Chapter 6
As the Canton County homicide team stood together at the scene and contemplated what evil the arrival of Jonesy Jax would bring to their law-abiding lake community, Shaggy was the only one who seemed delighted by the unwelcome new resident. Not surprising, really, with Shaggy being Shaggy. “Man oh man alive, this is so damn cool! I love that dude’s music. He’s awesome, people. More than awesome. He’s spectacular. So’s his band. I’ve got every single CD he ever made. Have you heard his theme song, ‘Kill All the Women’?”
Claire gave him a look. “Shaggy, that’s about as politically incorrect as you can get. If I were you, I wouldn’t admit to anybody that you like that song. Especially to anyone of the female gender, of which I am, if you’ll recall. What’s more, a song like that sounds like he might be a prime candidate for this first-degree murder. Whoever did this doesn’t have much respect for womanhood, believe you me.”
“Nah, you’re wrong about him. Listen to the lyrics, Claire. Jonesy doesn’t say ‘kill them all,’ not really kill them, you know, like murder them, or anything. He means he kills them with his charm and sex appeal.”
Claire could only scoff. “Well, good luck with that. He’s the grossest, most arrogant human being that I’ve ever met. I’m already sick to my stomach just talking about him. Oh, and by the way, Jonesy Jax has a rap sheet three miles long. DUIs, drug busts, and last and most despicable, multiple counts of sex with underage girls. He has exactly zero redeeming qualities. Trust me on that, Shaggy. I had hoped that I’d never have to see him again, but it seems my luck is always bad where obnoxious morons are concerned.”
“Again? You’ve met this guy?” That was Bud, and he looked shocked.
“No shit? You’ve actually met Jonesy Jax? In person?” That was Shaggy, all atwitter, with a bit of squeal in his voice.
“Oh yeah, I had the distinct displeasure of arresting him on Hollywood Boulevard when I was a street cop at LAPD. Long time ago, true, but I’ll never forget that creep. He actually propositioned me for sex while I was frisking him. Tried to grab me, if you know what I mean. Then he had the gall to pull out a bunch of hundred-dollar bills to tempt me to oblige his needs. And yes, I was wearing my uniform. Trust me, guys: Jonesy Jax is a colossal dirtbag.”
All three men grinned. Claire didn’t particularly appreciate that. “Not funny, guys. I charged him with drug possession, drug paraphernalia, and having sex with the sixteen-year-old girl who was with him and half-dressed in the back seat of his limo. She admitted everything, and none of it was pretty. Last but not least, I added assault on a police officer to the charges.”
That sobered them all pretty damn fast. “He serve time for that?” Bud asked.
“What do you think? He’s almost as rich as Black. He assembled his team of fancy L.A. lawyers, who showed up within the hour and got him sprung from detention. They used every dirty, scummy trick in the book to get him off. But I’ll never forget that guy and the way he treated me. And lucky me, now he’s right here on our lake, in our jurisdiction. That means I’ll probably have to deal with him again. The idea actually turns my stomach.”
“What did you say this guy’s name was?” That was Buckeye. He looked clueless about the rock star. He had finished up at the scene and was prepared to leave. The young woman’s body was in the van, and his techs had already packed up and were waiting outside. Buck was good at his job. In and out, no mistakes, no wasted energy. Claire was not surprised that he was unfamiliar with Jonesy Jax’s disreputable reputation. He listened to Johnny Cash and June Carter on the way to crime scenes, much to the chagrin of Shaggy and the other young CSI technicians.
“Jonesy Jax, you know, the hard rocker that wears all that black leather with silver chains and has a parrot on stage in a cage that shrieks out curses to the audience,” Bud informed him. Buck frowned at that and still looked blank, and a bit skeptical. “Maybe you’ll remember the time he threw pills out into the audience and then told everybody to take them on the count of three and they’d all trip out together. He got arrested for that, too, didn’t he?”
Claire nodded. “Yes, sir, he sure did, but it turned out to be a publicity stunt. The pills were Tic Tacs. He got fined and got a ton of bad publicity, but he ended up smelling like a rose to all his fans. They thought it was a cool move. I just find it so distasteful that we are actually going to have to be in the same room with this guy, much less engage him in conversation. Or touch him, heaven forbid.”
“I like some of his music.” Bud looked sheepish at the admission.
