Daddy's Little Killer by LS Sygnet Page A

her philanthropic planning
committee.  I looked less like a psychologist and more like an
heiress.  And there was certainly no trace of federal law
enforcement clinging to my aura when I climbed into the tiny hybrid
and engaged the GPS that would guide me to central Darkwater
Bay.
    The last time Rodney saw me, I was gangly,
in a tweed jacket with hair in a tight bun and a pair of bookish
glasses perched on the end of my nose.
    Today, I could've been a Hollywood starlet
on the way to a photo shoot or an awards luncheon.  I clutched
the tiny handbag under my arm and walked up the stone stairs to the
home of central's law enforcement nexus. 
    Heads turned.  In part, it might've
been due to the oversized sunglasses I wore and left in place after
entering the building.  Darkwater Bay was just as foggy in the
morning as it had been when my flight landed at midnight. 
    "Could you direct me to the administrative
offices?"  A desk officer stared up at me when I asked for
assistance.  I glanced at my Rolex.  "I have an
appointment with Commissioner Hardy this morning at eight."
    "Uh.  Elevator," he stammered. 
"Eighth floor.  When you get off the elevator, George's
receptionist will meet you."
    I turned to leave. 
    "Excuse me," the voice called after
me.  "Are you Dr. Eriksson?"
    A smile lit up the room, designed to disarm
and dazzle.  "Yes.  I wasn't aware that anyone knew I was
coming."
    "It's all anyone has talked about since that
murder last night."
    Ah yes.  Poor dead Gwen Foster. 
If Lowe had been ignorant of my arrival and not behind the PI's
following me, he certainly had heard I was here by now.
    Rickety elevator doors jerked shut.  So
far, Central Division looked like it might be on the cusp of
becoming a condemned building.  Layers of grime had been
buffed away from the spacious lobby floor but had left deep
scratches in the tiles.  Once white stone was stained
yellow.  The wood railings and information desk were chipped,
the finish faded and worn.
    A hand shot between the doors.  "Hold
the elevator!"
    I pressed the "open" button on the wall
panel.  And almost gasped.
    Perfectly pressed in dark blue Armani, a
statuesque man stepped into the small deathtrap box that would
deliver me to the eighth floor.  Dark hair highlighted his
olive skin.  His cheeks dented when he flashed a white,
perfectly straight smile.
    "Thank you."
    Blue gray eyes twinkled down at me. 
Another towering specimen in Darkwater Bay.  This one was much
less muscular than Johnny Orion, and possibly older too. 
Threads of gray streaked his temples.
    "We're going to the same floor," another
flashy smile.  Disarming. 
    I reinforced my goal, to be the one who
stunned others into showing their tells.  I returned it at 100
megawatts.  "I'm meeting some people this morning."
    "Me too."  His hand thrust
forward.  "Jerry Lowe.  And you are?"
    "Helen Eriksson.  Dr. Helen
Eriksson."
    His eyes widened.  Mission
accomplished. 
    "Special Agent Helen Eriksson?"
    "I'm not what you expected, am I?"
    "Frankly, no.  This is a pleasant
surprise, doctor."  But the twinkle vanished in an instant,
and the brilliant smile came off more than a little bit forced.
    "The way I burst onto that crime scene last
night had to have left a very poor impression with your detectives,
Chief Lowe.  I apologize for that.  This consultation
could've been handled better."
    Color suffused his neck above the crisp
collar.  "I hope that my detectives weren't entirely
rude."
    Got to him again.  They had only been
partially rude.  "They were very gracious under the
circumstances.  I'm sure you realize that in my line of work,
I'm the last person that local authorities like to see at their
fresh crime scenes."
    "I suppose so."
    Lowe looked sufficiently discomfited by the
time the elevator doors opened.  I pushed the envelope a
little harder. 
    "I would so appreciate a formal introduction
to the commissioner, Chief Lowe."  Super dazzler between the
lips,