Gabe, Gabe! The debts. How? Your mother was a millionaire. Your father wasn't far off either. So, someone tell me why is this man ten million in debt? He went to college like the others. Full ride, curtesy of mom and dad. But after graduation, there's nothing. No marriages. No children. No mortgage. No jobs. Just ever rising debt. And some of these lenders skeeve me out. Like interest rates that are borderline illegal, skeeve. Would he kill his own mother for the pay day? Would she even leave such an irresponsible child that much money? I wouldn't. He'd just blow it on drugs and hookers or whatever a shirking idiot squanders his opportunities on. Ugh, I'm mad just thinking about it.

          On the positive side, everything Margie told me tracked. It was Margaret Scott's name on the LLC, right next to Deirdre Williams—Diana's real name before the rebranding. They had started the company in 1983 and Margie had sold to Diana in 1988. Then she'd gotten a job with the city and everything after that is pretty average. Marriage, kids, debt—all appropriate and unsuspicious.

          Este was clean too—relatively speaking. When I'd talked to her she'd seemed like the poor put-upon employee, just trying to survive the whims of the rich family she worked for. Her path to immigration seemed a bit shady, but I didn't know enough about immigration law to say. Also, I didn't really care. The only thing of relevance was whether or not she was involved with Diana's possible murder. There was a marriage. A divorce. And three kids—one in business school like she'd said which bodes well for the other things she'd said. She'd claimed to be looking for something Diana stole from her—her passport perhaps (memo to self, get that back to her). What any of this has to do with Destiny is a mystery.

          Then there was Corrine. I didn't expect much considering her place of employment was a complete fabrication. I found some previous places of residence for a Corrine Thompson, but otherwise nothing. I did get a hit that suggested she went by alternative names just like Manny suggested. Corrine Thomas. Corrina Thompson. Corrina Thomas. Nothing but shaky employment and a history of writing bad checks. Whoever she was, looks like there was a fraudster amongst us. Of note she did appear to have a nursing degree, but her license was revoked three years ago for gross negligence. If that's true, then which one of them hired her? Destiny was the most probable. Gabe was too much of a fuck up...I'd put a pin in her for later.

          That left Robert the Shadiest Lawyer. Most of the record was clean of course. But he had been Diana's lawyer since the eighties. And what was stranger was that it was confusing exactly what type of lawyer he was. Sure, he had a history of handling the business, but he was also apparently the one who had a hand in Diana's will. That alone put him near the top of my list.

          Every one of them, except for Este, had motive. Murdering for the money is obviously easier to pull if your family. But Robert worked so closely with them he practically was family. And if he was able to get himself in this woman's will then it was a slam-dunk. Which is why I needed to talk to him if I was ever going to figure this thing out.

          I took the liberty of scheduling a consultation because that seemed the quickest route to confrontation. My plan was to pretend to be a potential client in need of a lawyer to help with an estate dispute because I'm seventy-five percent sure he's an estate lawyer or corporate lawyer, but I guess I'll find out. Hopefully I could segue the conversation toward being Diana's lawyer.

          Hopefully.

          I'd decided to wear some of my most professional business wear to the meeting. That meant my wine-colored pantsuit with the matching heals, the only diamond jewelry I owned, and a nice tasteful bun piled high on my head. I briefly thought about straightening it—as I'd done when I'd successfully convinced a loan officer to approve funding for my crazy little coffee shop dreams, but I honestly didn't have the time.

          Robert's office wasn't too far from Dupont Manor. It was a moderate sized one-story building with an overlay hip roof and cut stone walls. His was the only name on the clean glass door. I walked in, my heels tapping with each step on the tile. The rhythm gave me confidence somehow.

          The receptionist was swathed in a tailored pantsuit that was getting too tight, but it looked good on her. "Can I help you?" she said pleasantly.

          "Yes. I have an appointment."

          "Name?"

          "Harper."

          Her fingers clacked at her keyboard. "Yes. He'll be with you shortly. Please have a seat."

          I did as she instructed and sat in one of the mahogany colored leather waiting chairs. The magazines lined neatly on the coffee table were of the business and legal variety. I strummed my fingers on my purse then looked at the clock. Five 'til. I opened my purse and riffled through it; on the hunt for my lipstick and compact. I found it sitting under the old syringe I'd found under Diana's bed.

           Damn. I meant to throw it away. Across the room was a wicker waste basket but if I got up to toss the syringe the receptionist might think I'm a junkie or something. And normally that wouldn't bother me but today I need them to think I'm of a certain class. The class that can easily procure Robert's expensive services.

          "Would you like a beverage?" The receptionist said. "We have tea, coffee, and soft drinks."

          "No thank you."

          She nodded and went back to typing. Moments later, the phone rang. "Hello, Davis Law Firm." She said into the receiver. "Oh, hello Mr. Williams."

          Mr. Williams? Diana's oldest two children retained their father's last name from before the name change. Was that Malik on the phone?

