Shallow Grave-J Collins 3 by Lori G. Armstrong Page A

A bundle of dandelions. A Dixie cup bursting with sun-ripened chokecherries. A green willow stick with my initials carved in it. But nothing lately.
    After being in June’s fi lthy house, I yielded to the rare urge to disinfect my crappy sanctuary. I changed clothes, dug out the cleaning supplies, and cranked up my CD
    player. Audioslave thumped through the speakers.
    By the time I fi nished the mindless chores of scrubbing and vacuuming, the day’s distressing events had faded somewhat. I admired my sparkling bathroom and 121

    dust free coff ee table before I slid between freshly laun-dered sheets.
    M M M
    After my third cup of coff ee the next morning, I wandered into Kevin’s offi
    ce. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
    “I’ll write up the fi nal report on the Lang Everett case and send it off . Th
    en I’m meeting with National
    Loan Centers to pitch our services.” Kevin shuffl ed
    through a stack of papers. “Did you call that Rosette guy and give him the weekend rates for us shadowing his wife for two days?”
    “Yeah. He muttered something about highway rob-bery and hung up on me.”
    With no fault divorce laws, tailing an alleged cheat-ing spouse was an expensive process, not much fun, and a bit risky for us. Contrary to my past experiences investigating in the fi eld, I’d rather sit on my butt for nine mind-numbing hours than spend nine seconds with a gun shoved in my face.
    “You want me to come along to National?”
    “No, I can handle it.” His loafers hit the fl oor.
    “Until we get the rest of the names from Dakota Gaming, there’s not much for you to do.”
    “Th
    at mean I can go home?”
    122

    “You wish.”
    After he’d left the offi
    ce, I forced myself to fi le back
    cases. I hated fi ling. It was gonna be a long-ass day.
    Th
    at evening Martinez didn’t bother to call or stop by. I went to bed alone for the second night in a row. I was beginning to get used to it.
    M M M
    My phone rang at 5:30 the next morning.
    I fumbled for the receiver and barked, “What? Th is
    had better be goddamn good.”
    “Julie?”
    “Who’s this?”
    “Darrell Pretty Horses. Sorry about the early morning call, but I had a last minute schedule change and wondered if we could meet today?”
    I scooted upright. “What time?”
    He hesitated and then cleared his throat. “In about an hour?”
    I groaned.
    “Come on. A hot babe like you doesn’t need much time to get ready. Bet you roll out of bed lookin’ like a million bucks, eh?”
    “Charm will get you nowhere at 5:30 in the morning, Darrell.”
    123

    “What will?”
    “Chocolate covered pastries and a gallon of coff ee.”
    “Consider it done.”
    I yawned and rattled off my address.
    “Will you still be in bed when I get there?”
    Th
    e man was a shameless fl irt. “You wish.”
    “ Shee . You used to be more fun. See you in a bit.”
    M M M
    I fretted in front of my mirror, feeling ridiculous fussing over my appearance. But Darrell was an old lover. After I applied makeup to hide the luggage under my eyes, I dressed in my favorite pair of Levis and a black cashmere sweater. I threaded a jaunty leopard print scarf through my belt loops and tugged on my Justin boots.
    I drifted into the spare bedroom and pushed aside my bow and portable targets. I popped the latches on the plastic gun case and lifted the Browning from the foam cutout. It fi t my hand perfectly. Th e oily scent of
    Tri-Flo teased my lungs. God. I loved this gun.
    Kevin and I deluded ourselves that our regularly scheduled target practice sessions were to keep our re-fl exes fresh. In actuality, we were competitive as hell.
    I’ve shot a bow for over twenty years; my hand/eye coor-dination is damn good. Kevin spent his formative years 124

    hunting and eight years in the military; his is better.
    I never let that deter me from trash talking and whipping his ass a time or two. I eyed my holster. Damn.
    So much for my sassy belt. I looped the scarf around my neck