Passion, Betrayal And Killer Highlights. Kyra Davis

      “The police took the computer.” Anatoly was now looking through the papers on Bob’s desk with noticeable lack of interest.

      “I can’t believe those people. First my wedding pictures and now this? It’s just so rude! You have no idea what it was like to see the photos of Bob and me on the happiest day of our lives covered in broken glass. And now, not only am I unable to reframe them, I can’t even complain about it to my online stay-at-home-moms’ support group! Honestly, is it really necessary to rob me of all my comforts?”

      “Not all your comforts,” I offered. “I’m sure they left the ice cream.”

      “This is so typical of you, Sophie! My life gets turned upside down and you’re making jokes.”

      Anatoly looked up from the papers. “Funny, I thought it was Bob’s life that got screwed up.”

      “Shut up!” The words came from both me and Leah in unison.

      She smiled at me and I exhaled a sigh of relief. At least we still recognized that we were not each other’s enemy. The real enemy was the heterosexual male.

      Leah checked her watch. “Damn it, I was supposed to pick up Jack five minutes ago.”

      “Are you bringing him to Mama’s after that?” She had already told me that she was but I just wanted to be reassured one more time that she wasn’t bringing him to my house.

      “Mmm-hmm. She’s taking him for the afternoon.”

      “How about the night? Can she take him for the night, too?” Anatoly gave me a sidelong glance, which I ignored.

      Leah pushed her purse strap farther up her shoulder. “Jack and I will be staying with you tonight.”

      “I really think you should ask Mama to take him. You have enough on your plate as it is.”

      “I’m the only parent he has now, and he needs me.”

      “You’re right,” I said slowly. “Jack needs stability. Maybe the two of you should stay here tonight. That way he’ll be able to sleep in his own room.”

      Leah shot me a “you can’t possibly expect me to stay here” look and then turned around to leave before I had a chance to send her a nonverbal message of my own.

      Anatoly smirked. “I’m getting the sense that you have some strong feelings concerning your nephew.”

      “You don’t know what this child is like. Rosemary’s baby would be easier to deal with.”

      He chuckled and opened the top drawer of the desk. “I’m going to take an hour or so going through this place—there’s always the off chance the police left something behind.”

      I pulled off my leather jacket. “I’ll help. I think I’ll start in the kitchen.”

      Anatoly nodded, although I don’t think he was listening. I went downstairs and left him to his exploring.

      Forty-five minutes later, I had discovered a frozen Wolfgang Puck pizza, two Trader Joe’s salads, an open bottle of Kenwood, Pinot Noir, and an entire box of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts. I flipped on the small television discreetly mounted on the wall in the corner of the dining room and turned the volume on low before getting to work on the pizza preparation. Ten minutes later the scent of freshly baked mozzarella brought Anatoly downstairs.

      I gestured for him to sit at the dining table as I poured the wine. “Do you think the police found anything interesting last night?”

      Anatoly glanced at the figure of Montel Williams scurrying around the TV screen, and pulled out a chair for himself. “It’s impossible to know.”

      “So what’s our next move?”

      “My next move will be to talk to the woman Bob was sleeping with.”

      “Why would we want to do that?” I set the pizza out along with the two salads, then sat opposite him. “She has no motive—she won. Not that Bob was any great prize. Maybe that’s it! Maybe she started thinking about what life would be like with Bob and freaked out.”

      “We don’t know the details of the affair.” He looked at the glass of wine offered him, then glanced at the wall clock, which read 11:55.

      “My brother-in-law died yesterday,” I said. “I think it would be justifiable if we started drinking early. So what were you saying about the affair?”

      Anatoly sighed and reached for the prepackaged shrimp Caesar. “I was saying that it’s unlikely Bob told Leah the whole story. Maybe his mistress had reason to want him dead, or maybe someone connected with her did.”

      “A husband! Why didn’t I think of that?”

      “Because you’re not a PI.” He tore off a piece of pizza. “You’re a writer…of sorts.”

      “One would think that with everything we’ve been through together you would know better than to piss me off.”

      “Good point.” Anatoly leaned back in his chair. “All right, who might know the name of Bob’s mistress?”

      “Maybe Erika, Bob’s secretary,” I mumbled between bites.

      “I’ll need you to make an introduction.”

      “I’ll do better than that. I’ll help you with the interview.”

      Anatoly frowned and shook his head. “I mean it, Sophie, you need to leave this to me.”

      “Uh-uh. Erika knows me, so she’s a lot more likely to open up if I’m there. Plus, I’m good at this detective stuff. I figured out who killed Tolsky, didn’t I?”

      “How could I forget?” Anatoly taunted. “You’re the genius who put the whole thing together just minutes after the killer confessed. Very impressive.”

      I narrowed my eyes. I didn’t care what anyone said, writing the Alicia Bright mysteries did qualify me to be an amateur sleuth. In Words To Die By Alicia solved four murders in less than a month’s time. Surely, with Anatoly’s assistance, I could solve one murder in less than a week. “The point is, I figured it out before you. No, scratch that—the point is, I’m the one footing the bill for this little investigation, so if I say I’m sitting in on an interview, then—”

      Anatoly leaned forward and grabbed my wrist. God, I had forgotten just how strong his hands were.

      “This is not a game. A man was killed and the murderer may be willing to kill again in order to avoid getting caught.”

      I dropped the utensil I had been holding in my free hand. “You’re worried about me!”

      Anatoly uttered some Russian curse and attacked his salad with his fork.

      “You looove me.” When Anatoly didn’t respond I decided to take it down a notch. “Okay, maybe you’re not ready for the big L word, but you’ve got to admit you like me an awful lot.”

      “Careful, Sophie. I like Caesar salad and look what I’m doing to it,” he said as he violently sank his fork into a piece of shrimp.

      “Are you suggesting that you want to eat me?”

      “Sophie…”

      “Good afternoon.”

      Anatoly and I looked up at the television to see the anchor woman who had begun speaking.

      “Thanks for joining us for Channel Two News at Noon. Today’s lead story is a murder that took place last night in the Forest Hill district of San Francisco.” Anatoly quickly stood up and adjusted the volume. “Bob Miller, the comptroller at Chalet.com, was found last night with a gunshot wound to the head. His wife, Leah Miller, made the call to the police. This morning we had a chance to speak to Bob’s sister, Cheryl Miller. This is what she had to say.”

      The camera switched