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“I dunno.” Fletch drops his head back and exhales. “What a fuckin’ mess,” he groans. “I’ve never had to solve four different murders at once, Arch.”
I choke out a laugh and shake my head. “Same. I’m starting to think mafia life might be less stressful.”
Glancing down when my phone trills, I spy Minka’s name on the screen, and look to Fletch. But he only closes his eyes, knowing I’m gonna take the call.
So I swipe to answer, and bring the phone to my ear. “Minka. Are you okay?”
“I’m tired of stupid people,” she complains, but her statement comes with a grin. “Why do you always assume I’m dying or something when I call?”
“It’s called anxiety. What’s up?”
“You’ll never guess who just turned up at the George Stanley. Get this—”
“Roberta McArthur?” I speculate, shaking my head when Minka’s breath cuts on a gasp.
“She’s married to a Benedict McArthur,” I continue, “and Benedict, she claims, is the man in your fridge?”
“How the hell did you know that?” she hisses. “She literally arrived, like, two minutes ago. And if you already knew, then why didn’t you call me and update the case?”
“Because I only found out about two minutes ago. Your friend called me, actually.”
“Myfriend?” I know, even without seeing her face, she scrunches her nose in distaste. “I don’t have friends.”
Hearing her, Fletch chuckles.
“You have loads of friends, Mayet. You just don’t like them back. But I mean I spoke to your Detective Asa.”
“Soph?” she breathes. “She called you? Why?”
“Because Captain Bower is stonewalling me and Fletch on this operative angle. Hewantsthis to be mafia, so he’s demanding we follow the clues down that line.”
“And you don’t agree it’s the right path?”
“I don’t disagree. But I see more than one line here to tug, and blocking my way on one of them makes me kinda curious. So I had a chat with Asa and asked her what we’re looking at with our vic.”
“And she told you about McArthur?”
“Mmhm.” Reaching across with my free hand and grabbing my seatbelt, I drag it back over my torso and fasten it into the clip, prompting Fletch to open his eyes.
“Chief medical examiner just called us on our active,” I tell him. “It’s our duty to report while CSI works this scene.”
“Fuckin’ A.” Re-energized, he fastens his own seatbelt and reseats the hat on his head. “Thanks, Mayet. You just got us out of babysitting duty.”
“You coming here?” she asks.
“Yep. Place Mrs. McArthur somewhere private for us. We’ll need to interview her and get the sitch on Benedict. Sophia said he and Roberta have a kid, so you can probably get Raquel on standby for DNA testing. Though, at this point, it hardly seems worth the effort.”
Dragging the phone from my ear and setting the call on speaker, I turn the car on and slip the stick into reverse. “Be careful with this one, Mayet. She’s in IT too, and with his little switcheroo act on these identities, it makes me wonder if this is the one that controls all the others.”
“I’ll keep my distance. I’m perusing coffee machine pamphlets anyway. Aubree owes me a gold standard machine at rock bottom pricing.”
“Did she admit to breaking the last one yet?”
“Yeah,” she snorts. “She’s got no poker face at all. Kinda justifies my reasoning for not telling her everything about my life.”
“You tell her plenty.”
“But noteverything, everything, ya know?”
