inside?”
She glanced at the sliding door again, then looked at me. “No.”
I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t looking forward to going inside either. A lot of things had happened in my place in the years I’d lived there, but this was the first time it had housed a dead person.
“I brought the files,” Miranda said. “Everything I could find.”
“Great,” I said. “Darcy have any family?”
“I don’t think she was conceived immaculately,” she said. “But I never met them.”
Good to see Miranda hadn’t lost her edge. “So what are you going to do?” she asked. “I don’t know yet.” “Yet? What are you waiting for?”
I knew Miranda was probably having a tough time of it. Her friend and boss had been killed. She’d flown down at a moment’s notice with no plan.
But I didn’t need her shit.
“Miranda, let’s get something straight,” I said, staring at her.
She returned the stare, the giant oversized sunglasses making her look like a bumblebee.
“If you think you’re gonna hang out here and run the show, you can forget it. Darcy brought a bunch of crap into my life that I’m still trying to get in order, and I’m not sure how long that’s gonna take. And I’m sorry about what’s happened to her, and if I can help the cops figure it out, I will.” I reached over and pulled the sunglasses down her nose so I could see her eyes. “But if you give me a single second of shit over any of this, I’ll stuff you in the coffin you arrived in and float you out to Hawaii.” I pushed the glasses back into place.
I turned away from her and settled into my chair, closing my eyes and letting the sun warm my face.
After a moment, Miranda said, “Fine.”
I opened an eye and saw her lay back in the lounge chair. “Yep.
It is.”
“But Darcy was right about one thing,” she said. I shut the eye again and went back to feeling the sun. “What was that?”
“You really are kind of a dick.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“What do you know about the two men Simington killed?” I asked.
“Not much,” Miranda answered, tilting her head in my direction. “They were Mexican nationals, probably with fake working papers.”
The papers weren’t hard to get and neither was work. If you were willing to take money under the table and endure the risk, anyone coming over the border illegally could find employment.
“Were their families ever interviewed?” I asked.
Miranda thought about that, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure that they were in the States. Most of the information about them came from your father in his confession.”
That didn’t surprise me. Two illegal aliens involved in criminal activity. No one on this side of the border would have cared enough to track down their families. And once they got the guy they wanted—Simington—it was case closed.
I was pondering that when Detectives Klimes and Zanella came strolling up the boardwalk.
Klimes held up a fat hand in greeting. Even his sweat had sweat on it. “Afternoon, Noah.”
Zanella glared at me and didn’t say anything.
I smiled at Zanella, then looked at Klimes. “Hey.”
Klimes nodded at Miranda. “Hello, miss.”
She sat up in the lounge chair and pulled the glasses off her face, squinting at him but saying nothing.
“You are?” Klimes asked, with a smile.
“Hotter than hell,” she said, frowning at him. “Who are you?” “Detective Klimes with the San Diego PD,” he said, still smiling. He motioned at his partner. “This is Detective Zanella.”
Zanella was still glaring at me.
“This is Miranda,” I said. “She worked for Darcy Gill.”
Klimes raised an eyebrow. “Really? Tremendous. Saves me some time. Would you mind taking a walk with Detective Zanella so he might ask you a few questions?”
She cocked her head at Zanella. “What happened to your mouth? It looks like someone punched you.”
The muscles around Zanella’s jaw quivered, the various shades of
She glanced at the sliding door again, then looked at me. “No.”
I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t looking forward to going inside either. A lot of things had happened in my place in the years I’d lived there, but this was the first time it had housed a dead person.
“I brought the files,” Miranda said. “Everything I could find.”
“Great,” I said. “Darcy have any family?”
“I don’t think she was conceived immaculately,” she said. “But I never met them.”
Good to see Miranda hadn’t lost her edge. “So what are you going to do?” she asked. “I don’t know yet.” “Yet? What are you waiting for?”
I knew Miranda was probably having a tough time of it. Her friend and boss had been killed. She’d flown down at a moment’s notice with no plan.
But I didn’t need her shit.
“Miranda, let’s get something straight,” I said, staring at her.
She returned the stare, the giant oversized sunglasses making her look like a bumblebee.
“If you think you’re gonna hang out here and run the show, you can forget it. Darcy brought a bunch of crap into my life that I’m still trying to get in order, and I’m not sure how long that’s gonna take. And I’m sorry about what’s happened to her, and if I can help the cops figure it out, I will.” I reached over and pulled the sunglasses down her nose so I could see her eyes. “But if you give me a single second of shit over any of this, I’ll stuff you in the coffin you arrived in and float you out to Hawaii.” I pushed the glasses back into place.
I turned away from her and settled into my chair, closing my eyes and letting the sun warm my face.
After a moment, Miranda said, “Fine.”
I opened an eye and saw her lay back in the lounge chair. “Yep.
It is.”
“But Darcy was right about one thing,” she said. I shut the eye again and went back to feeling the sun. “What was that?”
“You really are kind of a dick.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
“What do you know about the two men Simington killed?” I asked.
“Not much,” Miranda answered, tilting her head in my direction. “They were Mexican nationals, probably with fake working papers.”
The papers weren’t hard to get and neither was work. If you were willing to take money under the table and endure the risk, anyone coming over the border illegally could find employment.
“Were their families ever interviewed?” I asked.
Miranda thought about that, then shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure that they were in the States. Most of the information about them came from your father in his confession.”
That didn’t surprise me. Two illegal aliens involved in criminal activity. No one on this side of the border would have cared enough to track down their families. And once they got the guy they wanted—Simington—it was case closed.
I was pondering that when Detectives Klimes and Zanella came strolling up the boardwalk.
Klimes held up a fat hand in greeting. Even his sweat had sweat on it. “Afternoon, Noah.”
Zanella glared at me and didn’t say anything.
I smiled at Zanella, then looked at Klimes. “Hey.”
Klimes nodded at Miranda. “Hello, miss.”
She sat up in the lounge chair and pulled the glasses off her face, squinting at him but saying nothing.
“You are?” Klimes asked, with a smile.
“Hotter than hell,” she said, frowning at him. “Who are you?” “Detective Klimes with the San Diego PD,” he said, still smiling. He motioned at his partner. “This is Detective Zanella.”
Zanella was still glaring at me.
“This is Miranda,” I said. “She worked for Darcy Gill.”
Klimes raised an eyebrow. “Really? Tremendous. Saves me some time. Would you mind taking a walk with Detective Zanella so he might ask you a few questions?”
She cocked her head at Zanella. “What happened to your mouth? It looks like someone punched you.”
The muscles around Zanella’s jaw quivered, the various shades of
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