Ghost Times Two by Carolyn Hart

summery in a tee and shorts and sandals, but her face was drawn, her eyes stricken. Blood splotched her white T-shirt.
    Red lights atop the cruisers continued to flash, ominous, threatening. Doors opened and the drive was suddenly filled with uniformed police. Two patrol officers advanced, the female officer in the lead. Stocky with short-cropped gray hair, the officer’s sharp gaze scoured Megan, her face, her posture, the position of her hands. The officer’s gaze lingered on Megan’s blood-streaked shirt, then lifted to stare at her warily. The taller officer moved his head back and forth, checking the surroundings for any hint of threat. He held a flashlight in one hand, kept the other on his holster. The beam swept either side of the drive, illuminating the shadows. Officers from the other cars fanned out, flashlights making the yard bright.
    The lead officer was brusque. “Homicide reported. Where’s the body?”
    I noted her name tag.
Officer J. Roberts.
    Megan blinked in surprise, surprise and apprehension. “In the house. I found him just a moment ago.”
    â€œAnyone else on the premises?”
    â€œI don’t know. I just arrived. I saw no one.”
    â€œLead the way.” Roberts never took her cold gaze off Megan.
    Megan stared at the officer’s stolid face. “How did you know?”
    There was a spark of interest in Roberts’s cold eyes. “Know?”
    â€œThat Mr. Graham had been killed.”
    â€œNine-one-one call. Didn’t you make that call?”
    Megan’s eyes narrowed. A 911 call. Who called? Why was the call placed when she was in the house? Was the intent to put her at the scene of a murder? Megan’s hands clenched.
    The stocky officer’s gaze noted those tight fists.
    Megan saw Roberts’s stare. Slowly her hands relaxed. She spoke in a measured tone. “I didn’t call nine-one-one. I didn’t have time. I’d just arrived and found the body. I was getting ready to call when I heard sirens.”
    Roberts was brusque. “Name?”
    â€œMegan Wynn.” A pause. “Attorney-at-law. An associate in the firm of Layton, Graham, Morse and Morse.”
    Roberts’s expression didn’t change. “Show us the body.”
    â€œMr. Graham is in his den.” Megan glanced from Roberts to a surrounding ring of officers. “We go through the gate and cross the terrace to the back door.” She turned and walked through the open gate. Roberts and the tall, thin officer—Officer L. Burke—followed.The clap of shoes on cement was the only sound as Megan led the way to the side door.
    When Megan reached for the doorknob, Roberts intervened. “I’ll get it.” She pulled out vinyl gloves, slipped them on, delicately turned the knob.
    Megan stepped inside, gazed at the body slumped on the floor, a sick, shocked look on his face. “I found him dead.” She remained rooted only a foot from the doorway.
    Roberts spoke to Burke. “Stay with her.” She gestured to several officers behind him. “Check out the house.”
    Two officers moved cautiously across the spacious den, reached a door, stood to one side after flinging it open. “Police. Come out with your hands up. Police.” In a moment, they stepped through the door. Their voices faded as they moved farther away. It would be a large house to search.
    Roberts surveyed the room from the doorway, noted the body. I suspected she was looking for a weapon. I stiffened. Where were the crumpled newspapers? And the bloodied hand towel? I checked a wastebasket near the sofa. Empty. The bathroom wastebasket held a few crumpled tissues. I looked at the ceramic holder on the wall by the lavatory. One hand towel, obviously clean, hung on one side. I moved the single towel to the center of the bar. I rather thought I knew what had happened. Should I warn Megan?
    She stood stiffly by the terrace door. Officer Burke watched