I poured slowly. The blend of honey and lavender splashed down into the floral teacup. It was said that the tea from the delicate lavender flower promoted better sleep, better digestive health, and a soothing calm. And it was caffeine free, of course. We could definitely use some calming down right about now.

       After being rustled into my office, Ashley had been left to ruminate in the AC by herself while I brewed the tea. I figured the ten minutes it would take to prepare would cool her down a little. Plus, it was hard to stay in a state of frenzy with your hands full of dainty ceramic dishes.

       She took the teacup into her hands and muttered a weak, "Thank you." Looks like my stalling technique worked to even her out.

       "What happened?" I poured myself a cup and plopped down in my chair.

       "One of those detectives called." She lifted the teacup to her lips and took a sip. Her hands trembled. Good thing I only added a half a teaspoon of sugar. "They told me not to leave town."

       "That's it?" Hardly a reason to panic. Though I guess if you've never dealt with Johnny-Law before, any little attention was scary.

       "They told me I'm officially under investigation for Noah's murder."

       "That doesn't mean you're the only one." I took a sip of tea and almost got lost in the pleasurable mix of honey and lavender. Damn, that's good. I should make this the tea special tomorrow... "It just means they need to rule you out."

       "It's been three days. If they haven't ruled me out yet..." She raised the cup again but paused with it a few inches from her mouth like she forgot what she was doing. "They think I did it!"

       "...Did you? I'd understand if you did."

       "No!"

       "I thought you were breaking up with him."

       "We worked it out."

       I sighed. What exactly was there to work out? "Sounds like a job for a lawyer to me."

      "I'm just getting ahead of it." She sat the teacup on the edge of my desk, barely touched. "Lawyers use P.I.'s all the time."

       Okay, that was actually true. One of the P.I.'s greatest allies was the lawyer. A girl could really eat off a steady flow surveillance gigs and detailed background checks. And really, what was the difference between helping Sanz build his cases and helping Ashley with hers?

       "I don't know..."

       "Ms. Harper, I'm not someone who sits around and lets things happen." She huffed out a groan that shook her whole body. "I need to be proactive, or I'll go insane."

       Who she tellin'... "What happened that day?"

       "It was a normal Friday." Her eyes rolled upward as she thought back. "I got up, went to a class, went to work, came home and had dinner—"

       "Was there anything off about Noah?"

       "He seemed more distracted than usual." She half shrugged; half shook her head. "I asked him about it. He said it was just work."

       I'll bet. "Did he give any specifics?"

       She shook her head. "He never liked to talk about work."

       "And you never...pushed?" I knew the answer to that by the wide-eyed bewilderment on her face. "What happened that night?"

       "He was being a little distant all day. That afternoon he was gone for a few hours and when he came back..." her brows knit together.

       "What?"

       She touched at the skin beneath her eye. "His right eye was black..."

       "He got into a fight?"

       "He said he broke up a fight in front of a Circle K and one of the guys swung on him."

       Broke up a fight in front of the Circle K my Black ass. Noah was a prolific liar. How much of that is true and how much of it false? "Interesting."

       "Anyway, I went to bed early since I had to get up early that Saturday."

       "What was he doing when you went to bed?"

       "Nothing special. He said he had to finish up some work. Last time I saw him he was at the kitchen table with his laptop." Her bottom lip trembled slightly; her eyes glistened. "The next morning, I found him dead in the backyard. Someone shot him..."

       I frowned. "You didn't hear anything? The gunshot?"

       She shook her head again. "I took a sleeping pill. I was out for seven hours."

       But still...guns are loud as hell. "You didn't hear anything?"

       She bit at her lip. "Well...I think I heard arguing...but maybe I dreamed it."

       "You told all this to the police?"

       "Yes."

       We sat in silence as I thought it over. "My fee is twice the original rate."

       Her mouth dropped. "What? Why?"

       I kept my expression neutral. "We're dealing with murder now. Hazard pay."

       Her lips pressed into a thin line as she weighed her options. "It's a deal."

       "Fine," I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out my purse. "But we should go now."

       "Where?"

       "Your house." I stood. "I need to see that crime scene."

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

       The tragic couple had lived in a one-story ranch house in Arlington. Ancient oaks draped with Spanish moss blanketed the street from both sides providing consistent shade to any car that parked on the street. Most yards were well maintained, and most driveways had at least two cars parked. It wasn't Beverly Hills or anything, but I'd bet the rent was still a bit on the pricey end for a couple of kids fresh out of college. Either a parent co-signed, or extortion pays more than I thought.

       I'd followed Ashley's black Corolla through lowlands, and expressways, and over the San Juan River through mid-day traffic to make it, but here we were.

       The house was a simple white with a gabled brown roof and a moderately sized lawn. The lawn in question seemed ripped and wrinkled from the storm of footprints that marred the lush green with thick brown mud. Too bad he got murdered in rainy season. And that cops don't care to be gentle when they investigate.

       I pulled my car up to the curb as Ashley pulled into the bare bones concrete driveway that held a semi steep incline—probably built for flooding purposes.

       I stepped out and looked around. The street was mostly quiet except for the distant sounds of hammering, drilling, and lawn mowing. Crazy no one heard that gun shot. Maybe the whole neighborhood takes sleeping pills.

       As I side-stepped to close the door, my foot landed in a pile of mushy cigarette butts. I swore and wiped the bottom of my shoe against the raised curb. Only thing worse than a smoker is a smoker who litters. Fuckin' littering chain smokers, man.

       By the time I got up the driveway Ashley was waiting on the porch with her hand riffling through her giant tote bag to find her keys. "Where did I..." she mumbled.

