Mostly Murder Read Free

program and had talked Claire into coming aboard for the winter in a similar exchange, way down there in the bayous.
    Zee slouched down across the desk from her, the phone to his ear, all muscles and athletic grace, a real good-looking guy with skin the color of Hershey’s chocolate and caramel-colored eyes. She knew he’d spent most of his tenure at the New Orleans Police Department, working in their Vice and Narcotics Units. Then he’d gotten in a few more years busting bearded druggies and swamp-based meth labs in Lafourche Parish before he’d made detective grade and been transferred to homicide.
    Because of her years of experience, she had been designated lead on the few cases they’d handled together so far, which had entailed one stolen bateau, which is a bayou boat, and a missing child who’d turned out to be asleep in his rickety backyard tree house. Zee had shown some good investigatory instincts. Apparently, they did not run into a plethora of grisly murders in the bayous around Lafourche Parish, which was fine by her and sent Black a few degrees up the ecstatic scale. Maybe the local felons made the drive up to the Big Easy to perpetrate their Louisiana homicides. As Zee had intimated, today would be quiet. Everybody in the state would be watching the Saints play over in Dallas.
    â€œNancy said to give her fifteen minutes, tops. Hope you like Meat Lover’s Pizza.”
    â€œYou bet. Sounds good.”
    When Claire’s phone sang out the opening chords of Roy Orbison’s “Blue Bayou,” her brand new ring tone chosen in honor of her new digs, Black’s name popped up on caller ID. Her beau was checking in from Ye Merry Olde England.
    Claire moved out into the deserted hallway, punched on, and said, “Hey, cheerio, old chap, and all that rot.”
    â€œCheerio, hell. I miss you. Catch the next flight over here and make me a happy man.”
    â€œWell, that’s good, and glad to hear you miss me. Ditto back to you. So, how’s it going over there? Any crazies running amok?”
    â€œI can’t sleep without you in my bed.”
    â€œGlad to hear that, too. Really, though, how’s your patient? Straitjacket on and all is well?”
    â€œHe’s doing very well. I changed his meds. How about you? How do you feel?”
    Black, worrying about her again. Her coma had gotten to him big time and made him hover a whole lot more than necessary. “I’m fine, really. Feel good, in fact. I like it over here at Lafourche. Zee’s cool. Nancy’s great. It’s been pretty quiet, to tell you the truth.”
    â€œNo headaches? No blurred vision?”
    â€œJeez, Black, I’m fine,” I said. Hey, he was a good doctor. He covered all the bases. And he had one hell of a bedside manner—at least with her, he did.
    â€œNo car crashes? Nobody’s shot you down? Beaten you up? Knifed you in the back?”
    Yes, he had sarcasm down pat, too. Although most of that stuff had happened to her at one time or another, except for the knife thing. She’d never been stabbed, thank God, not unless you counted one rather nasty meat cleaver attack. Black was joking, yes, but not totally. “Well, some jerk cut me off in traffic two days ago. Made me brake hard. That count?”
    â€œI hate to think what you did to him.”
    â€œIt was a her, and I let her off with a polite police warning.”
    Quiet ensued for a beat. “So how is the new job, really? Like it? Please tell me you aren’t chasing any serial killers.”
    â€œI’m not chasing any serial killers. Yet. We’ve been lucky.”
    â€œYou just made my day.”
    â€œTruth is, the only excitement around here today is the Saints game. And yes, I put it in the DVR for you. Zee’s a bigger Saints fan than you are, if that’s even possible. See how exciting my life is when you’re gone?”
    â€œI don’t particularly want