Dead Wrong by Patricia Stoltey

pukes all over the mess. She made eye contact with Dan, then sniffed the air and grimaced.
    He nodded.
    She opened the door, saw the man sprawled across the bedspread, the blood, and walked to the other side of the bed.
    No pulse.
    “Call it in,” she said. “I think this is Carl Foster. He’s dead. Tell the guys out front.”
    After Dan had left, she studied the room and its contents. Blood had splattered on the walls and carpet and pooled around the body. Foster lay on his back, a gaping wound running across his throat. A paring knife, also covered with blood, had been stabbed into his hand.
    Whoever did this was one angry man.
Maggie remembered the note on the table.
Or one angry woman.

    Two police cars showed up first—Maggie’s sergeant and the shift lieutenant. Crime scene investigators. Medical examiner. The place turned into a madhouse within twenty minutes. Thirty minutes later, Maggie watched Detective Mark Prince climb out of his unmarked car and survey the scene. He frowned as he spotted Dan, then strolled over to Maggie as though Dan didn’t exist.
    “It was a homicide,” she said.
    “Crime scene crew says yes. You first on the scene?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Tell me.”
    Maggie began with their arrival and gave Prince every detail she could remember.
    He maintained eye contact as she spoke, then said, “Good job.”
    She liked that.
    “Come with me,” Prince said as he turned toward the house.
    “Sure.”
Holy cow.
    She followed the homicide detective. He strode past Dan without even a glance. Maggie ventured a quick look, saw Dan’s face, decided she’d best keep her grin to herself, and simply nodded at her partner as she passed.

C HAPTER 16
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    Denver, Colorado
Thursday, January 23
    Lynnette woke to the sound of a food cart’s squeaky wheels and the smell of coffee. She lay on her side and had used her lumpy purse as a pillow. She stretched one arm across the carry-on and tucked her fingers through its handle.
    “On your feet, ladies. Time to rise and shine. Coffee’s ready. Food’s in the back. Don’t forget to wash your hands.”
    An unappealing odor of urine and vomit drifted through the shelter. Lynnette sat up and looked around. Women pulled their possessions together and shuffled toward the restrooms. Most stared briefly at Lynnette, their gazes lingering on her hair, before moving on without comment. She reached up to check her wig and realized it sat askew. She tugged it into place.
    “You’re on the run, ain’t you?”
    The voice came from behind her. Lynnette turned. A young woman sat on a folded blanket and leaned against the wall. Lynnette shrugged and looked away.
    “Me, too,” the girl said. “My pimp caught me skimming the take.”
    “Oh.” Lynnette didn’t know what else to say.
    The girl was stick-thin and wore jeans and a dirty T-shirt. Stringy brown hair hung around her face in a tangled mess. Lynnette glanced around the room and saw half a dozen women she figured must be prostitutes from their low-cut blouses, extra-short skirts and high heels. This one didn’t seem the type.
    “How long you been on the street?” Lynnette asked.
    “A long while,” the girl said. “Long enough to know those that belong and those that don’t. What are you doing here?”
    Lynnette got to her feet and straightened her clothing. “I need coffee.”
    “We don’t want you here if the cops are looking for you.”
    “Don’t worry. No cops. I got stranded downtown when I missed my bus.”
    The girl looked her over, checking out Lynnette’s luggage and purse. “Looks like you could’ve gone to a hotel. Why didn’t you?”
    “Nice talking to you,” Lynnette said. “But I need some of that coffee.”
    “Why you takin’ your bag with you?” the girl called out as Lynnette walked away. “Afraid I’ll steal something?”
    Pretending she didn’t hear, Lynnette went straight to the restroom and got in line. A few minutes later she stepped inside. While she was there,