Dirty Deeds Read Free

done more for my soul and sanity than the lifetime I’d spent praying for relief from the constant shit storm that plagued anyone with the last name Graves.
    “You don’t happen to have a spare medical bag or gloves with you,” I asked Joe.
    “Medical bag, no. Doctor Hizumi is the only physician on the island and he’s on a house call. An American tourist spent too much time in the sun this morning.
    “But I brought gloves, and I’ve got a few supplies in a box in the back. I wasn’t sure what might be needed. I sent my nephews to go and clear space for you to work at the police station. It’s not a large building, so unfortunately our makeshift morgue will be in the jail cell. And of course, Jack can use my desk for whatever he needs.”
    I pursed my lips together to keep from saying anything I’d regret. I was on my honeymoon and I’d get to spend the foreseeable future in a jail cell with a dead body and no air conditioning. Jack gave me a comforting squeeze on the shoulder and I exhaled, releasing the tension from my body.
    St. Miguel’s was small, but beautiful, and sat on a higher elevation looking out over the water. The architecture was decidedly Spanish—pale yellow stucco and ornately carved wooden doors. It was obviously well tended to, the grounds neatly mowed and the wild growth of tropical flowers in the flowerbeds maintained. To the left was a small cemetery, the headstones and crosses lined up like soldiers.
    The stained glass windows gleamed in the late afternoon sunlight and a small fountain with a statue of the Virgin Mary sat between two of the cathedral style windows. A crowd had gathered in front of the church and they gossiped in hushed whispers.
    Joe parked the Jeep in front of the church, and I noticed most people made the sign of the cross as they saw who was arriving. Joe received looks of relief from the crowd. The looks they gave me and Jack ranged from confusion to hostility. From what I’d observed during my three days on the island, it was a close-knit, hard working community. There wasn’t wealth here. Just what the tourists brought in. But the raw, natural beauty of the island was its own wealth with white sand beaches and greenish-blue water that was so clear you could see straight to the bottom of the ocean before it got too deep.
    I gave Jack a quick glance, but he was absorbed in the surroundings. I’d learned the thing about being involved with a cop was that he was always a cop. Those instincts didn’t take a vacation. His focus was on the crowd, cataloguing anyone who might look suspicious or who didn’t fit. Just because the country was different didn’t mean a killer’s mentality would be. They liked to watch for the most part. To see the reactions of police and witnesses alike.
    I let Jack do his thing and hopped out of the Jeep, grateful to have my feet on solid ground. People immediately swarmed Joe, rapidly firing questions. The death of Leon Stein was obviously catastrophic to the community. He was loved and had built his legacy here. Had a wife and children here. But what made someone kill a man like Leon Stein just shy of his hundredth birthday? That’s what we had to find out.
    I felt underdressed in the navy shorts and white linen top I’d put on, but I hadn’t exactly packed with a crime scene in mind. I figured I could bleach the shirt if I got blood on it and the shorts were dark enough to hide any stains. I’d learned to be practical when it came to dressing in my line of work. I hardly ever wore makeup and I’d been living in sunscreen and moisturizer for the past several days. My toes still had polish on them from the wedding and my hair had been trimmed and given some kind of rinse so the tropical humidity didn’t make it frizz. My hair had never frizzed. It was straight and black and swung just at my chin. But they assured me at the salon it was better to be safe than sorry. I’d pulled it back in a stubby ponytail at the back of my neck so