Dial Emmy for Murder by Eileen Davidson Page A

the yard, toward the bushes and pathway the guy who had run by me had used. Who knows? Maybe he had dropped something. I was just trying to make myself useful.

Chapter 12
    I didn’t find anything except dog poop and an old piece of chewing gum, so I went back to the balcony and watched the action through the sliding glass door. Men in blue, men in white, men in suits came and went. Every so often Jakes would look over at me and signal with his finger that he’d be done soon or would join me soon, or maybe he was telling me that I was number one.
    I finally got tired of watching the comings and goings of the LAPD and turned to study the buildings across the street. People were at their windows, watching the action. They were probably wondering what the hell was going on. Lucky me, I was in the know. I had found the body.
    I wasn’t that experienced at finding bodies. Marcy last year, her husband a few days later, and now Henri. Jackson didn’t count. I didn’t find him; he sort of found me.
    Suddenly I started to sob, and tears came into my eyes. I felt so overwhelmed. Another murder was bad enough, but I had yet to deal with Randy. I found myself looking over my shoulder for him. Maybe I should tell Jakes. As if on cue two arms enfolded me from behind and turned me around. I cried into Jakes’s chest. I still didn’t understand my feelings for him but it felt pretty good.
    I was settling in a little too comfortably so I jerked away. “I’m sorry. How girlie of me.”
    “That’s okay,” he said. “You are a girl, aren’t you?” He said this with appreciation. I did feel so female with him and wished he was still holding me. My nose was running. He wiped it with a tissue he’d pulled from his pocket.
    “You’re in shock. Let’s go someplace and have a drink.”
    “My car,” I said. “It’s blocked in.”
    “I’ll drive. By the time we come back, some of those vehicles will be gone.”
    “Um, you want to talk to me some more about the . . . the murder?”
    “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do, and I don’t wanna do it here.”
     
    We didn’t discuss anything until we were seated in a small café near the beach.
    “I haven’t had dinner; have you?” he asked.
    “No.”
    He smiled. “Then why don’t we have dinner?”
    “Will I have to make a statement about today? A written statement?”
    “Sure,” he said. “You can do it after dinner or come to Parker in the morning. Your choice.”
    I scratched my head. “If I do it tomorrow, it’ll have to be very early. I have to go to work.”
    “Early’s no problem,” Jakes said. “But why don’t you tell me what you know now?”
    “I’ve already told you everything.”
    “Tell me again,” he said. “Start from the beginning, when you first spoke with Henri today. And try to do it word for word.”

Chapter 13
    I repeated everything I’d told him already, trying to remember Henri’s exact words.
    “And that’s it?”
    “That’s all of it,” I said, playing with my shrimp scampi. “We didn’t say much at the studio—we never do. I mean, it’s not like we’re friends.”
    “Really? I thought women were always friends with their hairdressers.”
    I gave him a withering look. “That’s such a cliché,” I said. “He doesn’t really talk to anyone.”
    “But he talked to Jackson Masters,” Jakes said. “That’s what he wanted to tell you.”
    “Yes.”
    “But he never got the chance.”
    It was a statement, not a question.
    “Okay,” he said, “so you get to his building and . . . what?”
    “I rang the bell, there was no answer, but like I told you, the other man came out and I caught the door.”
    “Okay, we’ll deal with this other guy later,” Jakes said. “What happened when you got upstairs?”
    “The door was ajar. I knocked, called out, but got no answer. That’s when I started to worry.”
    “So that’s when you should’ve called 911.”
    “And told them what? That a man didn’t answer his door? No, I