Death by Sudoku by Kaye Morgan Page B

heading straight for Liza. He was tall and powerfully built, with olive skin, dark hair, and features that would have been handsome except for his sullen expression. To Liza, he looked as if his feet hurt—and the expression only intensified as he came closer to her.
    “Liza Kelly,” the man said, consulting a notebook in his hand. “I’m Detective Vasquez, Santa Barbara Police.” He nodded toward the house. “You had a business appointment with Mr. Robbins?”
    “More or less. I had worked with Derrick on his last TV series, and he wanted to get my publicity firm to represent his niece.” She gave a quick account of how she’d met Derrick, come back with him, seen the screen test, and had dinner. “I was coming up to drop off the representation agreement for Jenny to sign, and then Derrick was going to fly me down to catch a plane to Oregon.”
    Detective Vasquez nodded impassively, his pen scratching away. “So you were only in the house for the early part of the evening.”
    “I left at a little around half past nine,” Liza told him, “and arrived at the hotel about twenty minutes later.”
    The big man glanced at her over his notebook, his eyes running up and down. “It’s a big enough house. Why didn’t you stay over?”
    Liza shrugged, her face growing a little warm at the detective’s insinuation. “I was here on business, so we decided to be businesslike.”
    Vasquez went back to his notebook. “And Mr. Robbins’s niece was with the two of you?”
    “Jenny arrived while we were watching her screen test, and we had dinner. The last time I saw her was when she told me that my cab had arrived.” Liza paused for a second, steeling herself. “Is she . . . ?”
    “She’s not on the premises.” Vasquez frowned. “Of course, we’ll have to search the slope.”
    Liza winced at that unpleasant assumption.
    Vasquez moved on. “Did Ms. Robbins arrive by car?”
    “I saw a sporty little compact parked behind Derrick’s SUV.” Liza frowned, trying to remember any details. “Sorry. It was dark by then; I didn’t really notice the make. It was sort of a cream color.”
    “Obviously, it’s gone now.” More scratching, then Vasquez snapped the notebook shut. “So, Derrick Robbins was in good spirits, had a pleasant dinner with you and his niece, and expected you this morning for a business meeting.”
    That pretty much summed things up, but—Liza glanced sharply at Vasquez. Was he suggesting that Derrick had somehow jumped? She took a deep breath, trying to figure out a way to word her question. “Detective? Do you have any theory on how Derrick . . . fell?”
    “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Vasquez’s large hand closed on Liza’s upper arm—a surprisingly gentle grasp. “I’d like you to look at some things inside the house.”
    “Anything I can do to help,” she said as the detective conducted her to the door. Vasquez had her retrace her steps through the house, to the bathroom, the home theater, the kitchen, and then out onto the terrace. She noticed immediately that one wrought-iron chair—Derrick’s seat during supper—was now overturned, its upholstered padding ripped loose. Nearby, one of the planters atop the low wall lay overturned on the flagstones, several flowering shrubs pulled out by the roots. It looked as if some sort of struggle had taken place.
    They’re not trying to figure out how Derrick fell , she thought. They suspect he was pushed. And judging from the way Detective Vasquez was looking at her, she apparently topped his candidate list as the pusher.
    Another man in a suit turned away from where technicians were photographing the torn shrubbery. He was short and rotund, with a jolly face, until you looked closely at his eyes—a little too cold and watchful. Cop’s eyes. “Liza Kelly, my partner, Detective Howard.”
    Howard gave her a broad smile, as if he were delighted to meet her.
    I guess this is the good cop , Liza thought.
    “I