Half Past Dead by Meryl Sawyer Page A

not have people yelling at me. I have a few enemies in this town that I don’t need to hear from just after I’ve been hired. With a little luck, I might discover who the murdered woman is and crack the case before word gets out.”
    â€œEnemies?” Noyes asked. “You’ve been away for years.”
    â€œBuck Mason and Judge Kincaid,” Kat said.
    Noyes whistled and shook his head. “Two guys with a lot of clout around here.”
    â€œYeah, tell me about it.”
    Noyes studied him with shrewd eyes. “What can you give us that’s new?”
    â€œThere’s nothing new on the case.”
    Kat’s lips curved into a smile that lacked a trace of warmth or humor. “There may be new information when you receive the report.”
    Justin shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. What you could print is a plea for someone to step forward and ID the woman.”
    â€œWe’ve already done that,” Noyes pointed out.
    Kat raised her hand, the other hand still on her hip. Sexy as hell. “You thought she might be Hispanic.”
    â€œThat’s what the mortician who performed the autopsy here said. I sent a hair sample to New Orleans. They’ll run a DNA profile on it and let me know.”
    â€œWell, did you question Hispanics in town or just out at the casino?”
    Prison certainly had changed her. She wasn’t shy the way he’d been led to believe by Nora who’d known Kat for years. She didn’t hesitate to ask probing questions. “I have a deputy who speaks some Spanish. He asked everyone he could find.”
    â€œIf they’re undocumented, they might not be willing to tell what they know,” she said. “They could be deported.”
    Justin had come to the same conclusion, but he didn’t mention it.
    â€œI bet I know a woman your deputy missed.”
    â€œWho is it? I’ll interview her.”
    Kat shook her head, and her gleaming brown hair bounced alluringly against her cheek. “Let me talk to her—”
    â€œYou speak Spanish?”
    â€œA little. I studied it in high school and again in prison.” She said this matter-of-factly, obviously not too embarrassed about doing time. “I think she might open up to me while a law officer is liable to frighten her.”
    â€œI agree, but this is law enforcement work—”
    â€œWhat can it hurt?” Noyes asked.
    Justin shrugged, thinking that the deputy who spoke some Spanish had left yesterday for a two-week vacation. His own grasp of Spanish was limited to cerveza and the word for beer wasn’t likely to get him far. Besides, many Hispanics were here illegally and were afraid to talk to the police. The woman just might talk to Kat.
    â€œOkay, question the woman,” he told Kat. “If you find out anything that could possibly help with this crime, I want you to bring the information to me immediately.”
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    I T WAS NOON by the time Kat parked in front of All Washed Up. Waves of heat and humidity surfed upward from the asphalt. The scent of wild honeysuckle drifted through the heavy air. It was only May, but summer seemed to be coming early. Her hair had been bouncy this morning, but it was limp and damp around her neck and face. Naturally, the Toyota they’d provided had no air-conditioning.
    She left the car clutching the notebook and pen David had given her. She liked David Noyes. At first she thought he was going to assign her to some menial task just to get her out of the way, but he hadn’t. Calling Lola Rae had been a good idea that had paid off and had validated his confidence in her. Questioning Maria probably wouldn’t be as helpful, but as David said—a good reporter checked all possible leads.
    She smiled to herself for—what?—the hundredth time today. Not only was David Noyes training her to be a reporter, he trusted her to do her very first interview on her own. Pretty amazing. Even more