“Me too. You’re bein’ too hard on old Jonesy,” Shaggy told her. “I got his ‘Hate Everybody’ poster. Think he’ll autograph it for me?”
They all collectively ignored him.
Claire turned to Bud. “Any way that you can get him on the phone?”
“Maybe. It’s late, but I know a TV agent in Los Angeles who can get me to the right people, I think.”
“Okay, then try to get hold of him ASAP and tell him we need to talk to Jonesy stat. Tell him it’s urgent. You know the drill.”
Bud moved off again, with his trusty phone in hand. Bud could work magic with that thing and get through to almost anybody, anywhere, Hollywood movers and shakers included. He used his southern charm like a weapon, plus a good bit of pure BS. Claire watched him walk off, and then she sighed, deflated. One of the biggest rock stars who ever lived was the last person on earth she needed to become involved in this girl’s murder. Damn it, the paparazzi were already buzzing around and lying in wait for her and Black. This would jack up their feeding frenzy to bloodbath levels.
“Claire,” Buckeye said, “I think we can count on blunt force trauma as cause of death. Not much else to go on yet, except for a small puncture wound on her abdomen and the minor burns on her head from the hot light bulbs. The victim bled out for a while before she stopped breathing, might even have regained consciousness for a few seconds, but I really doubt that. I’ll know more and have a definitive cause after the autopsy. So I’m out of here. I’ll do the cut first thing in the morning.”
“Want us to be there?”
“Up to you guys. Our workload at the morgue is slow. That’s why I thought I could dash off with the wife and fly down to the Bahamas for Christmas. Looks like that may be out now.”
“Maybe we’ll solve this case in record time. Bud and I are pretty good at this stuff when we work together, you know. And the sunny Bahamas are only a few hours away by plane.”
“I suspect Jonesy Jax and all his crap is going to screw things up for our trip, take my word on that. Okay, I’m out of here. See you later, Claire.”
Claire watched him walk away, but he was right. Jonesy Jax always screwed things up, wherever he was. It was embedded in his genes.
Within minutes, Bud was back beside Claire.
“Did you get hold of him?”
“Not yet. Left my number with the agent and asked him to return my call, told him it was urgent.”
Claire glanced around. “Okay, there’s not much else we can do out here right now. Let’s shut down all these stupid lights and maybe we’ll get hold of Jax in the morning. I’m fairly certain he’s gonna know this girl, probably intimately.”
“We do have the lady in charge of the Christmas tour outside. Corrigan’s got her waiting in his patrol car. She’s the one who found the body and showed up here earlier, thinking we might want to interview her.”
“Well, she’s right. Let’s do it now.”
By the time they wrapped things up inside and stepped out onto the front porch, the temperature had dropped even lower. It felt like ten degrees below zero, at the very least, and the wind chill even worse than that. Their breaths materialized, smoky in the cold air. Snow was falling again, harder now. It was a beautiful, snowy night on a dark and quiet cliff out in the middle of the deep woods. Peaceful, quiet, or at least, used to be. Too bad some unknown young girl had to die there in the midst of so much natural beauty.
Corrigan stood out in the driveway, leaning against the fender of his patrol car, stamping his feet and clapping his hands together. He looked pretty damn annoyed about having to stick around and wait for them to interview the witness. They thanked him, and then Bud invited the witness into his truck so Corrigan could go home to his family. Claire climbed into the back seat and sat beside the woman. Bud took the driver’s seat, fired the engine, turned the heater up to full blast, and then swiveled slightly so that he could look back at them. He started the interview without delay.
“You are Mrs. Barbara Sherman, is that correct, ma’am?”
The woman nodded. She looked to be around sixty, maybe. Tall woman, five-nine or five-ten, around Claire’s height. She had a pretty face that looked younger than she probably was, and long brown hair with lots of gray strands, which she wore pulled straight back in a tight, low ponytail. She seemed calm and unperturbed by the horrific scene she’d walked into earlier that day. Suspiciously serene, in fact. She didn’t say anything, just waited for them to ask their questions. Claire leaned back, content to let Bud take the lead.
“Thank you for waiting so long, Mrs. Sherman. My name is Bud Davis. This is my partner, Claire Morgan. We’re both homicide detectives at the Canton County Sheriff’s Office.”
