One O'Clock Hustle: An Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 1) by Joanne Pence Page A

mouth tightened. “Do you have a warrant?”
    “No, but as I said, Meaghan Bishop was murdered.”
    The landlady squared her shoulders. “That doesn't matter to me. I need something—a piece of paper—to justify letting anyone into her apartment. Landlords have been sued over doing things like that, you know!”
    “Getting an approval to search the premises will only slow things down,” Rebecca pointed out. “And we will get one.”
    She firmly raised her chin. “I need to protect myself.”
    Rebecca studied the woman. “We haven't met anyone not involved in the case who knew her … until now. Will you come down to the Hall of Justice to identify her?”
    “Me?” To Rebecca's surprise, Mrs. Del Monico looked and sounded quite pleased by the request.
    “That's right. I'll get someone to drive you to the city morgue, and then back home. After that, we'll get a warrant to search.”
    Since Sutter was still at his desk, Rebecca asked him to meet Mrs. Del Monico at the morgue. She then called for an officer to transport the landlady.
    Rebecca was quite glad to send the woman on her way.
    Her next step was to return to her apartment. She wasn't sure if she wanted to find Richie still there or not. As she was walking to her car, her cell phone rang.
    To her complete shock, the caller was Shay. And the information he gave her was even more surprising.

 
     
    CHAPTER TEN
     
    The kinds of things people put on Facebook never ceased to amaze Rebecca. As a cop, she would never consider revealing about herself one tenth of the personal information people thoughtlessly posted about their lives.
    Shay, she discovered, had a particular talent for digging through Facebook for data. He found a woman named Sheila Chavez who tagged a number of photos with the name of her good friend, Meaghan Bishop. Sheila Chavez also told the world she lived in Daly City. That made her easy to find.
    Rebecca rang the doorbell to the small, cookie-cutter house. A dark-haired, dark-skinned woman opened the door. She was dressed in a grubby, oversized T-shirt and jeans with holes. “Sheila Chavez?” Rebecca asked as she showed her badge.
    Chavez's dark eyes grew wide with worry. “Yes. What's wrong?”
    “I understand you were friends with Meaghan Bishop.”
    Chavez nodded.
    “I'd like to talk to you about her.”
    “Why? Is she in some kind of trouble?”
    “Unfortunately, she's been killed. Murdered. We're trying to find out whatever we can about her life, to try to determine why anyone would want to kill her, and who that person might be.”
    “Oh, my God! I had no idea.” Chavez put her hands to her face. “Poor Meaghan. I'm so sorry.”
    “Can we talk inside?” Rebecca said before any platitudes began. She didn't want to hear how wonderful Meaghan had been.
    “Oh, shoot. Everything's such a mess.”
    Rebecca was always surprised by how quickly sorrow turned into embarrassment over not winning a Good Housekeeping of America award. It happened time and again in her investigations. “It doesn't matter. I need some information.”
    Chavez opened the door wide. Rebecca stepped straight into a living room filled with toys, dirty dishes, and magazines. “I haven't seen Meaghan in a year or so,” Chavez said. “I have no idea who would want her dead.”
    The contact was more recent than Rebecca had anticipated. “We don't want to rule anything out. You may know more than you realize.”
    As Chavez turned off the TV, Rebecca pushed aside papers and toys on the sofa and sat down. “How many kids do you have?” she asked.
    “Three. The two oldest are in school, and the youngest is taking a nap now. We've got to be pretty quiet so we don't wake him up.”
    “Did Meaghan have any kids?” Rebecca asked softly.
    “No, unless it just happened. When we were close, some years back, her old man didn't want any.” Chavez picked up a pack of cigarettes from the top of the TV, then went to a recliner and sat.
    “What was his name?”