Free 9 Hell on Wheels by Sue Ann Jaffarian Page A

helping?”
    His good eye lit up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. “Sure, especially now.”
    “Find out what you can about cyanide. How easy is it to obtain and from where? How fast does it work? Stuff like that.”
    “You don’t think Rocky’s wife killed herself, do you?”
    “I don’t know about that, but I don’t think she killed Peter Tanaka.”
    I thought about the young woman vomiting in the ladies’ room. How her hair had felt like strands of silk in my hands as I held it away from the toilet bowl. How young and vulnerable she’d looked when I’d helped clean up her face and patch her makeup after. How frightened she’d looked at the game on Sunday. Now she was maggot food.
    I could tell from Steele’s posture that he wasn’t so sure. “I’ve always heard that poison is a woman’s weapon.”
    “Maybe,” I admitted. “But it’s also a premeditated weapon. I just can’t see Miranda Henderson planting poison in a water bottle, then sitting there with a cold heart to watch it do its job.”

Eight
    I was heading home, my mind only half on my driving. The other half was thinking of Rocky—first accused of murder, then his wife accused of murder, and now losing her. I thought about Miranda and wanted to know more about what had happened to her and why. Where had she gone after leaving Balboa Park? Had she met up with someone? Was she heading to Mexico to disappear? Or was her death just a random, senseless killing? Maybe it was suicide.
    Behind me someone blasted their horn. I snapped out of my stupor to find the red light I had been waiting for was now green. I moved forward, quickly going through the intersection before the car in my rearview mirror rammed me through it.
    I was halfway home when I got a call from Zee. Using my hands-free feature, I answered it. “Hi.”
    “When were you going to tell me about the murder?” Zee launched without even a hello.
    “Which one?” I asked calmly, even though I was anything but calm inside.
    “Let’s start with the murder of the quadriplegic in San Diego. Weren’t you and Greg down there this weekend for that tournament?”
    “Yes, and we saw the whole thing.”
    “You saw it? The body or the murder?”
    “Both.”
    “And when were you going to tell me about this?” Before I could answer, Zee continued with her rant. “I was at my mother’s all weekend helping her prepare and serve a church luncheon, and I got home late last night. I didn’t see the news until tonight.”
    “I was planning on telling you over lunch today, Zee, but with Steele’s accident and all, that didn’t happen.”
    “You could have told me when you called earlier today.” From her tone, I knew Zee was standing with one hand on a wide hip, her mouth a thin line of disapproval.
    “It didn’t seem like a telephone kind of discussion.”
    “You’re not involved with this, are you?”
    There it was: the bonus question I knew she’d been dying to ask.
    “Like I said, Greg and I saw what happened. We were questioned by the San Diego police, along with the other spectators, then released.”
    “But aren’t the Hendersons friends of yours?” She paused long enough to take a breath. Before I could answer, she added, “That poor woman. Do you think she killed the man at the tournament?”
    “I’m not sure, Zee. I’d like to think she didn’t, but the police seem to have proof that she did.”
    “You sound exhausted, Odelia. Are you in your car?”
    “Yes. I’m on my way home from dropping off stuff at Steele’s, and I am very tired, mentally and physically. Nice flowers, by the way.”
    “Oh, good. I was hoping they’d get there today. How is Mike?”
    “Doing okay. Bored stiff already, but he won’t be able to go back to work until probably next week.”
    “Thank God. He could have been killed.”
    She didn’t know the half of it, and I couldn’t tell her. Zee was my best friend. I told her almost everything. This secret business was killing me