“How do you do?” she replied. A very polite woman, it seemed. As the truck became warmer, Barbara took a moment to shed her puffy black insulated jacket. She had on a Christmas elf’s costume underneath: red corduroy jumper shorts with a red-and-white-striped, long-sleeved T-shirt, knee-high candy-cane-striped socks, and red ankle boots. This night was so way weird that Claire was getting a little overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity that kept slapping her in the face.
“I’m sorry it took us this long to get done inside the house, ma’am. Officer Corrigan told us that you discovered the body; is that correct?”
“Yes, sir. I came out here a little early, you know, just to check and make sure everything was in good order before the tour started. But I’m not really in charge of the tour groups or anything. I just enjoy dressing up in these cute costumes and taking folks through these beautiful homes. This holiday house tour is sponsored by the Chamber of Commerce and the Lake of the Ozarks Garden Club. They did a great job this year, you know, despite today’s terrible tragedy. They ordered all those poinsettias you saw inside the house. They got them from Mexico. Had them shipped up.”
Now there you have some useless home tour trivia, Claire thought. Mexican flowers were the last thing on her crime-scene-things-to-know list.
Bud continued. “Were you alone when you found the victim?”
“Yes, but only for a few minutes before the folks began to arrive. A few of them were already standing around on the porch, waiting for somebody to unlock the door and take them through the house. So I hurried so I could check out the house first, like I always do. I was already in costume and expected to stay for the second go-around slated for this evening at eight. It was cancelled, of course. All the tours are by now, I suppose.”
“Do any of the guides wear angel costumes?” Claire asked.
“No, that was last year. This year, we can either choose to be an elf like this outfit I’m wearing, or there are flannel nightgowns, and old fashioned caroler outfits reminiscent of Dickens’s London.”
“We think our victim might be one of your tour guides. They’ll probably have her name and address somewhere, right? Did you happen to know her personally?”
“No, I’d never seen that poor little thing before.”
“Okay,” Bud said. “Tell us exactly what happened when you got here. Everything you can remember, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.”
“Well, I went ahead and did a walk-through before I took anybody inside the house. I don’t know why, but I like to do that when I have time to. Maybe I had a premonition or something about today. I just felt like I should look around and make sure everything was okay. I have to light the display candles anyway. So I had the visitors come inside out of the cold and wait for me in the kitchen. We had provided hot cocoa and coffee and had some sugar cookies sitting out on the counter for refreshments. But then, when I walked into that library and saw that poor child, oh my goodness, my heart practically stopped. It was just horrible. I just froze in my tracks, because I couldn’t even believe my eyes. Then I saw how her eyes were staring down at me, like she was really perched on top of that tree and looking right at me, and then I realized she was dead, really dead, and I’m afraid I pretty much just lost it. I ran out screaming, and that panicked everyone else, so they all ran out of the house, too. Some man in the group had the wherewithal to call 911.” She stopped talking long enough to inhale a deep breath. Her voice was shaking. “I still have trouble believing this kind of thing could happen right here on our lake. Don’t you?”
Both of them nodded, but they had been homicide detectives far too long to disbelieve anything they found at a crime scene. Murderers found victims everywhere, even at Lake of the Ozarks. “Did you touch anything when you were in the library? Did you go up on the balcony and touch the body?” Bud asked her.
“Oh heavens above, no. Why would I want to do that? I could barely even look at her up there, you know, all that blood soaking that white gown. Oh my word, I still cannot believe it. I’ve never seen a dead person like that. Somebody who has just been murdered. Except on TV shows.”
“And you’re sure you don’t recognize the victim?”
“Well, no, but I didn’t look at her all that long. I just saw the blood and those eyes. My thought was that she was a guide dressed up like a living angel. One of us. Most of the younger guides are about her age.” She clasped her hands together tightly and kept shaking her head as if completely befuddled. “It looked like one of our costumes from last year, truth be told. They just used long white nightgowns.”
Claire thought the poor woman might be suffering from shock. She didn’t really act like it, though, which seemed odd. A Chatty Cathy type, but seemed to be telling the truth. Maybe. “Who could we contact that might be able to give us the victim’s name and address? We will need to notify her next of kin as soon as we verify her identity.”
