Free Die Buying by Laura Disilverio Page B

be that someone scoped the place out beforehand. It’s not that hard to spot the cameras if you know what you’re looking for.” I pointed at the camera lens clearly visible above the storefront we were passing. “The mall wants people to know about the cameras. They’re meant to discourage theft more than to ID criminals after the fact.”
    “Tell you what, Emma-Joy,” Grandpa said with the air of a monarch conveying a boon, “I’ll tail this Gatchel fellow for you, find out what he’s up to.”
    “That’s not necessary, Grandpa,” I said, meaning “don’t.” The chicken part of me said that at least if Gatchel spotted him and complained, it wouldn’t be in my mall. “There’s nothing in this case related to spying. Why do you want to pursue it?”
    “Got to keep my hand in,” he said with a grin that deepened the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “The tradecraft of investigation is a lot like what they taught us at the Farm. Besides, I don’t have anything pressing on the national security front right now, so I’m free to help my favorite granddaughter.”
    “I’m your only granddaughter,” I pointed out, passing up the chance to argue about his definition of “help.”
    He tweaked my cheek between his thumb and the side of his forefinger and jiggled it. “You’d still be my favorite if I had a dozen granddaughters,” he said.
    “Popping out a dozen children would’ve landed Mom in the nearest looney bin,” I said.
    He laughed loud enough to cause a pair of women to turn and stare. “Brenda never did have much fortitude,” he said. “And you’ve got to admit your brother Clint was a rare handful.”
    “Still is,” I muttered, thinking of the postcard I’d gotten last week from Burma or Myanmar or whatever it was called these days. Clint (named after Dad’s hero, Eastwood) had ended up as an investigative journalist, clearly inheriting a large dose of Grandpa’s nosiness and liking for cloak-anddagger activities. The postcard promised me a ruby when Clint got back to the States. “Did you know ruby and sapphire are the same mineral?” he’d written.
    Clint collected stray facts the way belly buttons collect lint. I’d emailed to say that my paycheck didn’t run to gemstones so the relationship of rubies and sapphires had never concerned me. I figured there was a fifty-fifty chance Clint would actually show up with a ruby. Or, he might show up with a political dissident he’d helped escape from the ruling junta. You never knew what you were going to get with my brother.
    My radio squawked; it was Joel summoning me back to the office. “Got to go, Grandpa,” I said. “Stay out of trouble.” I stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
    He waggled his white brows at me. “Can you doubt it?”
    Oh, yeah.

Six

    Back at the office, I spotted Detective Helland before I pushed through the doors. He had his hands clasped at the small of his back and he was pacing back and forth, Joel watching anxiously from behind his desk. He wore an elegant navy blue suit today with a tie patterned with yellow and blue ovals. When Helland saw me, he frowned. “Did you take photos of the murder scene?” he asked without preamble.
    What was it with the photos today? “Yes.”
    He nodded, as if I’d confirmed something he suspected. “Do you have any idea how much damage you may have done to our case? I thought you were more professional than that.”
    His biting tone caught me off-guard. “Excuse me? How does taking photos damage your case? It’s standard crime scene procedure.”
    “Don’t play dumb. Your posting them on the Internet could make catching the killer a hundred times more difficult. At the very least, it’ll make weeding out the attention seekers who confess to the murder almost impossible.”
    Clenching my fists at my sides, I looked him straight in his icy gray eyes. “I did not post any photos on the Internet.”
    “Really?” His brows arched. “Then how did these get