Free Postcards from the Dead by Laura Childs

Carmela.
    “I’d say he was that, too.”
    “Did Durrell offer any ideas?”
    “Nothing in particular,” said Babcock. “He talked about Kimber being a high-profile celebrity, which he thought placed an inevitable target on her back.”
    “Kimber was a celebrity?” Carmela found that moniker a little preposterous.
    Babcock heard the skepticism in her voice. “A minor celebrity, okay?”
    Carmela thought back to her conversation with Zoe and decided to mention the stalker.
    “Were you aware Kimber had a stalker?”
    “How would you know that?” Babcock sounded on edge.
    “Uh . . . I think somebody from the TV station mentioned it. Anyway, you knew about this?”
    “Of course,” said Babcock, “I’m not without substantial resources.”
    “What does that mean, exactly?” asked Carmela.
    “It means I walked down the hall and asked someone in records if there were any arrests or reports concerning Kimber Breeze.”
    “And that’s when the stalker thing came up?”
    “Yes. Obviously.”
    “Well . . . ?”
    “Well nothing,” said Babcock. “The last stalker report was something like eighteen months ago. There hasn’t been an incident since.”
    Carmela thought about that. “I wonder why not?”
    “Could be anything,” said Babcock, sounding unconcerned. “The stalker might be obsessed with someone else, he might have conquered his compulsivity with medication, or he could even be incarcerated.”
    “Jeez,” said Carmela. “Everything you just mentioned, it all sounds very . . . creepy.”
    “The nature of police work,” said Babcock, “is to deal with unsettling people and situations. You realize, my dear, a homicide investigation isn’t about exciting car chases, flashing lights, TV interviews, and receiving the thanks of a grateful city.”
    “I know that,” said Carmela. “It’s just . . .” She stopped midsentence. “Do you know . . . was Durrell’s relationship with Kimber purely girlfriend-boyfriend? Or did he manage her money, too?”
    “I asked him about that,” said Babcock. “He said they were a couple only.”
    “So she wasn’t his client?”
    “Not unless he’s lying. And I have no reason to believe that he is.”
    “What about Kimber’s brother?” said Carmela. “Billy . . .”
    “Laforge,” said Babcock. “Billy Laforge.”
    “Have you found out anything about him?”
    “Gallant drove out to his farm this morning, but the brother wasn’t at home. When Gallant spoke with a neighbor, a guy who worked as a kind of occasional hired hand, the man said he hadn’t seen Billy for a few days.”
    “You think the brother is on the run?”
    “No, because I know Ed Banister at KBEZ talked to him about funeral arrangements. We just haven’t connected yet. But we will.”
    Carmela digested all that Babcock had told her. It seemed like the investigation was going nowhere fast.
    “Okay,” she said, “what about Zoe? That young TV reporter you talked to last night?”
    Now Babcock sounded tired. “What about her?”
    “She’s been waiting in the wings for a long time.”
    “Waiting for what?” asked Babcock.
    “Do we have a bad connection?” asked Carmela, “or are you just being obtuse?”
    “ Excuse me?”
    “Zoe Carmichael’s been waiting to step into Kimber’s job,” Carmela said in a rush. “Waiting to jump into her four-inch stilettos and leap onto the TV screen. Zoe’s been counting the hours.”
    “How would you know that?” asked Babcock.
    “Because I just talked to her.”
    “Carmela! You are meddling!”
    Carmela played dumb. “Can I help it if I just find things out?”
    “You’re going above and beyond just finding things out. You’re on the hunt.”
    And it’s exciting!
    She was bursting to say that, but didn’t.
    Instead, Carmela said, “Apologies. I’ll pull back. I promise.”
    “Why do I not believe you,” said Babcock, as the connection went dead.
    Carmela spun her chair around in a lazy circle,