his eyes out."
"Ew." Becca scrunched her nose in distaste. "He's the one been seeing her so hot and heavy."
I nodded. I wondered how well the sheriff would investigate her own brother.
"Do you have your key?" Becca asked.
"I gave it to them."
"Good move," she said. "They got my copy of her key, too."
I shifted from foot to foot. "I better go up. I'm supposed to tell them if anything's missing."
"See you tonight," she called after me, and I lifted my hand in acknowledgment.
Deedra's apartment was the right rear, just above Becca's. It overlooked the paved rear parking lot, not an inspiring view. It held a carport divided into eight stalls, a Dumpster, and not much else. I wasn't sure who, besides Deedra, lived on the second floor now, but I'd known many of the people who'd passed through. Claude Fried-rich, the chief of police and a friend of mine, had moved from the second floor to the first after a leg injury. I figured he and Deedra had been the in the building the longest. Generally, the eight units of the so-called Shakespeare Garden Apartments stayed full because the units were a nice size and fairly reasonable. I was pretty sure Becca had gone up on the rent as the leases ran out, because I had a faint memory of Deedra complaining, but it hadn't been an outrageous increase.
I knocked on Deedra's door. The same tall officer answered, the guy who'd been at the crime scene. He filled up the doorway; after a long second, he stepped aside so I could enter. He was lucky looking at me was a free activity, or he would be broke by now.
"Sheriff's in there," he said, pointing toward Deedra's bedroom. But instead of following his hint, I stood in the center of the living room and looked around. I'd been in to clean the past Friday, and today was Monday, so the place still looked good; Deedra was careless with herself, but she had always been fairly tidy with everything else.
The furniture seemed to be in the same spots, and all the cushions were straight. Her television and VCR were untouched; rows of videotapes sat neat and square on their little bookcase by the television. The brand-new CD player was on the stand by the television. All Deedra's magazines were in the neat stack I'd arranged a few days before, except for a new issue left open on the coffee table in front of the couch, where Deedra usually sat when she watched television. Her bills were piled in the shallow basket where she'd tossed them.
"Notice anything different?" The tall deputy was standing by the door and keeping quiet, a point in his favor.
I shook my head and resumed my examination.
"Emanuel," he said suddenly.
Was this some kind of religious statement? My eyebrows drew in and I regarded him with some doubt.
"Clifton Emanuel."
After a distinct pause, I understood. "You're Clifton Emanuel," I said tentatively. He nodded.
I didn't need to know his name, but he wanted me to know it. Maybe he was a celebrity freak, True Crime Division, Famous Victims Subsection. Like Sharon Tate, but alive.
Maybe he was just being polite.
I was relieved when the sheriff stuck her head out of Deedra's bedroom and jerked it back in a motion that told me I'd better join her.
"Everything in the living room okay?" she asked.
"Yes."
"What about this room?"
I stood at the foot of Deedra's bed and turned around slowly. Deedra had loved jewelry, and it was everywhere; necklaces, earrings, bracelets, an anklet or two. The impression was that the jewelry was strewn around, but if you looked closer, you would notice that the backs were on the earrings and the earrings were in pairs. The necklaces were lain straight and fastened so they wouldn't tangle. That was normal. Some of the drawers were not completely shut - there again, that was typical Deedra. The bed was made quite tidily; it was queen-size, with a high, carved headboard that dominated the room. I lifted the corner of the flowered bedspread and peered beneath it.
"Different sheets than I put on last Friday," I said.
"Does that mean something?"
"Means someone slept in it with her since then."
"Did she ever wash the sheets and put them right back on the bed?"
"She never washed anything, especially sheets. She had seven sets. I did her laundry."
Marta Schuster looked startled. Then she looked disgusted. "So if I count the sheet sets in the laundry hamper, I'll come up with the number of times she