“I have no idea, unless, of course, she was a guide, but I don’t think she was. But if so, I guess you’ll need to find out who hired her and question them. I’m not sure who’s in charge of that kind of stuff this year. I’ve been leading tours for them going on ten years, but I certainly don’t keep up with the ladies in charge of recruiting the guides. I just try to make sure everything in the house looks the way the garden club left it. You know, pulling out dead branches from the fresh arrangements and lighting the candles, things like that. ”
“Did you see anybody, either inside or outside the house, when you arrived here today?”
“No, sir.” Mrs. Sherman stared at Bud a moment. “I did happen to notice, however, that the patio door was unlocked. That observation was, of course, before I turned around and saw the dead girl up on the balcony.”
Claire had already checked out the doors. She had found no footprints inside or outside the patio French door, so the killer must have come in a different way, or broken in and concealed himself in the house before the victim arrived. “And you’re sure you didn’t touch anything? Or see anybody loitering around?”
“Of course I’m sure. I know better than to do that, even as creeped out as I was. I watch NCIS every week. Well, at least I did until Ziva left the show. Didn’t like it so much after that. She and Tony were so good together, don’t you think? It’s a damn shame that such a good actress had to leave. I heard she only left because she wanted to be with her boyfriend down in South America. Such a shame for Tony. He was never the same without her.”
“Ain’t that the truth? Ziva was badass, too. Man, could she take down guys, or what?” Bud happened to be a TV aficionado. In fact, he knew every single program and every single character on every single channel and who they were dating or cheating on. His recall was amazing. Claire only liked programs like Supernatural and Arrow because they were both pretty much about teams of badass fighters out for justice. Like she and Bud. Bad thing, though, probably, since she was a cop and those characters were pretty much vigilantes. The mention of the NCIS characters, however, seemed to warm up Mrs. Sherman toward Bud. They were smiling at each other now like they were good old TV friends. Bud did have a knack for connecting with people, and he was especially good with women. Any woman. Any age. Always had been. But alas, his amorous endeavors had dropped a couple of degrees since he’d hooked up with his beautiful and leggy model, Brianna.
While they smiled at each other, still in the throes of NCIS nostalgia, Claire assumed, she took over the interview. “Did you notice anything unusual outside the house when you drove up today? Anything out of the ordinary? A repairman, maybe? Somebody walking a dog? Shoveling snow? Tire tracks? Anything like that?”
“No, I’m afraid not. This entire property is surrounded by all those big trees. You know, it’s so extremely isolated up here, even from the neighbors on the next property over. But I never would have expected that it would become a place where a young girl could be murdered. It’s just so frightening to comprehend. But I guess you’ve seen a lot of horrible things in your line of work.”
Now that was the understatement of the century, Claire thought. Oh yeah, she’d seen plenty of things every bit as horrible as that dead angel inside that house, even things that were a hundred times worse. Yep, she and Bud had pretty much looked the devil in the face, more often than not, and both on and off the job. “Okay. We understand that the singer Jonesy Jax owns this house. Can you tell us if that might be true or just a rumor?” Please God, let it be some hellish rumor.
Barbara Sherman nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard all about that. I believe he just bought this place recently. He’s that famous heavy metal rocker, I guess you know of him. The nasty one with white hair, the one who looks so dirty and disheveled all the time.”
Talk about hitting the nail on the head. “We just need for you to verify that he is the actual owner of this property.”
“Well, I’m not able to verify it, per se. All I can tell you is that the Christmas tour contact, you know, the realtor, told me he owned this place. Mary Lynn McPhee is her name. She said she got permission directly from him to decorate this house, but he wanted to wait until the tours were over before he moved in. She said he was willing to wait until Christmas Eve. He didn’t want his fame to overshadow the tour by being here on the property himself. That was rather kind of him, I suppose.”
“Has he arrived here at the lake?” Claire asked with severe and unsettling dread.
Mrs. Sherman shrugged. “I don’t know. Mary Lynn sounded as if he was still out in California when she talked to him. Or maybe, come to think of it, she said he was on a tour stop in Chicago. Yes, I believe that’s what she said. That he had a big show up there, right before Christmas. I can’t really remember where he was.”
“Did she tell you anything else about him?”
“Well, she did say that he was extremely polite during their video conference. She said he was nothing like the despicable person he is on stage.”
Well, that was a load of bull. Claire had been up close and way too personal with the lecher. Give him time and a bottle of whiskey and he’d be breaking his guitar over some lake-dweller’s head before you could say “drunken jerk.” “Did she say anything else about him?”
