Page 6 of Again with Feeling

“Ask them yourself.”

The next gust of breeze carried a spray of water against my cheek, and it was cold and bracing. The sun glinted on the saw-toothed waves. When I glanced down the pier, Mr. Li waved and smiled, and somehow, I managed to wave back.

“Vivienne, I’m sorry—I really am. But I don’t think I should get involved.”

She made an understanding noise. “If you change your mind about letting a killer go unpunished, I’ll be happy for any assistance you can provide. I’ll have my attorney send you a photograph of Richard and anything else I can think of that might help.”

“Still not taking the case,” I said.

“Of course not.”

If Emily Post had written a chapter on “How to End a Collect Call with Your Attempted Murderess,” I hadn’t read it. So, I said, “Well, goodbye.”

For some reason, that made Vivienne laugh. “Goodbye, Dashiell.”

“Just—”

The call disconnected.

“—Dash,” I finished.

I leaned against the rail, looking out at the ocean and the hot white disc of the sun. Its light was warm on my face. A salt-damp eddy tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. Behind me, screams of excitement suggested the little girl had finally gotten her kite into the air.

Vivienne Carver was a cold-blooded murderer. She’d tried to kill me. I didn’t feel sorry for her. I didn’t think she deservedsome sort of second chance. Another murder charge wouldn’t change the fact that she was going to spend the rest of her life in prison.

But if she was telling the truth, another killer would walk free.

Did it matter? The question had a kind of icy clarity that unbalanced me. Vivienne’s brother had been murdered over thirty years ago, and that was a long time. Longer than I’d been alive, as a matter of fact. After all that time, did it matter if the killer was found and brought to justice—assuming such a thing was even possible at this point?

The answer came immediately. Yes, it mattered. It mattered because no matter how that family felt about Vivienne, they were grieving their loss all over again—even if the discovery of his body provided some closure, it would also open old wounds. And it mattered because every death mattered. Every injustice mattered. And because no one should be allowed to take another’s life and get away with it.

And I realized, with a cold wave of horror rising in me, that I was going to do it.

Just like Vivienne had known I would.

The Last Picks would be thrilled, of course—for a variety of reasons. Bobby, on the other hand, would probably murder me—if he wasn’t too busy playing patty-cake with his latest flavor of the week.

That gave me an idea.

I placed a call on my phone, and Bobby answered on the second ring. A blow dryer cut off. He was getting ready for his date.

“You know how we had that big fight a few months ago?”

“Hi,” Bobby said. And then, voice dry, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Bobby!”

The sounds of movement came from the other side. His voice was muffled for the first few words, and I realized he was pulling on a shirt. Was he naked? Nope. I was not going to think aboutthat. Scratch that from the record, uh, judge. “I’m in a hurry. What’s up?”

“When I, um, did some investigating—”

“Snooping.”

“—at the amusement park, and it turned out the killer was still there—”

“And they would have killed you if someone hadn’t saved your hide.” Bobby’s tone was treacherously deadpan.

“Actually, I was doing a great job on my own—”

---