Heather Graham - Picture Me Dead

As to the obvious…

A woman had been murdered. Brutally.

She had been dead for at least several weeks, maybe several months.

Her ears had been slashed, as if it had been a ritualistic killing.

He knew damned well that he had to be careful; he couldn’t assume that her death was a continuation of a killing spree from the past. Every possibility had to be explored.

“Copycat!” Bryan Jay shouted out as he walked away. “There could be a copycat killer out there as well, right?”

He refused to respond.

Copycat…

Yeah, copycat…

Maybe. And maybe not.

As he once again approached the murder scene, he saw that Marty, Doc Gannet and Mandy Nightingale were talking together.

Marty glanced his way, and he knew. They were talking about him. Worrying about him.

Well, there was no need.

He was fine.

This time, he damned well meant to catch the real killer.

First thing Monday morning, Ashley was busy digging through the stacks of newspaper Nick had bundled neatly at the back door, ready to go out with the recycling. She was startled when she heard her uncle behind her. “Ashley, what are you doing?”

She jumped, sorry that she had woken him in her frenzy. The stacks were no longer neat. She had tried first for Saturday’s paper, thinking the accident would surely have been written up in the local section. But she hadn’t been able to find it.

She grimaced. “Hey, sorry I woke you. We saw an accident on our way up to Orlando. I was trying to find out what happened. Did you hear anything?”

Nick scratched the overnight growth of stubble on his chin. At fifty-two, he was a great-looking man, with lots of character sketched into the lines of his face. He didn’t look particularly young—a lifetime in the sun and wind had seen to that. But his bone structure was excellent, and all time had done was weather in an appeal that hinted at an intriguing life lived to the fullest. The gray streaks coming into his sandy hair fit well with the original coloring, and he had cool blue eyes that seemed to hold an ancient wisdom.

Wisdom be damned. At that moment, he shrugged, shook his head and yawned. He was wearing a bathrobe over pajama pants and knotted the robe as he made his way to the coffee brewer, reached for the pot and found it empty. He stared at her blankly. She always made coffee.

“Sorry, I’m afraid this accident has been haunting me,” she said, reaching behind him for a filter in the cabinet while he poured water into the carafe.

“No, no…it’s all right. I am capable of making coffee, you know,” he said, his tone a bit indignant. Of course, that was Nick. He was an independent man. He’d raised her. And he could damn well take care of himself. Nick was impatient with anyone who couldn’t manage the basics of getting by on their own.

“You really didn’t hear anything about an accident?” she asked him.

“Hey, it’s Miami. There are lots of accidents. In fact, it’s a strange day where there isn’t a pile-up on one of the highways,” he reminded her.

“Do you know where the local section from Saturday is? There ought to be a blurb or something. I mean, a man was killed. At least, I’m pretty sure he was dead.”

“Um…yeah, I’ll get it for you. It’s in the bedroom.”

“I can go.”

“Sharon is in the shower, I think,” he murmured.

“Oh. Well, I can wait until you have your first cup of coffee. It’s just been bugging me all weekend.”

“You didn’t have fun?”

“Of course I had fun.”

“Thinking about a dead man on the highway the whole time?” he queried. “You want some toast or something.”

“No, thanks, I’m not hungry.”

“You’re going off to a full day at the academy. You should eat.”

“I had something ghastly late last night at a rest stop,” she told him. “That will do me until lunch.”

“Something ghastly?”

“I think it was supposed to be a hamburger.”

“Ah, so you young ladies crawled in really late. Of course, I figured it had to be late, since we keep the place open ’til twelve on Sundays and I didn’t turn in until after one.”

“Three,” Ashley admitted.

“Great,” he said, mildly sarcastic. “You’ve had lots of sleep, and you probably have a full day ahead.”

“Every day is a full day,” Ashley admitted. “But I’m young. I’m sure I can deal with lack of sleep at this point in my life.”

Nick arched a brow, trying to decide if her response was in respect to the fact that he wasn’t quite so young anymore and decided he wasn’t going to wait any longer for coffee. He pulled the carafe out from beneath the dripping coffee and slid in a large mug in its place. He was quick—only a few drops missed the mug and hit the heating unit below.

“I’m pouring you a cup anyway, because you may be young—and implying that I’m old—but you sure as hell look as if you’re going to need it. Did you sleep at all on that trip?”

She laughed. “I would never dream of implying that you’re old. You’re in your prime. And, yes, honestly, we did get some sleep. We went to a show on Friday night, then went to one of the dance clubs, got in late and slept until three the next afternoon. We didn’t stay out so late the next night and still slept until twelve, which put Karen into a panic, because she didn’t want to get charged for an extra night. So I’m actually in pretty good shape—even if your comment implied that I’m looking haggard.”

He sipped his coffee, leaned on an elbow and grinned. “Most of the good cops I know look haggard. Goes with the territory.”

“So you think I’m going to be a good cop?”

“You’d better be. And I’ll get that paper for you. Good almost-cops don’t show up at the academy late. Hop in the shower and get dressed. I’ll find the local news from Saturday for you.”

She nodded, drained the coffee he’d poured for her, and headed off for her room and a shower.

Nick’s had been there forever. In one of those strange twists of fate, her uncle had bought the place from another Nicholas, an old-time seafarer who had bought the house and restaurant on the beach in the nineteen-twenties, when the Greater Miami area was still in its small-town infancy. Times had changed since then, and the land value had risen quite high. But Nick’s remained the same. It was largely built out of Dade County pine, wood that was now rare and valuable. A dock led straight to the restaurant from the marina, where many people kept pleasure craft and some maintained houseboats. The long bar and restaurant area were at the front, facing the marina. The more intimate family kitchen and an expansive living room for the main house could be accessed from both the restaurant kitchen and the office, which sat behind the bar. Nick’s bedroom suite was above the living room, while Ashley had her own wing on the ground floor. She could get to it through the living room or through a small private entrance to the right of the restaurant. Like the rest of the place, it appealed to her. There was a rustic feel to the entire setup, but just the same, Nick was a stickler for cleanliness, codes and organization, so though it all had a comfortable, homey feel, it was also well-kept and aesthetically pleasing—at least to anyone fond of the sea and nautical decor. Above the entrance from the living room to her wing, the teeth and jaws from a great white shark had been mounted, and a nineteenth century ship’s bell sat encased in a show cabinet beside it. The wall itself was lined with photographs—as well as mounted fish—and she loved them. There were many of her parents, some of her mom and Nick when they’d been growing up, some of her with her folks. One of her favorites was her with her dad in his uniform, and another was of her with both her mother and her father on the day she’d caught her first big snapper in a children’s tournament.