       I kept silent and looked around the porch with an empty gaze. A worn welcome mat under her feet caught my eye first. Next my eyes drifted to a pair of muddy sneakers drying in the sun, a potted cactus, and an anthropomorphic frog statue looking up at me in a raincoat and matching boots.

       When she Finally found her housekey, she shoved it into the lock with trembling hands.

       Inside, the air sat undisturbed, like the house had been petrified for posterity. Days ago, however, the crime lab had combed through every inch of it.

       "Is this your first time back since it happened?"

       She nodded solemnly then hit the lights.

       It was a typical living room you'd expect for someone who'd just barely started life. Furniture was lower end but clean. Art was limited to novelty posters hung on the wall and little tacky statuettes cluttering the end tables. The entertainment system was the most lovingly decorated corner of the room. The big screen perched on the lower shelf was as thin as paper. Below it in the cabinet space was the latest PlayStation and Xbox.

       "How often do you have company over?"

       "Every once in a while."

       "Anyone unusual besides the voice you might have heard Friday night?"

        "No."

       I noted the symmetry of the room. The posters remained even. The lamps on the side tables were undisturbed. No scuffs on the tile floor. No statuettes toppled. The couch and coffee table perfectly parallel.

       The police wouldn't clean up after they left. "Is this what it looked like when you woke up?"

       "More or less."

       There had been no fight, then. Whoever it was, was invited in.

       I strolled casually to a tight kitchen and dining set up. On the stove top was a single saucepan with about three tablespoons of cold brown liquid in the bottom.

       "Did you eat this?"

       "No."

       "Did you see Noah make this?"

       "No."

       So, Noah took a late dinner that night. The remnants of a used ramen wrapper was left tossed on the counter, which annoyed me as the trash can was a mere two steps away. Did he think he had a maid? The more I learned about him, the trashier he seemed.

       I walked to the table and frowned. A bowl of half-eaten ramen sat rotting on the table. The chair it was in front of it was pulled out. The rest of them were carefully pushed in. Either the murderer is polite, or he didn't sit down for a chat and a snack.

       On the floor under the pulled-out chair was a long battery charger of some kind. It was still plugged into the outlet behind the chair but whatever device it belonged to was AWOL.

       "Did Noah have a laptop?"

       "He has three." She swallowed when she realized anew that he was gone. "...Had. He had three."

       "Where are they?"

       "The police took them."

       Why take any of the laptops? They must be aware of his extracurriculars. "All three?"

       "I think so."

       "Try to remember. Did you clearly see them take all three?"

       "No," She said after considering. "They took the old one, and the big one, but not the little one."

       Big one was probably a gamer. Old one a relict. "What does he use the little one for?"

       "Business, I guess." She shrugged. "He was insistent I never messed with it. He was worried I'd mess something up."

       Bingo. "I need you to make absolutely sure it's not in this house."

       She nodded. "Okay."

       I shadowed Ashley as she checked every nook and cranny. She went room to room, her eyes sweeping back and forth. She checked every drawer, every shelf, every bag. She looked in the bedroom, in the laundry room, even the bathroom.

       When she and I was satisfied in our search she turned to me, perplexed. "It's not here."

       That meant only one of two things: the police had simply snuck it out while her back was turned, and it was currently in an evidence locker downtown. Or the murderer grabbed it on their way out because it contained evidence. It seemed dubious the police would grab the laptop but leave the cord still plugged into the outlet. Plus, the good detectives had specifically asked me if Ashley had a laptop bag with her when they stopped by.

       If they knew where it was, they wouldn't have asked.

       "Where did you find him?"

       She took a deep breath. "I'll show you."

       The back yard was small. The lawn barely ran past the small concrete slab that passed for a back porch. A tall wooden privacy fence bordered it. Another oak provided shade.

       I looked down and frowned. On the edge of the concrete slab a black stain discolored the ground.

       Tears welled in Ashley's eyes. She hugged herself and wept quietly behind me.

       "Which way was he laying when you found him?"

       "Um..." When she looked up her tears flowed freely down her cheeks. "His head toward the house. Face up."

       "I'm sorry. I know this is hard."

       She nodded her thanks and sniffed. "When I saw the gun on the counter I almost puked..."

       "The gun was on the counter?"

       "Yeah. In the kitchen. Right by the sink."

       What kind of incompetent dipshit leaves the murder weapon mere steps from the body? Is he trying to get caught, or was he so stupid he didn't think they would catch him? Surely the cops will be able to track him...

       "They didn't find prints on the gun?"

       "No. They said it had been scrubbed clean."

       "Was it Noah's?"

       "No."

       Was that true or was it another one of Noah's secrets? "Are you absolutely sure?"

       "Yes."

       So, late Friday night after Ashley went to bed Noah sat down at his laptop with a bowl of ramen to do some of his dirty work. He hears a knock on the door. A surprise guest, probably, and opens it to find one of his victims. He invites them in to work it out—or maybe they push their way in. Voices raise and fearing that Ashley will wake up they reconvene on the back porch. They argue and the killer pulls the gun. They kill him and collect the laptop on their way out.

       They leave the murder weapon in plain sight?

       If the gun wasn't Noah's, the police might be able to track it prints or no prints. "Alright," I said. "We're done."

       She seemed relieved. "Now what?"

       "Now I start my investigation."

       "You don't need more than that?"

       "Usually, I would but I've already got some leads in mind."

       There was no dearth of people Noah had wronged in his short life. That meant my suspects list was potentially unlimited. However, there'd only been four people he'd blackmailed in the three months since he got fired from his job last April and one of them was Ashley.

       If my hunch was right, then that narrowed it down to three.