Free Acts of Malice by Perri O'Shaughnessy Page B

into his truck, a late-model Toyota.
    Although the Bronco was parked in plain view across the lot, Sandy and her friend didn’t notice it. The man handed Sandy a small package, smiling at her, and then a mind-boggling event occurred: Sandy stood on her tiptoes and gave the fellow a peck on the cheek. She smiled again, a wide, unnerving smile that showed she had beautiful white teeth.
    Then she saw Nina.
    Jim’s truck had just started up. He drove out and into the traffic.
    The smile faded, the eyebrows grew together into a Frida Kahlo frown, and Sandy turned to watch Nina walk from the lot into the building.
    Five minutes later she came in, still holding the package. Nina, on the phone in the inner office, gave her a wave through the open door. ‘‘Hmph,’’ was the answer she got as Sandy sat down and turned to the computer, which had gone into a wait program Bob had installed, consisting of a dog chasing a cat endlessly around the monitor.
    ‘‘Honestly,’’ Nina said as soon as she got off the line. ‘‘I wasn’t spying on you.’’
    ‘‘Some people can’t give other people a second of privacy.’’ Sandy kept her back turned and didn’t miss a keyboard stroke. Her bracelets jangled slightly.
    ‘‘I know it’s none of my business—’’
    ‘‘But you won’t let that stand in your way—’’
    ‘‘Who is he?’’
    Sandy hunched her shoulders, indicating that she was vexed, a warning sign. Nina disregarded it.
    ‘‘And what’s in the package?’’
    ‘‘His name is Joseph.’’
    ‘‘And?’’
    ‘‘He’s Washoe.’’
    ‘‘You looked pretty happy out there.’’
    ‘‘You don’t have to sound so accusing. Now, I have work to do. Isn’t that what you hired me for?’’
    And not another word would she say.
    Nina returned to her phone calls, thinking that Sandy had definitely lost her mind. If ever there was a woman who was done with men, it was Sandy. She wouldn’t even discuss her ex, Wish’s father. She was obstructive, stubborn, independent, and proud, not qualities that lent themselves to a love affair. Sandy, with her plain workmanlike talk and her dour expression. It couldn’t be!
    And yet, the Sandy picking up the ringing phone in the outer office seemed indefinably different from her former self.
    Was Sandy in love? Why shouldn’t she fall in love? And why did Nina feel this obscure disappointment, this sudden sense of insecurity? Had she thought, half-unconsciously, that she and Sandy had a pact: done with men, was that it? Was that why she felt betrayed?
    Self-insight can be very deflating. Nina began feeling ridiculous. No question about it, she was a completely ridiculous person.
    She could still feel Collier’s lips pressed against hers.
    She felt a very strong urge to know what Sandy was up to. Was Sandy seeing the man outside or was Nina completely misunderstanding the situation?
    A buzz. ‘‘It’s Ginger.’’ Nina picked up and heard the breezy voice of Ginger Hirabayashi, an expert among experts in forensic pathology.
    ‘‘How’s business, Nina?’’
    ‘‘Oh, we’re having a great time up here. How are you?’’
    ‘‘Cool. You have something for me?’’
    ‘‘If you’re available. A skiing accident that’s getting dressed up into a homicide. A young man, expert skier, my client’s brother. Age twenty-seven. They were skiing together. The brother went over a cliff off-trail and landed on some rocks below.’’
    ‘‘Is Doc Clauson still the coroner up there?’’
    ‘‘Yep. He reconsidered his original autopsy report and my client found out he was in trouble, after the cremation, unfortunately. Ginger, get this: Clauson’s report concludes that the man died after the fall when somebody jumped on his torso in ski boots! Can you believe it? The trauma, whatever it was, transected the liver.’’
    ‘‘Ouch,’’ said Ginger. ‘‘Ski boots, hmm? Rigid, heavy plastic. Might leave a mark. Have they got your client’s