“Apparently, he visited here once before, for some reason or another. Or maybe he was born around here. I declare, I just can’t recall details anymore. He did say he liked it out here in the sticks. I do remember Mary Lynn saying that. Something about needing a quiet place to come to when he needed to get his head on straight.”
And that would be all the time, Claire thought.
“He’s the one who insisted they put up all these Christmas lights. He said he wanted both the exterior and the interior to be lit up so much that the astronauts could see it from orbit. Said it would be his Christmas present to them.”
Yeah, that’s the way certified morons thought about things, too. Just the idea of trying to deal with Jonesy Jax was beginning to ruin her fabulous, happiest-ever Christmas. “So, ma’am, do you happen to have a phone number for him?”
“Yes, she gave it to me since I was the guide for his house. But he’s never answered when I’ve called. I tried again while I was waiting out here with the other officers.”
“Okay. Give us his number and I’ll keep trying to contact him,” Bud said.
“I did find out that it’s not his cell, but the phone number for his Malibu beach house.”
“Bet the neighbors just love him living close by. Probably like holes in their heads,” Claire said. “But I suppose it’s close enough to L.A. that just about anything goes. Even crazy loons are loved and paid big bucks for their unlawful antics.”
“Well, he is allowing us to use his house for our charity,” Mrs. Sherman said with a bit of a huff. No doubt thinking: How dare that damn detective show contempt for a man gracious enough to lend his house to our tour. Apparently, it didn’t matter how addled in the brain the guy was. Then again, Mrs. Sherman hadn’t met the guy in person.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s a prince, all right.”
Mrs. Sherman gazed back at her, not sure if Claire was being snarky, or not. It was snark, all right. Up front and meant as disdain.
Bud looked at Claire’s expression and decided it was time to take over. “After you called 911, did you or anyone else go back inside where the body was?”
“Oh my Lord, no. Once I saw that poor girl, I knew that she was dead. I wouldn’t have gone back inside that room for any amount of money.”
“Okay. Anything else you can tell us? Anybody make threats about this house or any other house on the tour? This year or in past years?”
“No, sir, we really hadn’t even named the houses to be included in our tour until a couple of days before we started. Members of the garden club were the only ones allowed inside, and that was only for decorating purposes. They bought all the supplies and took care of everything. I just happened to be here today. I never could’ve imagined anything like this could ever happen. Not here. Not on our lovely little Christmas tour.”
Claire listened politely. The woman was handling it better than most witnesses would after happening upon a brutal, bloody crime scene. Claire wondered why. Maybe they should look into this sweet little lady. “And Jonesy Jax was never here at this house? You’re certain about that?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. She said he gave his permission and then left the room before they finished their video conference. His agent inked the contract and took care of all that.”
“Did he charge you for using the house?”
“Oh, no. The contract was mainly about his privacy; we were to make sure his groupies and fans weren’t allowed inside. He didn’t want anybody to know he was settling here in Missouri, or that he had bought this house.”
“And his agent’s name?”
“Candi Kisses.”
“Nuh-uh,” said Bud. “No way.”
“I know. I admit I rolled my eyes to high heaven when I heard that. He said she made it up so she would be remembered.”
Remembered as an imbecile, Claire thought.
“Maybe he was just messin’ with you,” Bud suggested. “You know, everybody knows he likes to joke around.”
“Mary Lynn said Ms. Kisses was right there sitting beside him at the table and was introduced as Candi Kisses. Nobody seemed to think it was unusual.”
Claire felt like she was going to gag. This case was going to turn into a nightmare of enormous proportions. She just knew it in her gut. This murder was a harbinger of bad things now galloping down the road to run her over, and she was pretty damn sure she would soon get flattened like Wile E. Coyote. Most movie types she’d met had the IQ and personal habits of alley cats, save for a few nice guys, and most of their temperaments were not conducive to normal human interactions. Arrogance was a necessary state of being famous in Tinsel Town, she’d found. Well, maybe not all actors were monsters, but, say, 99.9 percent were. Jonesy Jax would be the president of the Actor-Singer Cray-Cray Club.
Claire leaned forward. “Okay, thank you very much, Mrs. Sherman. I guess that’s all the questions we have for you right now.”
“Would it be all right if we called you again, if we have more questions?” Bud asked.
“Of course. I’ll be glad to help you in any way that I can.”
