Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [175]
“How about I stop over tonight?”
Gwen’s voice startled Maggie. She had forgotten she was still on the phone.
“The place is a mess. I haven’t even started to unpack.”
“It doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you. Why don’t I pick up a pizza and some beer? We can picnic on the floor. Come on, it’ll be fun. Sort of a housewarming party. A prelude to your new independence.”
The fire engine’s siren began to grow distant, and Maggie realized it was not on its way to her neighborhood. Her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed in relief.
“You can pick up some beer, but don’t worry about the pizza. I’ll have it delivered.”
“Just remember, no Italian sausage on my side. Some of us need to watch our weight. I’ll see you around seven.”
“Fine. Sure. That’ll work.” But Maggie was already distracted as another police cruiser sped by. Without a second thought, she put down the phone and grabbed her badge. She quickly reset the security system. Then she tucked her revolver in her back waistband and headed out the front door. So much for seclusion.
CHAPTER 4
Maggie hurried past three of her new neighbors who politely stayed in the street, a safe distance from the house flanked with police cruisers. The coroner’s van sat in the driveway, already empty. She ignored a police officer on his hands and knees who had gotten a roll of crime scene tape tangled in a rosebush. Instead of tearing it and starting over, he took on the thorns and kept snapping his hand back with each prick.
“Hey,” he finally yelled when he realized Maggie was headed for the door. “You can’t go in there.”
When his voice didn’t slow her down, he scrambled to his feet, dropping the roll of tape and sending it unraveling down the slope of the lawn. For a minute he looked as though he’d go for the tape instead of Maggie. She almost laughed, but kept her face serious as she held up her badge.
“I’m with the FBI.”
“Yeah, right. And this is what the FBI is wearing these days.” He snatched the leather case from her, but his eyes took their time making their way down her body.
Instinctively, Maggie stood up straight and crossed her arms over her sweat-drenched chest. Ordinarily, she paid close attention to her presentation and attire. She had always been self-conscious and aware that her hundred-and-fifteen-pounds, five-foot-five stature did not live up to the FBI’s authoritarian image. In a navy blazer and trousers, her aloof, cold attitude could pull it off. In a T-shirt and faded jeans, she realized she might not be able to.
Finally, the officer took a closer look at her credentials. The smirk slid off his narrow face as he realized she was not a reporter or a curious neighbor playing around with him.
“Son of a bitch. You’re on the level.”
She held out her hand for the badge. Now a bit embarrassed, he quickly handed it back.
“I didn’t realize this was something the FBI would be in on.”
It probably was not. She failed to mention that she was just in the neighborhood. Instead, she asked, “Who’s the lead detective?”
“Excuse me?”
She pointed to the house.
“Who’s leading the investigation?”
“Oh, that would be Detective Manx.”
She headed for the entrance, feeling his eyes follow her. Before she closed the door behind her, he hurried after the tangled ribbon of tape that now trailed over much of the front lawn.
No one greeted Maggie at the door. In fact, no one was in sight. The house’s foyer was almost as large as Maggie’s new living room. She took her time, peeking into each room, stepping carefully and touching nothing. The house looked impeccable, not a speck of dust, until she got to the kitchen. Scattered across the butcher-block island were all the makings for a sandwich, now dried up, wilted and crusty. A head of lettuce sat on a cutting board amongst the remnants of tomato seeds and bits and pieces of green pepper. Several candy bar wrappers, containers left on their sides and an open mayonnaise