Bone Cold by Erica Spindler

deal? You and the deceased on a first-name basis now?”
    â€œAfter the past week? We’re practically family.”
    They drove in silence until they reached the Seventh. Quentin parked the Bronco; they climbed out of the vehicle and headed into the building. After signing in, they parted company. On his way through the squad room, Johnson called him over.
    â€œWhat’s up?”
    He tossed a manila folder across the desk. “Take a look.”
    â€œThe Kent homicide?” He flipped open the folder. “What’ve we got?”
    â€œOfficial cause of death was suffocation. Raped first.”
    Quentin scanned the medical examiner’s report. Other than tearing and bruising to the labia, she was relatively unmarked. A few abrasions to the back of her head, legs and arms and that was it.
    â€œWeird,” he murmured.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œShe didn’t put up much of a fight.”
    â€œThink she knew the guy?”
    â€œYeah, maybe. They get much from under her nails?”
    â€œNada. Got the blood test back. Our guy’s O-positive. Like nearly half the population of New Orleans.”
    â€œNot me,” Quentin murmured, flipping forward in the report. “I’m A-positive.” He stopped, frowning. “You and Walden didn’t interview any women from the bar that night?”
    â€œThe waitresses. We focused on the guys. Why?”
    â€œThink about it, Johnson. You’ve got this gorgeous woman monopolizing every available guy in the bar with her exhibitionist antics. Basically, she’s cutting in on every other woman’s chance of making a connection. Right?”
    â€œRight.” The other detective scratched his head. “So?”
    â€œSo, you have some pretty pissed-off chicks. And what happens when somebody pisses you off?”
    â€œYou punch ‘em in the face?”
    â€œNot in this case.” He answered his own question. “In this case, you can’t take your eyes off them. The other ladies at that bar were watching every move Nancy Kent made. Keeping count of the men she danced with and for how long. They’re who we have to talk to.”
    Johnson nodded. “You’ve got a point, Malone.”
    Quentin stood. “I’ll pay a visit to Shannon this afternoon, get a list of names. Start making calls.”
    â€œBy George,” Johnson said in an attempt at a British accent but coming off as a mentally challenged Cajun, “I think he’s got a plan.”

12
    Wednesday, January 17
3:00 p.m.
    B en stopped outside the florist shop’s door. The sign above it proclaimed this The Perfect Rose.
    Anna North’s workplace.
    She hadn’t been difficult to track down. She had dedicated her last book to the Big Brothers, Big Sisters of America and her “Little Sister” Jaye. The local B.B.B.S.A. director was an acquaintance of his; he had contacted her and she had suggested he reach Anna through The Perfect Rose.
    Ben cleared his throat. He probably should have called first. It would have been the proper thing to do. But refusing him over the phone would have been too easy. And he didn’t want to make refusing him easy. He wanted her to agree to let him interview her for his book.
    Wanted it rather desperately.
    He had thought a lot about Anna North since seeing the Unsolved Hollywood Mysteries segment on E! He had read her novels. Had read between the lines andlearned a great deal from her stories. He had put that information together with what he knew about her past and present in an attempt to anticipate how she would react to his having found her. She would be angry with him. If he understood her as well as he thought he did, his showing up would frighten her. She fiercely protected her privacy out of fear. She would most probably react like a cornered animal.
    He would win her over.
    Ben took a deep breath and pushed through the door. She appeared at the workroom doorway; he recognized