“Would you mind to write Jax’s Malibu number on the back of my card?”
“All right, of course. But I really need to be getting home now. My husband will worry about me. I usually get home before he does. I took an anxiety pill while I was sitting out here a while ago, and I think I need to lie down and rest. All of this has really been quite upsetting.”
It didn’t seem to have gotten to her all that much, not under Claire’s observation. “Of course, ma’am. Again, thank you for waiting out here so long, Mrs. Sherman.”
Claire took the card after Mrs. Sherman scribbled the number on it, and Bud walked around the car and opened the door for the woman, because he really was as polite as hell where ladies were concerned. Mrs. Sherman hurried across the snowy drive to her late-model gray Mercedes and took off down the road. Everybody else had already gone. Bud and Claire stood in front of the truck for a moment, looking up at the sparkling lights. Maybe the astronauts really could see it. Maybe they were enjoying it more than she was. But that wouldn’t take much.
The air was really frigid now. Claire hoped Black had all the fireplaces in the penthouse built up high and blazing like crazy. Or, better yet, maybe he’d be ready to warm her up in the special way only he could. That sounded even better to her. Or both him and the fire, maybe.
Bud blew his breath into his palms. Yes, he was getting his warm clothes before Christmas. “Okay, we’ll have to get a bead on Jax’s location first thing in the morning. Maybe he’ll know who this kid is. Otherwise, we’ve got exactly nothing.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
“Let’s take another quick look around inside for ourselves,” Claire said, “just in case Corrigan and his jerk partner missed something. I want to see the master bedroom where she might’ve been staying.”
So that’s what they did for the next hour, but with no luck whatsoever. The interior of the house was beautiful, fully decorated by some Beverly Hills whiz kid, all right. At least that’s what the card on the kitchen island read. But the place was definitely brand new, all the wood ceilings giving off that rustic, raw wood and varnish smell. At the end of the search, Claire was pretty sure that the drunken rock star had never stepped foot inside that house, and maybe never would. Hell, he had probably bought the place while in a particularly mind-blowing pipe dream.
If he had been inside, he hadn’t brought along any clothes or shoes or coats. No nothing, in fact. No food in the fridge, no supplies in the kitchen cabinets. It was pristine, like a model house in a new subdivision, but one built on a budget fifty times bigger. Top of the line in every way. She wondered if Jonesy Jax really would show up. He probably just bought houses here and there for the hell of it. Of course, Black had a habit of doing that, too, but at least he spent time in them once in a while and considered them investments.
The only room in the house that looked lived in was the master bedroom. It had a suitcase in the closet with a minimal amount of clothes on the hangers, but they were clothes that would fit their victim. She had been staying there, but it didn’t look like she’d been there long, like the officers had said. Nothing much to see inside that bedroom except for a few bathroom toiletries and dirty clothes strewn about. It was strange, and hard to figure exactly what she was doing there. Maybe she had been a squatter or a druggie who had broken in and made herself at home. But how would she have even found the place, way out here in the sticks? Someone who’d been on the tour, maybe?
Claire sighed, feeling weary all of a sudden. “Okay, let’s just go home, get some sleep, and start again in the morning.”
“You got that right, partner. Music to my ears.” Bud smiled mischievously in a way she knew very well, and she braced herself for whatever was incoming. “I need to read that article about Black and admire you in that bikini before I go to bed. I just can’t get enough of you famous celebrities. Know what they’re calling you two on TMZ? Blair. Get it? Black and Claire combined. Only the biggest celebrity couples get a tag name like that. You’ve made it to the top, darlin’.”
“Shut up, Bud. I mean it. Enough, already. That’s just stupid. Blair. How stupid. Are they really calling us that?”
“Yep.” Bud laughed at her and headed around to the driver’s side of his truck. Claire smiled a little, too, and pulled open her door. She had missed the heck out of being around Bud. On the other hand, she was eager to get back home, because she missed Black and Rico and all their ridiculously overdone excitement about Christmas. She wasn’t used to being away from them for so long, not anymore. Her work hours had become irregular again fast, and the crime scene had taken longer than she’d figured. It was a school night for Rico. Unfortunately, they’d probably have to wait on decorating the tree until tomorrow. Probably a good thing, because after seeing that young girl’s body, lit up and perched at the top of that tree, Christmas tree decorating had lost its appeal. Imagine that.