Page 52 of Sinful Sorrow

His jaw clenches, the muscles shifting beneath his stubbled skin. “It was non-refundable.”

“I’m done talking about it. This transaction is also one of those non-refundable kinds. So move on.” I look down at Moo. “We probably need a kiddie booster for the car, right? Where’s yours?”

“Over here!” She dashes across the living room and around the off-center couch, then she grabs her five-point seat and hefts it up until the sounds of buckles clanging together ricochet through the room. “I’m ready for school. Do you think I can drive next time?”

I pass a snarling Fletch, and chuckle as I relieve Moo of the heavy chair. “Next time, you can drive.”

Lighting up, she jogs backwards toward the door. “You promise?”

“No.” I reach the door a single step ahead of her and open it to find maids with buckets filled with cleaning supplies. “Perfect.” I grab Mia’s hand and meet the eyes of the woman in front. “Every room, please. Top to bottom. Make a list of anything broken, or any packages opened but empty. I’ll have a new TV delivered within an hour or two, so if you can get that set up and the boxes disposed of, I’d appreciate it.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Malone. The other Mr. Malone gave me your cell number in case I need to make contact.”

“Thanks. Once you’re done, send me a text or whatever with your banking details and I’ll get it pa?—”

“The other Mr. Malone already paid for our services.” Smiling, she does that weird shuffle when she starts in and we move out. Then she looks up at Cato, nodding her head, and Fletch, though he doesn’t meet her eyes. “We’ll be gone in about five hours.”

“Thank you.” I step into the corridor and wait for the others to follow me out, then I look down at Mia and make a goofy face. “Let’s go be the smartest people. You’re the smartest in your school. And Uncle Arch and Daddy are heading to the college. We’ll be the smartest there.”

“Ahem…” Cato fake-clears his throat. “I’ll also be there. Thus, you cannot be the smartest.”

“I said what I said.” I tickle the back of Mia’s shoulders and send her skittering forward. “Let’s make this day our beach.”

“Our beach?” Cato quickens his steps to keep up with Mia, but as he passes me, he looks back with brows pinched tight. “Make it our beach?”

“No swearing allowed. Or she’ll say those words to Ms. Harmon, and then we’ll all be called into the principal’s office and get into trouble.”

MINKA

“Ihave an idea. And I’m not sure if the detectives have thought of it yet.” I sit back at my desk after rounds and study Aubree on the other side. Though my building is a hustle and bustle of techs and doctors who easily manage themselves, I take this moment after signing a thousand—or, well, maybe twenty—work orders and budgetary requests.

I took this job as chief medical examiner, because I wanted the career advancement, and most important of all, I wanted to get out of New York City and live my life somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

But in all my upskilling wisdom, I never truly stopped to take stock of the fact that half of my job would consist of administrative tasks and people asking me questions.

That was my mistake.

But now that I’ve completed today’s quota, I get back to the thing I enjoy most: stepping on the detectives’ toes and horning in on their investigation.

“What thing have you thought of?” Aubree pops a candy into her mouth and smiles around it to show off a colored tongue. “That the experienced, educated detectives might not have thought of on their own?”

“The knife. It’s not a standard knife, right? And no regular family is gonna have one just lying around. Maybe, if it was just a random hunting knife, then we could pass it off as a coincidence. But the murder weapon was a very specific knife that corresponded with the very specific costume Connor wore.”

She plops another candy onto her tongue. “Okay? So?”

“So the killer specifically ordered this knife for this crime. They went into a hunting store, or they ordered it online, or they did something to obtain that knife. So if we can somehow track its purchase, then we can find our killer that way.”

She grins around her meal, mocking me as a gurney wheels past my office and that telltale black bag registers in my peripherals. “Alright, Chief. You may have a point. But I fail to see how you will obtain this information. Is that not, like… something you need a badge, and perhaps, a warrant for?”

“Or…” I open my drawer and take out my cell. Since these people force me to socialize sometimes, I think of a certain person I know who can get information they probably shouldn’t have.

Is it legal?

No.

Do I always follow the law?

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