Free Cold Blooded by Lisa Jackson Page A

even that iota of hope had been
    misguided. "It's the woman I told you about. The one in the fire."
    "I'd like to talk to you about her."
    About time. "Come in." She pushed the door open further and the dog bolted through.
    "Thanks." Hands in the pockets of his slacks, he walked into her house, his gaze skimming over the bookcase, potted plants, lumpy couch, and scattered chairs. "We'll have to backtrack some, go over some of the things you said earlier."
    "No problem. I've got most of the afternoon, then I've got to meet my professor around four."
    "That late on a Friday?" He seemed even bigger in the kitchen, taking up space in this little cabin with its low ceilings and yellowed pine walls. Pushing six-two or three, he ducked around a hurricane lantern that hung from the ceiling, a fixture Grannie Guy had refused to replace just in case the electricity was ever cut off. From her cage, Chia shrieked as she moved from one end of her perch to the other, warily eyeing the intruder.
    "Hush, Chia!" she ordered. "Another of my grandmother's orphans. Chia doesn't like to go unnoticed. Has to have her say."
    "Typical female."
    "What?" Olivia's eyes narrowed.
    "It was a joke," he explained.
    "A poor one."
    "Right. So, you have to meet with your professor later."
    "Yes. Dr. Leeds at Tulane."
    She felt it then, as surely as if she'd turned on the airconditioning, the atmosphere in the room got suddenly colder. It was as if Bentz's sense of humor evaporated.
    Something glinted in his steely eyes.
    "You know him?" she asked.
    "We've met." From his pocket he withdrew the same small recorder he'd used earlier. "This shouldn't take too long." He set the recorder on the kitchen table, where a Thanksgiving cactus was trying to bloom. Speaking into the small microphone, he said that he was continuing the interview, gave the date and time, and after spelling Olivia's name, indicated that he was in her house with her. But he didn't sit down at the table, instead stood resting his hips on the counter.
    "You said you moved back to Louisiana recently. When was that? Last summer?"
    ' '. I came in late July when my grandmother got sick."
    She pointed to one of the framed photographs she'd hung on the wall near the back porch.
    "This is a picture of us. A long time ago." In the shot, Grannie, gray hair braided in a single plait, was swinging a bare-footed Olivia off the ground. Olivia was dressed in ragged shorts and a T-shirt, had been around five at the time, and her head was thrown back in pure delight.
    Sunlight streamed through the trees and dappled the dry grass. In the background a hedge was in full bloom, showing off pink blooms, and the only dark spot in the photo was the hint of a shadow creeping from the bottom of the frame.
    Bentz noted it as well. "Who took the picture?"
    The muscles in the back of Olivia's neck tightened. "My father. One of the few times he deigned to show up."
    "He didn't raise you?" Bentz asked.
    She took in a deep breath. "My father? He wasn't exactly the Ward Cleaver type of model dad. He didn't hang around much. For the most part, Grannie Guy raised me." She didn't like talking about her family.' '" didn't begin to describe it. "Oh ... I'm sorry ... could I get you some coffee ... or, God, I don't think I
    have anything else."
    "Only if you want it."
    "Desperately," she admitted. "This is ... nerveracking." her surprise, he actually smiled, showing off just a hint of white teeth. "I know. Sure. Coffee would be great."
    She knew he was just trying to calm her, but that was fine. She needed to be calm. Standing on her tiptoes, Olivia stretched to reach onto the top shelf of one of the few cupboards, the one where she kept the "good" dishes she never used. Bentz came to the rescue and retrieved two porcelain coffee cups.
    "Thanks." She set the cups on the counter and checked the glass pot of hours-old coffee still warming in the coffeemaker.
    "Okay ... you asked about my family, which isn't my favorite subject. My