parade her vulnerability, this was the thing I found most distasteful.
I thought of those pictures lying out on a desk in the sheriff's office, being viewed by all and sundry. I felt a wave of regret, an almost overwhelming impulse to rush to Deedra's apartment ahead of the law, remove the pictures, and burn them.
Marlon Schuster slammed his hand against the hood of his car, and his sister, who was watching my face rather than his, jumped. I carefully avoided her eyes. Marlon needed to take his display of grief to another, more discreet, location.
"So, you have a key to the apartment?" Marty Schuster asked.
"I do," I said promptly. "And I'm going to give it to you now." I abandoned any quixotic notion of shielding Deedra's true nature from the men and women examining her death. I was sure almost everyone in town had heard that Deedra was free with herself. But would they look for her killer as hard, once they'd seen those pictures? Would they keep their mouths shut, so rumors didn't reach Deedra's mother?
I pressed my lips together firmly. There was nothing I could do, I told myself sternly. Deedra was on her own. I'd set the investigation of her death in motion, but beyond that, I couldn't help her. The cost to myself would be too high.
So thinking, I worked her key off the ring and dropped it in the open palm of Sheriff Marta Schuster. A vague memory stirred, and I wondered if I knew of another key. Yes, I recalled, Deedra kept an emergency key in her stall in the apartment carport. As I opened my mouth to tell the sheriff about this key, she made a chopping gesture to cut off my comment. I shrugged. But I told myself that this was truly my only key, and that because I'd turned over this key, Deedra Dean was out of my life.
"I'll need a list of the people you've seen there," Sheriff Schuster said sharply. She was aching to return to the crime scene, her face turning often to the woods.
I'd already begun to go back to my car. I didn't like being hushed with that chopping hand, it wasn't like I chattered. And I didn't like being ordered.
"I never saw anyone there," I said, my back to the sheriff.
"You ... in the years you cleaned her apartment, you never saw anyone else there?" Marta Schuster's tone let me know she was well aware of Deedra's reputation.
"Her stepfather was there one morning when Deedra was having car trouble."
"And that's all?" Marta Schuster asked, openly disbelieving.
"That's all." Marlon, of course, had been creeping out of there three or four days ago, but she knew about him already and it didn't seem the time to bring that up again.
"That's a little surprising."
I half-turned, shrugging. "You through with me?"
"No. I want you to meet me at the apartment in about two hours. Since you're familiar with Deedra's belongings, you can tell us if anything's missing or not. It would be better if Mrs. Knopp didn't have to do it, I'm sure you agree."
I felt trapped. There was nothing I could say besides, "I'll be there."
My involvement in the troubled life of Deedra Dean was not yet over.
Chapter Two
Camille Emerson would hate me later for not telling her my little news item, but I just didn't want to talk about Deedra's death. Camille was on her way out, anyway, a list clutched in her plump hand.
"I remembered to put the clean sheets out this time," she said with a touch of pride. I nodded, not willing to give a grown woman a pat on the back for doing a simple thing like putting out clean sheets for me to change. Camille Emerson was cheerful and untidy. Though I didn't dislike her - in fact, I felt glad to work for her - Camille was trying to warm up our relationship into some kind of facsimile of friendship, and I found that as irritating as the employers who treated me like a slave.
"See you later!" Camille said finally, giving up on a response. After a second I said, "Good-bye." It was lucky I was in a mood to work hard, since the Emersons had made more than their usual mess since my last visit. There were only four of them (Camille, her husband, Cooper, their two boys) but each Emerson was determined to live in the center of chaos. After spending fifteen minutes one day trying to sort