"How old was she?"
"Her ID says twenty-three."
"She looks older," I said.
"Dieting and too much sun will do that to you." Any flash of humor had gone now. She was somber as she looked up on the cliff above us. "You ready to see the rest?"
"Sure, but I'm a little puzzled about why you called Jeremy and all of us in. It's sad, but she got herself killed, or choked to death, or something. She suffocated, it's horrible, but why call us in?"
"I didn't call in your two bodyguards." For the first time there was true hostility on her face. She pointed down the beach at Rhys. Frost might have been uncomfortable, but Rhys was having a very good time.
He watched everything with an eager eye, smiling, humming the theme song to Hawaii Five-O under his breath. Or at least that's what he'd been humming when he went farther down the beach to watch some of the uniforms wade in the surf. Rhys had already done Magnum, P.I., until Frost told him to stop. Rhys preferred film noir and would always be a Bogart fan at heart, but Bogie wasn't making movies anymore. In the last few months Rhys discovered reruns in color that he actually enjoyed.
He turned toward us and waved, smiling. His white trench coat billowed out around him like wings as he began to trudge his way back up the beach. He had had to take off his tan fedora to keep it from blowing into the sea.
"Rhys is creepy around murder scenes," Detective Lucy said. "He always has such a good time, like he's happy someone's dead."
I didn't know how to explain that Rhys had once been worshipped as a god of death, so death didn't bother him all that much. But that part was best not shared with the police. I said, "You know how much he loves film noir."
"This isn't a movie," she said.
"What's got you all upset, Lucy? I've seen you at worse murder scenes than this. Why are you so ... bothered?"
"You just wait. You won't need to ask once you've seen it."
"Can you just tell me, Lucy, please?"
Rhys came up to us, face all shiny like a kid on Yule morning. "Hi, Detective Tate. There's no burst blood vessels in the girl's eyes, no bruising anywhere that I could find. Does anyone know how she suffocated?"
"You looked at the body?" Her voice was cold.
He nodded, still smiling. "I thought that's what we were here to do."
She pointed a finger at his chest. "You weren't invited to this show. Merry was, and Jeremy was, and Teresa was, but you -- " She poked the finger into his chest, " -- were not."
The smile faded and left his tricolored blue eye cold. "Merry has to have two bodyguards with her at all times. You know that."
"Yeah, I know that." She poked again, hard enough that he was shoved backwards just a little. "But I don't like you around my murder scenes."
"I know the rules, Detective. I haven't messed with your evidence. I've stayed out of the way of everyone from the EMTs to the video photographer."
The wind gusted, blowing her dark hair across her face, so she was forced to take a hand out of her pocket to smooth it back. "Then stay out of my way, too, Rhys."
"Why, what did I do wrong?"
"You enjoy this." The last was almost spit in his face. "You're not supposed to enjoy it." She stalked back up the beach toward the stairs that led up to the road, the parking lot, and the club on its little promontory.
"Who licked her fur the wrong way?" he asked.
"She's creeped out by whatever's up the stairs, and she needs someone to take it out on. You're it."
"Why me?"
Frost had joined us. "Because she is human and humans mourn death. They don't enjoy poking at it like you do."
"That's a lie," Rhys said. "A lot of the detectives enjoy their work, and I know the medical examiner does."
"But they don't go around humming at the crime scene," I said.