Free See Jane Die by Erica Spindler

doctor.”
    â€œShe talked about them? The guys?”
    Ian looked uncomfortable. “Sometimes. I ran into her out sometimes. Art openings, the theater. A charity event.”
    â€œAnd she was with a date?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œThe same guy all three times?”
    â€œNo. All different.”
    â€œWould you remember—”
    â€œTheir names?” He shook his head. “Sorry.”
    â€œThe last time you saw her, did she seem different from previous appointments?”
    He didn’t answer immediately. When he did, he shook his head. “I’m sorry. Same old Elle. I really wish I could help you.”
    Stacy stood. Mac followed her to her feet. “If you think of anything, will you call us?”
    â€œOf course.” They started toward the door. Ranger trotted beside them. When they reached it, Mac handed Ian his card.
    Ian glanced at the card, then back at the detectives. “I can’t believe Elle’s dead. How did she…what happened?”
    â€œI’m sorry, Ian,” Stacy answered, “we can’t talk about it.”
    He looked flustered, opened the door. “I understand. It’s just so…hard to believe.”
    Mac and Stacy stepped through. She glanced at Jane. “Let’s get together soon.”
    â€œThat’d be great.” Jane forced a smile. “We could go to lunch.”
    Stacy agreed, took another step, then stopped and turned back. “One last thing, Ian. Was your relationship with Elle Vanmeer anything but professional?”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œWas your relationship with Elle Vanmeer anything but professional?”
    â€œNo,” he answered quickly. “Never. Why do you ask?”
    â€œJust covering all the bases, that’s all.”
    Jane stared at her sister, a chill inching up her spine. Thequestion seemed inappropriate, out of step with the others. Besides, why would it have mattered, even if he had?
    Not liking the answer, she watched her sister walk away.

TEN
    Monday, October 20, 2003
8:25 p.m.
    T he temperature had dropped while they were inside. Stacy shivered and pulled her tweed jacket tighter around her. From Elm Street came the sound of jazz. A car sped past, the driver blowing the horn at a young woman with spiky orange hair. Bozo with boobs, Stacy thought.
    They crossed to Mac’s Ford, parked at the curb. Stacy went around to the passenger side and climbed in. They slammed their car doors in unison.
    Mac glanced at her. “What do you think?” he asked.
    She fastened her seat belt, then met his gaze. “About what?”
    â€œWas the good doctor telling the truth about his relationship with the vic?”
    Stacy frowned. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
    â€œLots of reasons. Maybe.” He shoved the keys into the ignition.
    â€œHe was telling the truth.”
    Mac made no move to start the car, but instead squinted out the windshield.
    She watched him, frowning. “What?”
    â€œWhen you asked the question, he looked strange.”
    â€œStrange how?”
    â€œLike a man working hard to look innocent.”
    â€œI didn’t pick up on that.”
    Mac cranked the engine, pulled away from the curb. “Let’s talk about the tape,” he said, shifting the subject.
    They hadn’t worked together long, but she recognized his maneuvering, anyway. “What about it?”
    â€œHas it occurred to you that the guy on the tape and your brother-in-law fit the same general description?”
    â€œSure. But so would maybe twenty percent of the male population of Dallas. You’re grasping at straws.”
    â€œIs that what you’d say if he wasn’t your brother-in-law?”
    Her face warmed. “He was her plastic surgeon. He—”
    â€œLook, nobody at the hotel recognized our guy from the tape. Chances are he wasn’t a hotel guest. So that’s a dead end. We have to look at every possible angle. Your