Stay Dead by Anne Frasier

gave out awards, you’d win every year.”
    “The pool,” he reminded her.
    “I slipped,” Elise said, resigned to telling the story. “I hit a patch of wet tile with my cast and I just slipped.” She didn’t tell him about thinking she saw Anastasia. She didn’t tell him about having a tea party in the deep end of the pool. She didn’t mention Anastasia at all. “I’ll admit you were right about the drugs. I don’t handle them well.” It had to have been the drugs.
    “You’re coming to my place.”
    She wanted to get back to the plantation. “Let’s talk about that later.” She couldn’t quit thinking about going back there. To find out if the black swimsuit had been returned to the chair. To see if there was any sign that Melinda had been there again.
    Melinda.
    She was trying to scare Elise away. That was obvious. Why? Because she had something to hide. But now that Elise recognized her tactic, she could approach the situation with a level head. Now that she knew it was a trick to drive her off. How childish.
    Who’d been excluded from Anastasia’s will wasn’t any of Elise’s business or concern, but that didn’t keep her from wanting to get to the bottom of things, especially now, when Melinda seemed to be going to the extreme to keep her away. Elise wasn’t the type to be chased off, simple as that.
     

CHAPTER 10
    F ifteen minutes later, Elise and David pulled up not far from the statue of the Waving Girl on Savannah’s River Street. River Street was a heavy tourist area, with shops and taverns in part of what had once been the Savannah Cotton Exchange, and a riverfront with hotels that overlooked cobblestone alleys, cable cars, and cargo ships. The Waving Girl was a Savannah icon, a tribute to Florence Martus, a woman who’d taken it upon herself to welcome every ship that entered the Port of Savannah. It was said that in over forty years she never failed to greet a ship, day or night. That kind of singular dedication confounded Elise, while at the same time filling her with a sense of admiration.
    Not far from the statue, police cars were parked at odd angles, lights flashing and sirens letting out a few squawks. Detectives Mason and Avery were already there. It was hard to miss Avery’s red hair, and Elise realized she’d started looking for it in situations like this where there were mobs of people in dark clothes.
    Mason and Avery had worked together for years, but lately Elise detected a weakening in their partnership. Mason had always been the leader, but over time Avery seemed to have gained confidence and maybe that threatened Mason. Not making things any easier, Mason had recently gone through a divorce, and Elise knew it was hard to leave that kind of pain at home.
    Upon seeing Elise, the men glanced at each other. Nervous.
    “What?” she asked. “I’m just here as an observer. Not on the clock.”
    “What do we have?” David asked.
    Avery spoke first. “Maybe you should just go look.” He glanced at Elise. “And maybe you should just stay here, Detective.”
    She wouldn’t have them coddling her. She’d seen a lot of dead bodies in her life. A lot of homicides in her life. Not that she was immune to death, but she could handle it. Like she’d always handled it.
    Avery caught David’s eye, then gave him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Elise could almost hear the silent dialogue. Don’t let her go. She’s not ready for this.
    Without a word, she pushed past them, moving fast on her crutches until she reached the area where the crime-scene team was snapping photographs and collecting evidence.
    David followed to stand with hands jammed in the pockets of his black knee-length coat. “Water seems to be a recurring theme in our lives,” he noted in a deadpan voice.
    “It’s pretty common knowledge that water is good at erasing evidence,” Elise said. “Even the idiots seem to have figured that one out.”
    Avery joined them, catching the tail end of