You Belong to Me by Karen Rose Page A

wake Rhoda.’
    ‘You won’t. She sleeps like the dead.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry. Bad pun.’
    Lucy smiled. ‘You’ve been making bad puns for as long as I’ve known you and you’re only apologizing now?’
    Craig didn’t smile back. ‘I’m serious. You call me when you get home. Even if it’s late. Call from the landline in your apartment, not your cell. And don’t text. I’m old-fashioned enough to want to hear your voice, to be sure that you’re home safely.’
    She sighed. She’d planned to text from her cell from the club. Guess that’s out. ‘Okay. I’ll call. From home,’ she added when he glared.
    ‘All right.’

Monday, May 3, 10.35 A.M.
    ‘This is the place,’ Stevie said, looking out the passenger window. JD had driven to Christopher Jones’s house while Stevie had navigated the telephone maze of departments at the university. After four transfers and fifteen minutes of elevator music – which JD was more than a little disturbed to find she actually enjoyed – Stevie had been connected with the right person with access to the right university records.
    Christopher Jones had not attended the university’s med school.
    JD pulled to the curb. ‘There’s a wheelchair ramp in front.’
    ‘And a handicapped tag on the van in the driveway,’ Stevie noted. She pulled a coin from her pocket to flip for the chore of notifying next of kin. ‘Heads or tails?’
    ‘Heads.’
    She flipped and made a sympathetic face. ‘Tails. You want me to take this one?’
    JD shook his head with a frown. ‘I’m no welcher, Mazzetti. Let’s do this.’
    They went up to the house and JD pressed the bell. The door opened, revealing a middle-aged man in a wheelchair. His hair was streaked with gray, his nose a little off-center. ‘Yes? Can I help you?’
    ‘I’m Detective Fitzpatrick and this is my partner, Detective Mazzetti. We’d like to speak to Mrs Christopher Jones.’
    ‘I’m Mr Christopher Jones. What’s this about?’
    JD blinked in surprise and from the corner of his eye saw Stevie do the same. ‘You’re Christopher Jones?’ he asked.
    The man rolled his eyes. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
    ‘Wait.’ JD put his hand on the door when the man started to close it. ‘Sir, your name has come up in a homicide investigation. May we come in?’
    The man’s face drained of color. ‘Oh my God. He did it. He really did it. I thought he was just blowing smoke, trying to get her to back off on her custody claim. I didn’t think he’d really . . .’ His shoulders sagged. ‘When? When did he kill her?’
    Again JD blinked. ‘Sir, I think you’ve misunderstood. Your name came up in our investigation as the deceased.’
    The man narrowed his eyes. ‘But I’m not dead.’
    ‘We can see that,’ JD said. ‘May we come in, Mr Jones?’
    Christopher Jones backed his chair into a large foyer, still frowning. ‘Please.’
    ‘Mr Jones, have you ever had plastic surgery on your face?’ JD asked.
    Jones touched his face, the gesture a self-conscious one. ‘Yes. I was in a car accident five years ago. Crushed my face and severed my spinal cord. Why?’
    ‘Did you have cheek implants?’ JD persisted.
    ‘Yes. I did. Why? ’ Jones repeated testily.
    ‘Because implants registered to you were found in a body discovered this morning.’ JD studied the man’s face, watching surprise flicker in his eyes.
    ‘It’s a mistake,’ Jones said. ‘I still have my implants, thank you very much.’
    ‘Who did your surgery?’ Stevie asked.
    ‘Dr Russell Bennett,’ Jones said. ‘He has a practice downtown.’
    ‘We’ll talk to him,’ JD promised. ‘Thank you.’ He opened the door to let them out, but Stevie didn’t move. She was looking at Christopher Jones.
    ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘this isn’t our business – yet. But just now you seemed like you really thought your client’s husband had killed her. Even if you think he’s blowing smoke, your client should report the threat. I’d