Passion, Betrayal And Killer Highlights. Kyra Davis

      “All right, then. I’m going to do a background check on Bianca. Maybe she’s not as credible as she seems.”

      As I watched Anatoly put his helmet on and drive away, I was overcome with relief. Fear had clouded my judgment, but now I was thinking clearly and I knew Leah was innocent. All I had to do was prove it.

      I let myself in and was just opening the apartment door when my phone started ringing. I looked down at Mr. Katz, who was watching me expectantly. “I’ll feed you right after I get this,” I assured him before grabbing the phone. “Y’ello?”

      “It’s me.”

      There was no mistaking the husky voice of my closest and most abrasive friend. “Hey, Dena, what’s up?”

      “What’s up? How about the murder of your brother-in-law?”

      “Oh, yeah, that.” I went to the kitchen and poured Mr. Katz some kibble then took the phone back into the bedroom with me.

      “Jesus, just when I thought things were getting back to normal.”

      “Tell me about it.” I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled my boots off and threw them in the general direction of my closet. “At least Leah’s okay.”

      “Is she? Did she ever find out if he was screwing around on her?”

      When I didn’t answer, Dena groaned. “Shit, do the police know about the affair?”

      “Nope.” Mr. Katz wandered into my room and glared at me. Undoubtedly he had seen the bottom of his food bowl.

      “Thank God for small favors. Look, I’m with Mary Ann, can we stop by?”

      “Sure, I’m not doing anything.”

      “Perfect, we’re in the car and about a block from your place, so with any luck we’ll be able to find a parking spot within the next fifteen minutes.”

      It would be so nice if Dena was being sarcastic, but fifteen minutes to find parking in my neighborhood was a pretty realistic estimate—assuming she didn’t mind parking four or more city blocks away.

      By the time Dena and Mary Ann arrived I had brewed a pot of coffee and was midway through my second cup.

      The minute she walked in the door Mary Ann pulled me into a hug. “Sophie, I’m so sorry your family has to go through this.”

      “Thanks,” I mumbled into her chestnut-brown curls. I pulled back slowly, careful not to spill the coffee I still held on to her white three-quarter-length sleeve wrap top. It was slightly cropped and exposed a little over an inch of perfectly flat abs.

      Dena’s hug was briefer and a little less emotionally charged, but then again, Dena wasn’t exactly the touchy-feely type. She walked over to the covered mirror and knitted her thick Sicilian eyebrows. “What’s up with the new wall hangings?”

      I grinned and stepped into the kitchen to pour them both a cup of caffeine. “It’s Jewish tradition to cover the mirrors after a family member dies.”

      “With sarongs decorated with rainbow-colored salmon?” Dena asked. “Oh, wait, I get it! Lox! The salmon are there to remind us that some things are more enjoyable dead.”

      “Dena, that is not funny!” Mary Ann said. But even she couldn’t keep a straight face as Dena and I collapsed into giggles.

      “My God, we’re horrible human beings.” I handed a cup of black coffee to Dena and a cup half filled with cream and a few tablespoons’ worth of sugar to Mary Ann.

      “Tell me something I don’t know.” Dena sat down on my couch and propped her feet up on my coffee table so that the thick heels of her boots stuck out like phallic symbols. “Seriously, though, how could anyone find Bob interesting enough to kill? There’s no way that little bean counter could inspire that kind of passion.”

      “Mmm, I don’t know about that.” I sat down opposite her on my love seat and Mary Ann quickly took her place by my side. “When Leah told me he was leaving her and Jack for his mistress, who just happens to be twenty-one years old, I entertained some pretty violent thoughts.”

      “Yeah, but you’re always entertaining violent thoughts. You write murder mysteries, for Christ sake.”

      “That’s not fair,” Mary Ann said. “You don’t have to be a violent person to write about murder. I work at the Lancôme counter and I don’t think about makeup all the time. I’m not even wearing any now.”

      I looked at her flawless porcelain complexion and tried to suppress my jealously.

      “And I doubt Marcus thinks about hair all the time,” Mary Ann continued, “and you work…” Her voice trailed off.

      Dena was the sole proprietor of Guilty Pleasures, an establishment she affectionately referred to as an erotic boutique, and if there was ever a woman who brought her work home with her, it was Dena.

      Dena smiled at her cousin mischievously and Mary Ann rolled her eyes. “Not everyone’s you.”

      Dena shrugged and ran her fingers through her cropped hair. “Do the police suspect Leah?”

      I nodded. “But she didn’t do it.”

      “Of course, she didn’t.” Mary Ann used her hand to make little soothing circles on my back. “Anyone who’s ever met Leah would know she’s not capable of hurting anyone. The poor thing must be devastated by all this.”

      “She’s not at her best,” I admitted.

      “Is there anything I can do?” Mary Ann asked.

      “No—wait, that’s not true.” I shifted my position so I was facing her. “Leah wants to make sure her mourning attire is appropriate in a W magazine kind of way.”

      Mary Ann nodded encouragingly. “There are a few recently widowed women who I work on at Neiman. Of course I only do their makeup, but I always take note of what they’re wearing.”

      “Jesus, is fashion really Leah’s biggest concern?” Dena asked. “What about her kid?”

      “Trust me, Jack is always a concern.” I took a long sip of my drink. “In fact, she and Jack will be staying with me for the next few days.”

      Mary Ann gasped and Dena’s tan complexion got almost as white as her cousin’s.

      I ran a jagged fingernail around the rim of my mug. “It’s not as bad as all that. I can deal with Jack.”

      “Of course you can,” Mary Ann said. “You do still have rental insurance, right?”

      “And smoke detectors,” Dena chimed in. “You’re going to need lots of smoke detectors.”

      “He’s eighteen months old. He’s not going to be setting fire to the apartment.” I glanced nervously at the smoke detector in the living room. When was the last time I checked the battery on that thing?

      I heard the sound of a key jiggling in the lock and then Leah burst in with Jack in her arms. Despite my concerns I felt a little tug at my heart. Cuddled up against his mother Jack looked like a little cherub. If he didn’t have the temperament of a Tasmanian devil he’d be irresistible.

      “Have you listened to the radio?” she asked, skipping the formality of a greeting.

      “Not today but—”

      “There was this woman on the air and she was talking about me!” Jack squirmed in her arms and she placed him on the ground. “She was talking about how my new status as a suspect is a perfect example of how underprivileged women of color still have to struggle to be seen as contributing citizens rather than potential criminals. Underprivileged, Sophie! I have never been less than upper middle class in my life, and this woman has me sounding like some kind of black, blue-collar soccer mom!”

      Dena put her cola can