Deadly Deceptions by Linda Lael Miller Page B

it wasn’t the chance to learn by experience, so I’d be a better detective. Gillian wasn’t going to rest if the killer wasn’t found. That had to be the reason she was hanging around. “But I can’t promise anything, Mrs. Erland.”
    A semblance of hope sparked in Helen’s sorrow-dimmed eyes. “Just do what they’re not doing,” she said.
    I knew she was referring to the police again, and I nodded. “You’ll have to help me. Answer lots of questions. And if you can get me in to see Mr. Erland, I’d like to talk to him.” Read: size him up.
    She nodded almost eagerly. “I get off at six,” she said. “Maybe you could come by my place, and we could talk. I’ll call Vince’s public defender and ask if he can arrange a visit.”
    I nodded, but my mind had drifted to the body that was probably Alex’s. Greer’s world was about to collapse all around her, and I’d need to be there to help gather up the pieces. Not that she’d be grateful—comforting her would be like trying to bathe a porcupine.
    â€œWhen’s your next day off?” I asked.
    â€œI don’t have any days off,” Helen answered. “I took every shift I could get. Staying home makes me—well, I can’t stand it. There are too many reminders, and with Vince gone, it’s even worse.”
    â€œI’ll stop by tonight, then,” I said. Jolie would be off work by then, if it didn’t take too long to process the crime scene. She’d have to be the one to bathe the porcupine. “Your place, around six-fifteen?”
    Helen nodded and gave me directions.
    I turned to leave, glancing at my watch, and I wasn’t surprised when Gillian didn’t follow. The poor kid wanted to be with her mother.
    My throat knotted, and I wiped my eyes with the back of one hand.
    I felt a little pang as I drove past Bad-Ass Bert’s, too. I’d finally worked up my courage to move back into my apartment, but it wasn’t going to happen any time soon. I’d have to stay at the guesthouse, in case Greer needed me.
    Shit. I really wanted to go home.
    It was still too early, but I headed for Beverly Pennington’s place anyway. It was an upscale condo in a gated community, and there were police cars clogging the entrance. The sheriff’s department, Phoenix and Scottsdale PD—the gang was all there.
    I made an executive decision and canceled lunch.
    No lobster for me. Maybe I’d spring for a box of fish sticks.
    Jolie called again just as I was pulling into Greer’s driveway.
    No squad cars in evidence there, anyway. And no sign of Greer’s pricey SUV.
    Call me callous, but I was relieved.
    â€œWas it Alex?” I asked, without a hello.
    â€œYes,” Jolie said.
    I swore. There’d been, as they say, no love lost between Alex Pennington and me, but I wouldn’t have wished him dead. And Greer was going to come unglued when she found out. “What happened?”
    â€œHe must have pissed somebody off, big-time,” Jolie said. “The term ‘riddled with bullets’ has new meaning.”
    â€œWhere are you?” I whispered loudly, getting out of the Volvo.
    â€œIn my car, headed for Greer’s,” Jolie replied. “Where are you?”
    â€œWaiting for you at Casa Pennington,” I said, punching in the security numbers on the back gate with a stabbing motion of one finger. “Are there any leads?”
    â€œThe suits don’t discuss things like that with lowly crime-scene techs,” Jolie answered. “Right off the top of my head, though, I’d say they haven’t got a clue.”
    â€œIf that was supposed to be a play on words, it bites,” I snapped.
    â€œMoje?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’m on your side.”
    â€œGreer is going to freak. ”
    â€œMaybe,” Jolie said.
    â€œWhat do you mean,