Page 20 of Murder Notes

“Why the hell are you here, Lilah? And don’t tell me it’s to see me. You don’t even return my calls.”

I lean on the counter, my arms folding in front of me. “There’s a murder in Manhattan that I’m trying to connect to two in Los Angeles.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“It’s close enough to merit a visit home,” I say, the word home uncomfortable on my tongue.

“That’s bullshit. You’re here on the night that a murder is discovered. I assume it’s connected.”

It’s not really a question, but since he’s looking at me like he wants an answer, it’s easier to give him one than not. “I believe it is,” I concur.

“Your boss is a bastard. Loose lead, my ass.” His gaze sharpens. “Did you follow it or did it follow you?”

“I have no reason to believe it followed me.”

“And yet it happened the night you arrived.”

“You’ve already stated these facts.”

“You don’t think it’s odd timing?”

“It’s curious.”

“Curious?” he demands. “It sounds like a gift left by an admiring killer or a damn threat.”

“Fuck me, Andrew,” I say, moving him away from the case. “I don’t remember you saying damn this much.”

“I damn sure remember you saying fuck all the damn time.”

“Fond memories, aren’t they?”

He scowls at me and then his phone starts ringing again. He grabs it from his pocket and glances at the number. “Dad,” he tells me, answering before I can demand he not. “She’s right here,” he says to him, eyeing me. “Yes. Hold on. I’ll put you on speaker.”

“No!” I mouth, waving my hands, but he does it anyway and sets the phone on the counter.

“You’re live with Lilah,” Andrew announces.

“Why the hell are you here without telling us?” comes the gruff, fierce demand of my father’s familiar voice. “How about the gift of a phone call followed by a hug, instead of a dead body?”

“Good to hear your voice, Dad,” I say, hugging myself again, and now it’s my turn to glower at Andrew.

My brother, in turn, seems to have confused my scowl with a smile and answers for me. “She wanted to surprise us,” Andrew replies.

“With a dead body?” my father demands.

“Oh Jesus fuck, you Love men are drama queens. I didn’t drop a dead body off when I got here.”

“Fuck?” my father demands. “Your mother—”

“Was trapped by the spotlight,” I say, “or she would have been letting it fly, too.”

Andrew jumps in and gets to the point. “Are you claiming jurisdiction on this case?”

“Not yet,” I say, “but I need full access to every detail.”

“I’ve had three phone calls about you being at the crime scene,” my father says. “It’s sent tongues wagging. People are nervous.”

“Murder does that to people,” I say.