Page 47 of Deathtoll
“Do you think Sophie would mind if I stopped by the house?”
“Sophie knew he was captain before she married him. Anyway, she thinks he’s the best thing since kiss-proof lipstick. Man can’t do wrong as far as that woman’s concerned. Love makes you blind. That’s why I’m staying single. It’s more fun to play the field.”
She was sixty-five, with a sparkle in her eyes, fashionable silver bob, and artsy dream-catcher earrings. Murph had no doubt she got proposed to once a week over at the senior club.
The station had definitely softened since she’d been hired to help out Leila so they could have extended phone coverage. Back when Murph had worked at Broslin PD, when Leila had ruled the front desk uncontested, everything had been sparse and in military order. Now they had lucky bamboos all over the place, and inspirational quotes, and instead of sayinggoodbye, Robin might sayMay the angels be with youas you left, if she was distracted.
“Reading palms at the Mushroom Festival?” Murph asked. Most years she did that, volunteered as part of their fundraiser, usually next to the face-painting tent.
“Going to Lily Dale for a psychic convention. I skipped it last year and regretted it. I have a lot of friends there, and when I don’t see them, I miss them. Speaking of which… How is Doug? You must miss your brother.” She was the type who kept track of people’s families and genuinely cared.
“Still a dumbass, but you know?” Murph drew up a shoulder, then dropped it. “He’s my brother.”
“And let’s not forget, without him, you wouldn’t have met Kate.”
Murph nodded. “There’s that.”
“He’ll be all right. He’s better off without Felicia. I talked to him the last time he was up here for a visit. I think he’s maturing.”
One would hope.
“I’m proud of him,” Murph told Robin. “He’s alone for the first time in his life, kicking ass and taking names.”
They talked another ten minutes, mostly about the singing group Robin belonged to, Senior Sirens, before Murph drove over to Bing’s place.
They were neighbors, technically. The back of Hope Hill’s acres met Bing’s backyard. Before the center had been built, Bing had owned the entire property. His elaborate log cabin stood at the top of the rise, a long line of minivans filling the driveway. As Murph pulled up to park, two ferocious Rottweilers ran to investigate him.
“Hey there, Peaches.” He jumped from the pickup and petted the dogs. “What’s up, Pickles?”
After they sniffed him all over and licked his hands, the three of them walked up to the house together.
Murph tapped the doorbell, had to ring twice before Bing appeared, feminine laughter and squeals following him.
“If you need help with anything, I’m available.” He was jittery around the eyes, a new look for Broslin’s indomitable police captain. Ethan Bing was a low-key, easygoing guy, calm under duress. Definitely had the right temperament for his job. Didn’t usually appear ready to bolt for the hills.
If anyone asked Murph before this, he would have gone so far as to say that the man could not be rattled. “Everything okay in there?”
Bing stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Sophie is throwing a baby shower for one of her friends. There are twenty women in my house. And all their kids. I thought I was prepared.” He drew a ragged breath. “I was not prepared.”
Murph tried not to laugh. “Hey, I’ve seen live combat, and I don’t think I’d be prepared.”
Bing nodded with gratitude at the show of support. “Listen, women are a mystery, and I usually actually appreciate that. But…they’re making crafts from diapers.”
“Why?” Murph stepped back on instinct, because apparently, some hidden manly-man part of him thought the insanity might be catching.
The captain followed him, putting more distance between himself and the house, as if thinking along the same lines. “I don’t know. I don’t understand anything that’s happened in my house in the past two hours. They just finished a baby-food-tasting contest. They wanted me to eat pureed carrot-squash medley.” Bing grimaced, his eyes asking for understanding. “I’m a man.”
Murph patted him on the shoulder. “I’m appalled on your behalf.”
When Peaches and Pickles nosed them and jumped around at their feet to be included in the show of masculine affection, Bing frowned at the pets. “Traitor dogs. They fled as soon as the women got here.” But he petted them before asking, “Anyway, what brings you by?”
Murph scratched Peaches and Pickles behind their ears. “Emma saw a ghost inside Betty’s house the other night, through the window.”
Bing didn’t get excited about the news. He had more of a clowns-to-the-left-of-me-jokers-to-the-right expression on his face.
“Also,” Murph hurried to add, “she just remembered that a black SUV was parked in front of Betty’s house the day she died. Possibly Amanda Garvey’s car.”
“The pastor’s wife? A visit wouldn’t be unusual. She looks in on the older ladies and delivers casseroles if someone is sick.”
