“Still, the blood type alone is something, isn’t it?” I ask.
“It is,” Izzy agrees.
“Can I tell Lucien about this?”
Izzy shrugs and looks at Arnie, who shrugs back. “I don’t see why not,” Izzy says. “Why don’t you call him and I’ll get a hold of Hurley.”
I nod eagerly, realizing that for once in my life I’m actually looking forward to talking to Lucien. I take out my cell phone and dial his number, but it flips over to his voice mail. Rather than trying to explain everything on the phone, I leave a brief message to let him know we have discovered some key evidence in the case and ask him to call me back.
Izzy has already finished his call by the time I hang up. “Hurley will be here momentarily,” he announces.
I’m excited to hear this, not only because I’m eager to let Hurley know my faith in Erik’s innocence was valid, but because it means getting to see him again. I can’t wait to pick up where we left off and I figure any time spent near him enhances the chances of that happening.
I dash to the restroom to do some primping in preparation, and pop a breath mint just in case I might get lucky. By the time I come out, I hear Hurley’s voice outside Izzy’s office and hurry toward it.
As I round the corner high with anticipation, I stop dead in my tracks. Just as I’d hoped, there stands Hurley in the doorway of Izzy’s office. But standing beside him, looking doe-eyed, dewy-fresh, and lovely, is Alison Miller.
Chapter 39
Alison looks at me standing in the hallway and smiles. “Hello, Mattie.”
Hurley looks too, and I struggle to keep my expression impassive and not let on how badly I want to scratch Alison’s eyes out.
“Alison, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I was with Stevie when Izzy called. I was interviewing him about the Heinrich case.” She hooks her arm around Hurley’s and leans into him. “When I heard there was something new in Shannon’s case, Stevie here was kind enough to let me tag along.”
Hurley turns back toward Izzy, forcing Alison to let go of his arm. If she feels at all slighted by his action, she doesn’t show it. “So what have you got for me?” Hurley asks.
Izzy fills him in on the blood evidence and then asks if Erik Tolliver had any injuries on his body when he was arrested.
Hurley, who is frowning, shakes his head. “Not a scratch,” he admits. He turns to look at me again and the smile he bestows on me makes my irritation with Alison evaporate. “Damn, Winston. It looks like you might have been right about Erik Tolliver after all.”
Seeing my chance to put Alison in her place, I smile back and say, “So I guess that means dinner is on you, correct?”
“Looks like it,” Hurley says.
Alison’s smile disappears faster than a Whack-A-Mole. “Dinner?” she squawks. “What dinner?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I tell her with a dismissive wave of my hand. “Just a little bet Hurley and I had going.” I look back at Hurley and smile sweetly. “I’m thinking lobster rather than steak.”
“Ouch,” he says, smiling in a way that lets me know he doesn’t find the idea at all painful. He starts to say something more when his phone rings. He answers it, frowning as he listens. “Okay,” he says into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up looking chagrined. “I have to go. I’ll catch you guys later.”
Alison falls into step beside him. “Where are we going?” she asks.
Hurley pauses and holds a hand up to stop her. “I’m done for today, Alison. We can finish this up some other time, okay?”
Alison pouts and starts to say something back at him but Hurley doesn’t give her a chance. In seconds, he’s gone. Alison looks so stricken that for a brief second I feel sorry for her. But then she turns, gives me a flippant little smile, and says, “I guess I’ll just have to hook up with him again later.” Then she flounces out of the room in Hurley’s wake.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in an exceptionally good mood. Between the new evidence exonerating Erik and my pending dinner with Hurley, even sitting in the library and reading up on all the horrible ways people have found to kill one another doesn’t dampen my spirits. Nor does the prospect of talking to Lucien when he returns my call.
“What’s up, Sweet Cheeks?”
“I have some news for you. We found blood evidence at the scene of Shannon’s murder that isn’t hers. And it isn’t Erik’s either.”
“Seriously?” Lucien says. “You’re not just yanking my chain, are you? I mean, don’t get me wrong, there are things on me I’d love to have you yank, but my chain isn’t one of them. Unless it was hooked up to my—”
“I’m serious, Lucien,” I say, cutting him off. Then, before he has a chance to start up again, I explain what Arnie found with all its implications. When I’m done, I tell him I have to run and hang up, not giving him a chance to thank me in his uniquely sordid way.
I leave the office a little before five and on my way home I stop at the grocery store. Not wanting to attract any unneeded attention with the hearse, I pull into the far side lot where the employees park. Inside the store I grab some cans of tuna for Rubbish, and some fruit, rolls, and chicken salad for myself, managing to pass up the ice cream aisle.
Back outside I unlock the hearse and toss my bag onto the passenger seat. I’m about to get in when I hear a whimper behind me and pause, wondering if I imagined it. But then I hear it again, this time accompanied by an odd scratching sound. I turn to investigate and focus on the back area of the lot where two large Dumpsters sit. Sandwiched between the bins is a dirty, skinny dog that looks to be barely more than a pup. It’s standing on its hind legs, clawing at the side of one of the Dumpsters with paws much too big for the rest of him. Its color is a dingy, brownish yellow—though I can’t tell how much of that is natural and how much of it is dirt—and I can see ribs protruding through its fur. Its eyes are huge, round, chocolate brown, and the ears are flopped over like a lab’s.
As I get closer it sees me and drops down to all fours. I expect it to run away but instead it plops down into an awkward sitting position, hind legs akimbo, revealing that it’s a he.
“What’s the matter, boy?” I say, slowly moving closer. “You hungry?” He cocks his head at me and whines, his tail thumping a few times. I stop and squat down about ten feet away from him. “Come here, boy.”
He thumps his tail a few more times and stands, but doesn’t approach. I try coaxing him again and though he looks like he wants to come, he stays put. Deciding I need more of an enticement, I get up, go back to my car, grab the chicken salad I bought, and begin another slow approach. When I pass the point I was at before, he stands and backs up a few steps, so I stop and squat. He stops, too, and wags his tail in a steady rhythm. I can tell he’s both hungry and curious so I pop the top on my container of chicken salad and set it on the ground in front of me.
“Come on. Come get a bite. You look like you could use it.”
He wags his tail so hard his butt wiggles from side to side. He takes a tentative step forward, ducks his head, pauses, then another step. A minute or two of this and he is only an arm’s length away. His nostrils are flaring wildly as he sniffs the chicken salad. I reach for him and he cowers but holds his ground and lets me give him a little scratch behind the ears. I slide the chicken salad an inch or two closer and it’s enough to overpower his fear. He closes the last little distance and starts sucking up the food with amazing speed. His efforts inch the container closer to me. By the time it’s empty it’s nearly touching my feet and the pup’s head is between my knees. I stroke the top of his head, and though he flinches, he doesn’t back away.