Blood Bond Read Free Page A

was humming—if you could call it that, her soft voice tuneless. Not a cheerful sound.
    â€œExcuse me,” Joe said.
    The woman froze, then slowly and deliberately rinsed her hands before tugging off her pink rubber gloves. She turned and looked Joe full in the face. He was surprised to see something defiant in her expression.
    He stood a little straighter, wondered if he should go for the shield. “I’m Detective Joe Bashir.”
    â€œMarva Groesbeck,” she said, and extended her hand. Her skin was surprisingly hot—from the dishes, Joe supposed. The hair around her face corkscrewed in the humidity from the steam.
    â€œYou were working tonight? The dinner party?”
    Marva Groesbeck raised her eyebrows and her expression changed: cloudy, bleak, almost angry. “Is that what Gail said?”
    Joe studied her more closely, got it. The same fine nose, the same lovely straight jaw and smooth-planed cheekbones. On her sister, they were flawless. On Marva, they didn’t quite gel. A bit too much space between the eyes, maybe. Too many freckles. An uneven mouth, tugging down more at one corner than the other.
    He smiled, trying for disarming, regretting his gaffe. “I’m sorry. I thought you were the caterer.”
    â€œGail won’t have them. Caterers. She does it all herself.” Marva gestured at the expanse of pearly granite, dishes stacked neatly. “At least, she plates and presents the food after they drop it off. She likes to take credit.”
    â€œAnd yet here you are, doing cleanup duty.”
    Marva picked up his thread. “I get anxious—I had to get out of the room once . . . you know, Gail went out there and found him. Tom.”
    Joe laid a hand on the round kitchen table, its bare wood surface gleaming. “Would you like to sit down? Maybe I could get you a glass of water?”
    Marva nodded, her thin arms hugging her body, and sat down in one of the carved-back chairs. Joe found glasses and filled them from the tap. He sat in the chair across from Marva and slid a glass toward her.
    â€œYour sister seems to be holding up well.” It was a question. There was something here; with sisters there generally was.
    Marva kept her gaze focused on her nails. They were pretty, short and shiny and pink, healthy-looking. No acrylic, no dark paint. After a moment she looked him in the eye and said only, “She does.”
    â€œSo she’s maybe what you’d call stoic, in stressful situations. Calm.” Thinking of her hand on the other woman’s quaking shoulder, the soothing tone of her voice.
    â€œYes . . . I suppose you might call her that.”
    There was more to it, he was sure. The way Marva glanced away when she spoke of her sister, subdued by the ghosts of old slights and unsettled arguments. But Joe sensed it was too soon to press her.
    â€œAnd she’s the one who found the body?”
    â€œYes . . . she said she saw all that blood and she knew he was dead.”
    â€œThe wife of the victim wasn’t with her?”
    â€œNo. Just Gail.” Marva bit her lip, her face paling. “I just met the Bergmans tonight. Tom and Elena. They live up the street. I think they have kids the same age as Gail’s.”
    â€œWere your sister and her husband close to them?”
    â€œNo, they . . . I don’t think they were more than friendly acquaintances, really. Gail was repaying an invitation from a few months ago, a barbecue or something.”
    Joe watched as Marva’s eyelashes trembled. She really wasn’t very good at half-truths; her features betrayed her.
    â€œThe other guests?” he prompted.
    Distaste flashed across Marva’s face, but she quickly recovered. “Political friends. Of Bryce. Harold—the one with the hair gel? He’s got pretty deep pockets, and Bryce is thinking of a run for the Monte Vista County Board of Supervisors and he’s