Free Skirting the Grave by Annette Blair Page B

cousin. I didn’t know.”
    “Of course you didn’t,” Isobel said, her eyes red. “Thank you.”
    Mr. York stood. “When can we expect to plan a service for my niece?” he asked, his lack of emotion disconcerting.
    Werner sat behind his desk and moved a few things around. An obvious stall. “As I told you earlier, we can’t release . . . Payton . . . because we’re waiting for a forensics report on cause of death.”
    Werner didn’t tell Isobel’s father that a suspicious caller kept asking about Isobel or that it was possible Payton made a bad choice in the identity she stole. I think he withheld as much as he could, because Mr. Quincy York seemed like a suspicious character himself. And I had a lot of questions about the campaign manager. I would have to draw Isobel out about her family as soon possible, because some things just didn’t add up. Werner clicked his pen. “In the meantime, we need answers, and you can help, Mr. York, by sitting down and giving me as many as possible.”
    Isobel and her father sat.
    Werner checked his watch. “Mad, I know you need to open your shop. And, Ms. York, if it’s all right with you, I’d rather speak to your father alone, so you can go with Ms. Cutler right now, if you don’t mind. I’ll stop by and talk to you at Mad’s shop later, but you do need to stay in town until the investigation is over.”
    “I have to leave right away, Isobel,” her father said. “You know that, right?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    I exchanged a quick glance with Werner. “Isobel,” he said, “stop by Billings’s desk and get fingerprinted before you go.”
    “Why?” her father asked. “Surely you don’t suspect Isobel of hurting her cousin?”
    “If most people can’t tell the three girls apart, it would behoove me to have a positive ID on at least two of them. It’ll turn out to be proof that she couldn’t have hurt her cousin. We had a chance to talk at breakfast. I think statements from the people who served as her tag-team taxis on her way here will give her an airtight alibi.”
    “Ah,” Isobel said. “Then you’ll know for sure that I’m me.”
    Mr. York frowned. “But you have my word.”
    And I thought, Nuff said.
    Werner clicked his pen one more time.
    “No problem, Daddy. Physical proof is good proof.” She kissed her father’s brow. “See you later. Call me when you’re not busy with the campaign.”
    “I’ll try,” he said, appearing too preoccupied to grasp the concept. “Meanwhile,” her father added, noticing she was still there, “you let Ruben here know if you need anything.”
    “Right.” Isobel rolled her eyes and came my way.
    Mr. York leaned toward Werner across the desk. “Is this a murder investigation?”
    “We don’t have cause of death for your niece, and that’s all I can say right now.”
    “But she had my daughter’s ID.”
    “Her license and train ticket. Yes, she did.”
    “And you say my other daughter is missing?”
    “We are investigating Giselle’s whereabouts. May we speak alone?” Werner asked, all detective now, recorder on, pen in hand, notebook open.
    “Ruben, please wait for me in the squad room.”
    Ruben did as he was told.
    I shut the door on Werner and Mr. York and turned to Isobel. “Mid-morning snack?
    Coffee?”
    “No thanks.”
    “I’m sincerely sorry about your cousin. I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but I need a Mint Mocha Chip Frappuccino. Sure you don’t want one?”
    “Make mine an Iced Caramel Macchiato, heavy on the caramel.”
    “That’s my intern. You want Billings, here, for fingerprinting, and I’ll be right back.”
    Fifteen minutes later, Isobel waited for me outside the police station, trying to wear away her stained fingertips with a Wet-Nap.
    She climbed into my Element with swollen eyes and a blotchy face. I was glad she’d released her emotions. I’d worried she was like her father and didn’t have any.
    “Is your dad still inside?” I asked, handing her the