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“There’s no time to argue,” Jessie told him. “If we’re lucky, we can get there before the case detectives.”
“I thought you didn’t want to alert them to your involvement,” he reminded her.
She finished tying her shoes and stood up.
“That was before I realized we were dealing with a possible serial killer,” she replied. “This isn’t just a personal favor to my psychiatrist anymore. This is an ongoing threat to public safety. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have me.”
“Really?” Grover challenged, not getting up from his chair. “Because in my experience, police detectives aren’t big fans of unrequested assistance from celebrities who horn in on their work.”
“I’ll try to ignore that you broad-bushed me as a celebrity rather than using the official title I’ve earned: criminal profiler.”
She wasn’t really upset with the bodyguard. He was making perfectly valid points. But she wasn’t above using any tool at her disposal to get to that scene, including guilt trips. She started moving toward the hall leading to the garage.
“Titles be damned,” he said. “If you think I’m taking you to the location where a woman was murdered, you must be suffering from additional after-effects of your concussion.”
He stopped suddenly, apparently realizing that he had gone too far. Jessie was happy to use his mistake against him.
“That was a low blow, Grover,” she chided, using her gravest tone. “I’m just trying to get by here. You don’t need to make light of it.”
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
“I forgive you,” she told him without hesitation. “But come on now—do you really think I’m at any risk? Unless he’s an idiot, the murderer has long since left. Besides, I can’t think of many safer places to be. We’ll be surrounded by cops, and the whole crime scene will be secured and cordoned off. Your job should be easy there.”
More than any of the shaming she’d done, that last point seemed to resonate with him.
“All right,” he said. “But we do the same thing as before with Quentin Benes. I check everything out before you join me. And no tripping anyone. In fact, no looking askance at anyone.”
“I promise,” she told him, “No askance lookage of any kind. Now let’s go. We’re losing valuable time.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“They’re not going to let us in,” Grover told her over the phone as she waited in the car outside Isabel Shea’s house.
“Are the detectives there yet?” she asked.
“No, but I don’t think that’s why,” he said. “They just aren’t letting folks traipse through their crime scene.”
“Did you drop my name?” she wanted to know.
“You were just bristling earlier when I called you a celebrity,” he objected. “And I’m trying to keep your presence a secret. So no, I didn’t mention your name.”
“Then of course they’re not going to let us in,” she replied. “You’re just some random Brit asking to look in on a murder scene. I’m surprised they haven’t arrested you. I’ll be right there.”
She hung up before he could protest, got out of the car, and hurried over. Grover met her halfway.
“So now you’re embracing the celebrity thing?” he muttered.
“Whatever gets the job done,” she whispered back as they walked toward the guest house and the officer stationed outside.
Jessie took note of the main house. It wasn’t that much bigger than the back one, which looked to be a converted garage. In fact, compared to many of the other homes on the street, it was more of a cottage. Jessie hadn’t had time to look into Isabel Shea’s background on the drive over, but it was clear that she wasn’t rolling in dough the way that Gemma Britton was.
As she dipped under the police tape and walked up to the officer standing at the front door, she took off the cap that Grover had insisted she wear coming here and shook out her hair. Hoping that the incredibly young officer with the acne and nervous disposition recognized her, she flashed her warmest smile.
“Hi, Officer…Benton,” she said, looking at his nametag, “how are you?”
“Like I said to your friend there, I’m afraid you can’t be here, ma’am,” he told her, his voice jangly with anxiety. She didn’t know whether that was because he was new to the force or because of what he’d seen inside the guest house. Either way, she intended to use it to her advantage.
“Excellent work, Officer Benton,” she said, pulling out her ID. “Polite but forceful. That’s how you need to be with lookie-loos. But are you sure those same rules apply to criminal profilers?”
