Foxy Roxy by Nancy Martin

they’re teenagers, then we’ll talk.”
    Bug popped open his Red Bull, too, and held it away so the foam dripped on the floor. “What’s wrong? Your daughter giving you trouble? How old is she?”
    “Seventeen, going on thirty.”
    “Wow. Has it been that long? You have any more kids?”
    “Hell, no.”
    “Married?”
    “Nope.”
    “Seeing anybody? I heard Flynn’s back in town. He’s got a job working as a chef, right?”
    “What are you, some kind of dating service?”
    There had been no flirtation in his tone, and Roxy found herself glad that Bug was one guy she hadn’t seduced in high school. For her, the teenage years had been a struggle figuring out how to make the world spin in a way that gave an iota of power to a girl who didn’t have any to begin with. Plus the sex had been fun.
    She shook off the memories and said, “Can you tell me about the Hyde murder? I heard the rainstorm messed up your crime scene.”
    “A little.”
    Roxy hoped the rain had obliterated all footprints and—more important to her—the wheel tracks of the handcart. She said, “I saw a homeless guy on the TV. He’s really the shooter?”
    Bug rolled his eyes. “That’s the prevailing theory. Seems he lived behind a garage off and on for months. Had a few run-ins with Hyde and the chauffeur. That’ll all be in the newspaper tomorrow. For the last year or so, various people from the house called us to sweep him out. So there was a history of antagonism. We’re spending a lot of man-hours on him but you know as well as I do it’s a long shot. It keeps the media off our backs, though.”
    “The news said something about you guys not finding any shell casings at the scene.”
    “Whoever killed Hyde either used a revolver or had the presence of mind to pick up the shell casings after shooting him.”
    “Professional hit?”
    Bug laughed. “You a conspiracy theorist? Some international cartel decided to visit Pittsburgh to terminate Julius Hyde? We doubt it. Maybe the homeless guy ate his shell casings. Me and sixteen other cops are trying to dig up somebody else who had a reason to kill Hyde.”
    “Good luck.”
    Bug took a slug from his can. “I’m supposed to run down all the guys who were stripping stuff out of the house that day. When I saw your name on the list, I figured I’d come here first.” He smiled. “I mean, you’ve always had a temper, Roxy.”
    “I hope you shared that opinion with everybody at the station house, too.”
    “Nah, I want all the credit for arresting you.”
    “Maybe somebody will give you a parade. Here’s the list of stuff I took from the Hyde house.”
    She had ruffled through the mess on her desk. She found the paperwork for the Hyde job under the hammer she used to weigh down the stuff that hadn’t made it into the file cabinet yet.
    Bug set his Red Bull on the floor and accepted the papers. He glanced down the list of items she’d been authorized to take from the burned-out mansion. “You still have everything here?”
    “Yep. I sold some of the staircase spindles to an antiques dealer, but he won’t show up until tomorrow. You want his address? Phone number?” She reached for her Rolodex.
    Bug asked, “When did you pick up the stuff?”
    “Friday night. I was there until about six.”
    “I heard that. Who else did you see?”
    Roxy noticed he had waited for her to volunteer her whereabouts. “A couple of other contractors. And Julius, of course.”
    Bug couldn’t hide his surprise. “You saw Hyde? Talked to him?”
    Roxy propped her feet on the desk and linked her hands behind her head, making herself the picture of relaxed calm. “Yeah, I did some business with him before, so we were old buddies.”
    Bug sat back on the sofa. “Hell, Roxy, maybe you know more than I thought. What was going on up there?”
    “Last I saw him, Julius was peeing in the pool. Otherwise, nothing much.”
    “Did you see our homeless guy?”
    She shook her head.