Suspects. Were we? I didn’t have PJ’s encyclopedic knowledge of Forensic Files and every single CSI series, but I suppose it made sense—first on the scene and all that.

Detective Huber should play professional poker, because although her expression wasn’t unkind, she definitely wasn’t giving anything away. “Nobody is a suspect yet. We treat any death scene as a potential homicide until proven otherwise or we risk missing critical evidence.”

“I warned you, Tash.” PJ’s whisper wasn’t as quiet as he probably imagined. “The person who makes the 9-1-1 call is always in the cross-hairs. It never fails.”

This time, both Huber’s eyebrows rose. “Let me guess. Forensic Files fan?” PJ nodded. “Then you should know that forensics doesn’t just identify the guilty, it also clears the innocent.” She gestured to a uniformed deputy who was standing on the lawn as motionless as Ava’s collection of garden gnomes. “After we bag your shoes, Deputy Ramirez will stay with you here on the porch and keep you company until Bae and I are done touring the scene.”

“I can’t believe this,” PJ moaned as he untied his shoelaces. “Even if we’re not technically suspects, my dreams of being a person of interest involve meeting my soulmate across a crowded dance floor. And while handcuffs might have been involved at some point, they were always the fun kind, lined with lambs-wool or tasteful pink fur.”

As I slipped off my heels and dropped them into the bag, flakes of crushed crystal fell off the soles. My stomach roiled. We had stomped all over that death scene. What evidence had we already destroyed?

Huber handed us both a pair of blue paper booties. PJ held his up, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “These are so not my color.” He slipped them on over his teal and purple argyle socks. “I hope Ava’s lawn service has kept the thistles and blackberry brambles under control, otherwise the walk to your car is going to be murder.” He jerked his chin up, eyes wide as he stared at Huber. “I mean painful. Not murder. Because murder wouldn’t be anything to joke about. Even if that’s what happened. Which it might not have. Happened.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “God, just shoot me now.” He winced. “Not that anyone should shoot anyone. Definitely not me. I don’t want to shoot. Be shot. Do the shooting. Can we go now?”

Huber shook her head. “We’ll want to take statements from both of you separately. If you’ll join Deputy Ramirez now, I hope we won’t keep you waiting long.”

I padded a few steps across Ava’s porch, PJ right behind me. The rough boards pricked my bare feet through the thin blue booties—the whole deck was in need of a light sanding and a fresh coat of paint. Why am I thinking of that now? Deputy Ramirez gestured to one of Ava’s bright yellow Adirondack chairs in an invitation to be seated.

I eyed its tilted back and very short legs. “If I sit there, do you promise to help me up again? Once I get that low, in this dress? No way will I be escaping under my own steam.”

Ramirez managed to remain stoic for about three seconds before the corners of his mouth twitched and then broadened into a wide grin. That, combined with his uniform, reminded me of Ponch from CHiPs and I couldn’t help return the smile.

So sue me—PJ has his cinematic catnip and I have mine.

“You can count on me, ma’am.” He held out his hand to help me lower myself into the chair. “I’m here to protect and serve.”

Once I was settled, he motioned for PJ to sit on the swing at the other end of the porch several feet away. PJ’s jaw sagged, and he exchanged a wide-eyed glance with me. He mouthed suspects. “Can’t we sit together? There are two chairs.”

“Sorry. Not until after the detectives have a chance to question you.”

PJ sighed, but trudged over and plopped down. The swing was high enough that his bootied toes barely touched the porch, and his boa fluttered in the breeze as the swing gently swayed. Why didn’t Ramirez offer me that seat? At least it has cushions and an even chance that my hips wouldn’t be level with my ankles.

I revised my opinion of his cuteness as I rubbed my arms where the gooseflesh had risen again. This time, though, it was from the chilly air and not from the shock of discovering Ava’s body.

At least I didn’t think so, but shock was a funny thing.

I huddled in my chair with PJ casting forlorn looks at me every few minutes until Bae and Huber emerged from Ava’s house. I expected them to split up, one of them taking PJ’s statement and the other taking mine, but they both headed for me first.

Huber was wearing her poker face again, but Bae might have been carved from granite. I struggled to sit forward and as promised, Ramirez offered me a hand. Bae glanced at PJ, then motioned for me to follow them down the steps to the front lawn where the coolness of the grass through the thin bootie soles chilled me as though it were November instead of June . Even without shoes on, I had a couple of inches on Bae and a couple more on Huber, but that didn’t make either of them less intimidating.

“She’s dead, isn’t she? I mean, it was pretty obvious, but it’s true?” At Huber’s nod, I pressed my hands against my cheeks. “What happened? How did she die?”

“That’s for the coroner to determine,” Bae said severely. “She’s okayed the EMTs to transport the body to the morgue, but she won’t have a report until she conducts her examination.” He stared pointedly at my hands. “Tell me, Ms. Van Buren, is it normal for you to wear gloves while visiting your acquaintances?”

I frowned at the accusation in his tone. “They’re cocktail gloves. PJ and I were on our way to Martini Blues.”

“And you always wear gloves for cocktails?”

“Back down, Cameron,” Huber said. “It’s not that unusual. Not for that venue.”

He faced her, his mouth turned down. “Are you telling me you wear gloves when you head out for a beer?”

“No, but my wife does.” She shrugged at his disbelieving expression. “It’s a thing.” She nudged him with her elbow and something that was almost a smirk flickered across her face. “Why don’t you go take Mr. Purdy’s statement. I’ll chat with Ms. Van Buren.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sarah…”

His voice held a definite note of warning, but it didn’t faze Huber. She met his stare calmly. “Unless you want me to take Mr. Purdy’s statement.” She checked her watch. “Make up your mind, Cam. We’ve got an investigation to run.”