          "Of course," she said in hushed tones. "Mr. Davis can see you today at four."

         I didn't have time to let this new information ruminate as Mr. Davis himself walked from his office with all the pomposity of a king. He was a little pudgier than I remembered. A little older too. His hairline had receded all the way back past his crown. The hairs that were left were graying but still mostly full. He tugged at the label of his three-piece suit and met my gaze. "Ms. Harper?"

          "Yes." I jumped up, careful to clutch my open purse just so and rushed over to shake his hand.

          "Come in," He stepped aside and allowed me to enter the deep brown wood paneled office first. He even waited for me to sit the lush leather armchair before he pulled out his own seat across the table. What a gentleman. "So, what can I do for you?"

          "Well, my father recently died without a will. He and my brother have been estranged for ten years. I just know dad wouldn't want my brother to inherit the house, but he's saying he'll take me to court and well..."

          "And you'd like me to represent you?"

          "Your reputation does precede itself."

          He smiled. It was a nice smile. Not handsome, but approachable. "First things first, I'll need to see all relevant paperwork pertaining to the property."

          I took a minute to stare wistfully at an elaborate built-in bookcase full of thick withered tomes while I thought about how to reply. I scrunched my face and blinked my eyes rapidly. A single tear dotted the left one. It took thinking of dead puppies, orphaned children, and the end of La Bamba when Lou Diamond Phillips dies in that plane crash to force it. "Well, you see. Last year there was a fire. And, well, the office burned down and the deed with it."

          He materialized a pack of tissues and nudged them over like he was worried I'd bite his fingers off. "That's alright. We can simply get another deed. Are you sure there's no will?"

          Bingo. I dabbed at my eyes and sniffed. "Well, about that. My father did leave a will, but it was wholly inadequate. He just wanted his property left to his heirs, but my brother wasn't there while he passed! I'm the one who took care of him. I deserve the whole inheritance."

          "And you want me to..."

          "Contest the will! You have experience with wills, right?" I blew some air from my nose into the tissue and wiped away at nothing with a sheepish grin. "Excuse me."

          "It's alright, dear." He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Incredible performance, by the way."

          I looked up and blinked. "Performance?"

          He smiled. "The outfit, the tears, the story. Very convincing. I almost believed you."

          "I don't know what you're talking about."

          "You know exactly what I'm talking about, Evelyn Marie Harper. Owner of Taste Teas. Age twenty-eight. Birthday June twenty-eighth. Mother: Regina Harper program manager for Burenville Air Quality Division. Father: Alvin Walker, Chief of Fire and Rescue. No siblings. Unmarried. No children." He stared at me with all the tenacity of a well-fed lion. "Now, if you're finished with your amusing little charade we get down to business. I have a client in twenty minutes."

          "How did you know?"

          "I retain many valuable people in my employ. Including James Wolff." Wolff Investigations, best P.I.s in the city. Fuck. I did my apprenticeship with them so the investigation would have been quick since they know me. But why would he hire them? Did someone tip him off? "Now, what is it you want from me?"

          I crumpled my dry tissue and tossed it at the waste basket. It missed. I didn't make a move to pick it up. "I have a few questions about the will."

           "You know that's classified."

          "Then I have a question about you." I mirrored his posture and sat back relaxed in my seat. If neither of us had anything to hide the stakes were low. "Why did you help swindle Margie out of her stake in the company?"

          He shrugged; his hands outward in a beseeching manner. "Gigs a gig. Diana was willing to pay."

           "How do you sleep at night?"

          "On thousand count Egyptian cotton sheets."

          "Anything for money, huh?"

           "That's trite coming from a business owner." His lips pressed into a smug smirk. "Who's more equipped to understand better than you? If one crying woman was standing between you and millions in profit would you hold her hand or walk on over."

           I didn't answer that. "Got a pretty cushy job out of it too." I made a show of looking around the room. "Must have been devastating when she died. No more cash cow."

           The motherfucker chuckled. "Diana was my oldest friend."

           "Which is why I'm so perplexed at how nonchalantly your taking her passing."

          "People grieve in their own ways."

          "You have an answer for everything don't you? Answer this. Why did Diana think someone was trying to kill her those last few months?"

          "Degenerative brain diseases are a horrible thing." He gave another half-assed shrug. Nothing to hide—or rather nothing he thought I would figure out. "But if your implying I killed her, what motive could I have? She was my cash cow as you put it. What do I gain?"

          "Nothing at all." I stood. "I should let you get to that meeting."

            He made no reaction; his poker face stayed as agreeable as if we were discussing the weather. "It's been a pleasure to meet you Ms. Harper. Please consider me for your future legal needs."

          "Oh, you're at the top of my list." I slung my purse over my shoulder and turned to leave.

          If he had nothing to hide, why did he hire a private investigator to run a background on me? What's his angle?

          "Oh, and Ms. harper." He said just as I put my hand to the knob. I turned and watched a smarmy smile spread across his face. "That's a mighty fine suit."

          Dick.