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Brogan took the goodies into the kitchen, where she found Lucien drooling over the blueberry muffins she’d fixed as Tazzie’s backup. “Those are all yours. I won’t need them after all. Jordan came through for me.”
He eyed the basket. “Let’s see those.”
She held them out of reach. “Not a chance. Make do with the muffins. Jordan only had two to spare.”
“What makes you think Tazzie deserves such a treat?”
“Information isn’t cheap. Besides, don’t you want to know what the social scene was like back in 1978? Tazzie is our best opportunity to tap into her memory from then.”
“Yeah, but I could’ve used a pecan tart.”
“Since when? You usually love my blueberry muffins.” She tilted her head to study his pouty face. “Oh, for goodness sake, I’ll put in a pecan pie order for you with Jordan. Happy now?”
“Relatively speaking,” he muttered, taking his first bite of fresh muffin. “Mmm. Good. This isn’t from a mix, is it?”
“Nope. I threw these together at seven this morning from a recipe I found on the Internet while the coffee dripped. I hadn’t heard from Jordan then. They were already in the oven by the time she texted.”
“My gain.” Between bites, he added, “These are good, tasty.”
“So I see.” Amused, she leaned over and pinched off a piece of muffin, popped it into her mouth. “Not bad for a seven a.m. panicky search. Remind me to ask Maeve where she hid her recipe cards.”
Lucien grunted and asked, “Are we sticking together today or splitting up?”
“We could cover more ground if we split up. But I want to be there when you talk to Zephyr.”
“That sounds like a plan—you butter Tazzie up while I drop in on Richie Plunkett. Then we get together for lunch and head over to see Zephyr.”
“Have you done your homework on Plunkett?”
“I couldn’t find too much about him. Richie was a big deal in high school sports. A few local colleges recruited him to play baseball. But it doesn’t look like he ever made it on campus. That’s probably a story in itself.”
“Sounds like it. It so happens you love baseball. There’s your common ground.”
“I’m dropping in unannounced without calling first. The guy doesn’t even know me.”
“I’m doing that with Tazzie—neighbors calling on neighbors. Afterward, we compare notes on what they told us.”
“Good idea. Where do you want to meet for lunch?”
“Longboards. I’m in the mood for a slice of pizza and a salad.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he ripped off a paper towel for a napkin. “You get Tazzie talking. I’ll get as much out of Richie as I can. But first, I have a question for Brent.”
“About Zephyr.”
“Yep. I want to know why he didn’t make the connection to Lee Willis.”
Twenty minutes later, a cynical Lucien entered the police station. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Eastlyn held the receiver to her ear, jotting down notes from a caller. Colt was at another desk on his laptop—his fingers flying over the keys—talking and typing simultaneously.
Lucien heard Brent’s voice coming from his office, where the chief sat chewing someone out at the lab because of a technical glitch gathering evidence. Despite being on the phone, Brent stood up and waved him in.
Lucien sat down and listened to Brent’s side of the conversation for another five minutes. When the call ended, Brent banged the receiver down into its cradle. “It’s a wonder any murder case gets solved with such incompetence.”
“What happened?”
“When the crime lab carried the blanket box out of the house, it separated into two pieces. It could impact the integrity of the mummified remains.”
“An unfortunate incident. I’m sorry.”
