27

SHARON POKED HER HEAD through the door as Mike was plowing through some of the mountain of paperwork generated by two murders. Mike rubbed his hands across his face—was it really only ten o’clock in the morning?—and smiled when he saw the ice-blue eyes regarding him from around the edge of the door.

“Doing anything important, boss?” she asked, “because I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Important? Those two State Police clowns are going to make sure I don’t have anything important to do from now until they leave town. And before you say it, I’m already well aware that you told me so.”

Sharon smiled. “I wasn’t going to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Really?” Mike asked, surprised.

“Nah. That would be too easy. I like a challenge.”

“Thanks a lot. Even my only ally is giving me the business.” Mike straightened the stack of official forms that were destined to end up gathering dust in filing cabinets and cardboard cartons and messy closets all over the State of Maine and moved them to the corner of his desk. “I need an ‘out’ basket,” he said, “so I can feel like I’m accomplishing something as I sit at my desk with my thumb up my ass for eight hours a day.”

He sighed. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for administrative work.”

“Feeling sorry for yourself, are you?”

“Damn right,” he answered. “I’ve got to get out from behind this desk. Want to help me?”

“I know you’re getting old,” she said with a sardonic grin, “but I’m pretty sure you can at least get out of your chair without my help.”

Mike laughed. “Okay, okay, you win; I’ll agree to stop feeling sorry for myself if you’ll agree to stop making me feel like an idiot.”

“Fair enough. So what is it you really want my help with?”

“I’m going to take a ride out to the morgue to speak with Mr. Happy himself, Dr. Affeldt, even though Dumb and Dumber from Portland told me not to bother, that it would just be a ‘duplication of effort.’ Idiots.”

“You really don’t like those guys much, do you?”

“Is it that obvious? They’ve been here half a day, they don’t want any input at all, they’re running around covering bases we’ve already covered and meanwhile, who knows how long it will be before someone else ends up looking like a rag doll attacked by a rabid dog? No, to answer your question, I don’t like those guys much.

“So anyway,” Mike continued, feeling marginally better after venting, “Are you interested in taking a ride out to the morgue with me? You could think of it as a date. Minus the fun, of course.”

Sharon whistled. “A morgue? How can I say no? You really know how to show a girl a good time.”

Mike nodded, leaning back in his chair. “It’s what I do. I figure it’s the perfect place to take you—I can’t help but look good compared to the stiffs that hang out there.”