Detective Bae glared at his partner, then rubbed the back of his neck, muttering something under his breath. But he stalked up the porch steps and over to PJ. When PJ tried to stand, the swing belled out behind him, causing him to stumble, catapulting him onto Bae’s chest. Bae caught him by the shoulders and steadied him, then dropped his hands. Fedora askew, PJ tossed his boa over his shoulder and lifted his chin. Oh lord, did Bae intend to intimidate him? PJ was already so agitated…

“Ms. Van Buren?”

Huber’s quiet voice called my attention away from PJ’s standoff with Detective Hottie. “I’m sorry. What was that?”

“What was your relationship to the deceased?”

Deceased. My knees wobbled, and I took a wider stance to steady myself. Ava is deceased. “Oh god. Her daughter. I have to call her daughter.”

“Easy there.” Huber took my elbow and walked me over to a garden bench flanked by two gnomes. “Please have a seat. We’ll contact her next of kin.”

I bit my lip. If I were the one who’d lost a loved one, I’d want the news broken to me by somebody I knew. Somebody who cared. “But—”

“Until we know more about what happened here, you need to leave such communication to the police.”

I needed to tell Pops, too. That wouldn’t be an easy conversation. “But—”

“I’m afraid I really must insist. You can’t discuss this case with anybody unless you want to risk interfering with an ongoing investigation.”

I stared up at her. She and Bae were playing things close to their chests, but they must have some idea by now whether Ava’s death was an accident. Although how likely was it that she trashed her own craft room, jammed a die into her own throat, and collapsed in her closet—closing the door behind her? But who would want to murder Ava?

I had to cover my mouth to hide an inappropriate laugh because I could almost hear PJ’s voice in my head: “You mean besides everybody who knew her?” But then the EMTs emerged from the house with a black body bag on a stretcher and I lost all desire to laugh.

In fact, I was afraid I might throw up.

“Ms. Van Buren, I know this is difficult, but the sooner we can get through your statement, the sooner we can let you go.”

I nodded, but couldn’t take my eyes off that body bag as the EMTs loaded it—her—into the ambulance.

She beckoned to Ramirez, who trotted down the porch steps to join us. “The deputy will be recording your responses. Please state your full name and address.”

“LaTashia Danielle Fredericka Van Buren.” I had to give her props—she didn’t even blink at my mile-long moniker. I gave her my address. “But please call me Tash.”

“Very well, Tash. What was your relationship to Ava Cornell?”

“We’re—we were friends of a sort, although my grandfather was the one with the real connection. After her husband passed, Pops asked me to reach out to her, and she joined one of my crafting circles.”

“What kind of crafts?”

“Scrapbooking and paper crafts, mostly. I belong to others, but paper crafting was Ava’s primary interest.”

“When did you last see Ms. Cornell alive?”

“Sunday at about 3:30 p.m.” The ambulance glided away, siren silent and lights doused. No need to hurry anymore. She’s gone. “She attended a class I taught at Central Paper and Supply. A Christmas card class.”

“Did she seem in good spirits?”

“Yes. Well, good for her.”

“She was a difficult person?”

I took a deep breath, my grandmother’s strict rule about not speaking ill of the dead warring with the need not to interfere with the investigation. “She could be. Before she retired, she was a critical care nurse. Her patients, including my grandfather, appreciated her although her coworkers were less than complimentary. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, and she wasn’t fussy about who she considered foolish.”

“I see.”

“After her retirement, with her husband gone and her daughter living up in Seattle, she became a bit of a curmudgeon. Demanding.”

“Do you think she made enemies as a result?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Some? Although I’d call them non-friends as opposed to enemies per se.”

“Can you think of anyone who might wish her harm?”

PJ’s mental commentary again: Other than everybody? But he didn’t mean that any more than I did. “Not bodily harm, no. Nothing more than serious annoyance when she snapped a rare die out from under their nose or criticized their taste in alcohol inks.”

Huber glanced at the porch where the crime scene techs were peeling out of their protective gear. “Why were you here this evening?”

“Ava left her basic kit at the store after the class on Sunday. I intended to return it to her after our regular meeting earlier this evening, but she didn’t show up.”

“Was that unusual?”

“Very. But she wasn’t answerable to any of us. The scrapbooking circle meetings aren’t mandatory—they’re just a chance for us to work together on projects of our choice. We hold the meetings at the store so we have ready access to any supplies we might need.”

“What made you decide to stop by?” She gestured to my outfit. “Clearly you and Mr. Purdy had other plans.”

“I was a little worried. Plus, crafters are quite attached to our own kits.” I lifted my palms in a shrug. “We get them arranged just how we like them so being without them—”

“I understand. My wife is a quilter, and the gods help anybody who comes between her and her sewing basket.”

I smiled shakily. “So you get it. Good.” I watched the techs pack up. Their expressions didn’t give anything away either. “Since Ava’s house—this place—isn’t too far out of the way, I convinced PJ to stop by here and return the kit.” I peered through the gloom at PJ, who was looking decidedly mulish in his interview with Bae.

“Did he take much convincing?”

“Hmmm? Oh. No. He’s just a very creative complainer.”

The techs headed toward their van. One of them gestured to Bae, who left PJ on the porch in order to confer with her. PJ gave me a goggle-eyed stare and mouthed oh my god.

Bae nodded to Huber, and she looked down at me. “I’d like you to walk me through what happened between your arrival and the 9-1-1 call. Do you feel up to that?”

Since I didn’t have socks, I settled for pulling up my gloves. “As I’ll ever be.”