“NO MATTER WHAT, he’s a good wit,” Woody said when she turned to go back inside. He leaned in the doorway, a grin tugging at his mouth.

“He’s a show-off,” she said, and Woody laughed. He’d been her first training officer and was a good friend, a valuable resource. Even with the teasing, Abby was glad he was there.

“But what he saw is helpful —gold, I think,” she continued as she reached the doorway and he stepped aside to let her in. “Let’s forget Luke P. Murphy right now. What do you know about my victim?”

Woody followed her back into the house. “Cora Murray was old Long Beach money. You know that Victorian place —the big one near Cherry Park they just made a bed-and-breakfast?”

Abby nodded.

“Her dad built that, and a bunch of these.” He knocked on the yellowed lath-and-plaster wall. “Little two-bedroom bungalows in working-class neighborhoods.” He paused, thumbs hooked in his Sam Browne.

They were back in the living room. The lab tech was still processing evidence.

“And . . .” Woody reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, his voice lowered to a whisper. “She’s related to Lowell Rollins. She was his aunt, I think.”

“The governor?” Abby’s head jerked around. Forget left field, this news was out of the realm of consideration.

Woody held her gaze. He was one of only a few other people in her life who knew of her connection with Governor Lowell Rollins. The room seemed to shift and Abby had to sit. She stepped into the kitchen and sat at the small table, looking toward the tech but not really seeing her.

“His chief of staff will probably handle this,” Woody said, taking the chair across from Abby. She forced herself to look at him, praying her face stayed blank. Worry now creased his brow.

Abby didn’t say anything. Only a handful of people knew of her struggle with this issue. Ethan was the only person not connected in some way who knew who she was and what drew her back to Long Beach. The draw was so strong Aunt Dede had warned her the day she was promoted to homicide.

“Be careful, Abby. Obsession is never a good thing,” Aunt Dede had said. “It clouds your mind and steals your perspective, telling you that you can do things in your own strength when in truth you need to trust God.”

One case defines you. . . .

Abby took a deep breath now and decided to ignore what was screaming in her ear. I do trust God. This was no obsession; it was a tragic murder case with an unimaginable connection.

“I need to be prepared for anything,” she told Woody.

His expression was one of understanding. “You might not have to deal with him.” Woody’s tone told her that this was what he hoped.

But even as she agreed with him, Abby knew that was not what she wanted.

For a minute she let her gaze travel over the room, and neither spoke. Woody’s leather gear squeaked when he moved, and outside, faint daylight began to brighten the windows. Focus, she told herself. Cora deserves my focus.

When Abby spoke again, she was certain her cop face was solid.

“Was he . . . ? Was Rollins —” she cocked an eyebrow —“ever involved in her life? Is this going to be hugely political?” Skirting the hard issue, she felt her balance return.

Woody made a face. “News guys will jump on it no matter what. As for his involvement with Cora . . . well, she didn’t care much for Rollins or any politician. When she had a car, there was a bumper sticker on it that said, ‘Don’t act stupid. We have politicians for that.’”

Abby smiled and tilted her head toward Woody, who rolled his eyes and went on. He’d never press past her comfort zone; she knew that.

“I liked the old lady; she had a lot of spunk. Cora never married and I think she did the best she could with a dwindling trust fund. Plus, she treasured her independence.”

They both gazed at the body for a minute.

Woody cursed. “A killer knocking off old ladies.”

“And the victim radius is not that big. I figure our guy has to be someone local, maybe a parolee. The burglary part is snatch and grab, so he’s close. He’s cruising alleys.” Her investigator’s legs were back, and she stood.

“Of course you’d figure that. I trained you, didn’t I? Murphy thinks it’s a kid.”

She brought her hands together, interlacing her fingers. “He saw what he thinks was a kid climb out the window. But a kid doing this doesn’t wash for me. Plus, the staging is odd.” She shook her head. “I’m thinking small man.”

“Probably a safe bet.”

“I don’t pay much attention to politics. Is the governor in town or in Sacramento?” Abby asked, her tone now casual, unconcerned. The governor and his wife had a beautiful house on the peninsula, in the upscale Naples area of the city, but as far as she knew, he was rarely there.

“He’s probably in Sacramento. He seldom stays here in town anymore. But if he is here, and you’re pegged to do the notification, I’ll help.”

“Thanks. Notification duty will have to be bounced off the watch commander. I’ll have time for breakfast before a decision, I bet. Join me? My treat.”

“Deal.”