Ultraviolet. Nancy Bush

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      My cell phone rang as I was taking a shower. I don’t know what it says about me, but I have a hell of a time letting a phone ring, any phone, and I half debated on jumping out and running naked for it. It was with a supreme effort of self-control that I let it go to voice mail, and so I was perturbed when there was no message and the number on caller ID was one I didn’t recognize.

      I threw on my jeans, a blue V-necked, long-sleeved T-shirt and my black jacket, then punched in the digits to see who’d phoned. A woman’s voice answered in irritation: “Yes? Who is it?”

      “Jane Kelly, returning this number’s call.” I grabbed for my brown boots and encountered the wriggling body of The Binkster as she decided she needed some attention right then and there. I began petting her and she grabbed my hand with her mouth, a surefire sign she would prefer food over attention.

      “Oh.” A pause. “This is Gigi Hatchmere.”

      “Oh,” I repeated in surprise. The last time I’d seen her was on the opposite side of her quickly shutting door. I’d had a brief glance of short dark hair, angry brows and a mouth turned down in what looked like perpetual displeasure.

      Binkster gave a sharp yip when her ploy failed. I ignored her so she grabbed my pant leg with her teeth and growled. Her growls sound like they were made by Mattel: cute and puppyish. I pushed her aside but she came back for more.

      “Sean told me you went to see him last night. What a dope head. I hope you didn’t listen to anything he said. He should be committed, he’s so screwed up. And he has no family loyalty!”

      “He seems to want to know what really happened to his father.” Not exactly what he’d said, but she didn’t have to know.

      It incensed Gigi. “Well, of course he does. We all do. What do you think? Violet killed him! And she gets to just walk around with all her money? That’s just plain wrong! Why don’t you stop harassing us and put her in jail where she belongs? Jesus, I can’t believe this. The police are doing nothing. Nothing.”

      That wasn’t exactly the truth, either, but I saw an opportunity to push my own agenda. “I’ve been hired to investigate your father’s death and find out what really happened.”

      “I know! By Violet. You’re working for her.”

      “If I learn Violet’s involved at some level, I’m duty-bound to report that to the authorities.” Again, not exactly the truth.

      “Violet killed him. And she’s paying you.”

      What a stickler for detail. “Are you interested in finding your father’s killer?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Then talk to me. Meet with me. Let me get some background. It may be just as you think, Violet could be guilty, but my loyalty’s to the truth.”

      I heard the ring of conviction in my voice and was impressed with my skills of persuasion. I crossed my fingers that Gigi was impressed, too.

      “You would really turn on Violet even though she’s paying you?”

      “What do you care, as long as justice is served?”

      “I don’t, I guess…”

      “Who knows how long it will take the police to follow leads? I’m working on the case right now. I want to know what happened that day.”

      “Hunh,” she said, rolling that around. My quest for might and right seemed to have mollified her somewhat. “Where do you want to meet?”

      “I could come by the house?” I suggested. I was taking a chance, as my last trip there hadn’t ended well. But Gigi and Emmett had moved into her father’s house after Roland’s death, and, as it was the scene of the crime, I wanted to see it for myself.

      “I guess we could meet here,” she said reluctantly.

      “Terrific.” I pounced on it, afraid she might talk herself out of it.

      “Maybe the end of next week?”