Free Alien Rites by Lynn Hightower Page B

forensic technologist, intuitive, methodical, always doing that extra bit of work that separated a good human operator from the computer-generated routine. She and Mel had been circling each other for years—smart remarks, arched eyebrows, sexual innuendo. It was clear to everyone who worked with them that they should either be dating or killing each other.
    They had gone out once or twice, early on, until something happened to put an end it—what exactly, Mel never said. From the hints Miriam let drop, David gathered that Mel might have made the mistake of hitting on her sister.
    So there had been three years of sniping and open warfare before they were both between relationships and ready to try again.
    â€œMel?”
    Mel looked away from the window. “None of this makes any sense.” He sounded calm enough. It would take someone who knew him well, someone like David, to catch the undercurrent burr of roughness. “There’s no mail, no newspapers. Somebody’s put all that on hold.”
    â€œShe hasn’t been in the kitchen since Cochran disappeared.”
    Mel nodded. “I took a look at her makeup and stuff, clothes in the closet and dresser. She didn’t pack up and go anywhere. Bathroom’s a mess—makeup and stuff, pantyhose, wads of tissue, like she got ready in a hurry.”
    David pointed to the sheet of paper in Mel’s hand. “What’s that?”
    â€œThis?”
    â€œYeah.” David reached for it, and Mel hesitated, then handed it over.
    â€œLooks like a list of my good points. Assets and liabilities, like that.”
    David read the paper. The heading said MEL THE MAN , and everything was in Miriam’s handwriting; David recognized the slant of her tall, spidery scribbles. One side was labeled THE GOOD and the other THE NOT SO GOOD . She had put it a lot kinder than Rose would have.
    Mel shook his head, as if he were listening to something high-pitched and uncomfortable. “David, have you ever sat down and listed a woman’s good and bad points?”
    â€œNo, Mel.”
    â€œI mean, either they got tits or they don’t, hypothetically speaking. Women, jeez, they’re obsessive—how do they have time to even think up all this shit? You think maybe she just had a night where there was nothing good on cable?”
    David cleared his throat and read out loud. “‘He makes me laugh.’”
    â€œDon’t do that. Don’t read it.”
    â€œâ€˜He has crinkles around his eyes.’” David looked up. “You know, Mel, I never noticed that, but you do.”
    â€œThat’s like number two on the list of good things. Crinkles. I mean, you think this is in order of importance?”
    David read ahead. “Not bad, Mel. I never really thought about your butt that way.”
    â€œThat’s good to hear.”
    â€œAnd I had no idea—”
    â€œAll right, already. Jeez, do we have to enter this in evidence?”
    â€œâ€˜Not punctual and drinks too much. Bachelor for a long time. Set in his ways.’”
    â€œYou think I drink too much?”
    â€œMaybe, Mel, but your butt makes up for it.”
    â€œThank you for clearing that up.”
    David looked at a notation at the bottom of the page. “You see this part she underlined?”
    â€œYeah, but I got no earthly idea what she meant.”
    â€œâ€˜He sees me,’” David read softly. “‘He sees me and doesn’t go away.’”
    Mel turned his back to the room, twitched a slat on the window blind. “David, tell me the truth, do you think Miriam’s dead?”
    David was reminded of Annie Trey, biting her lower lip, asking after Cochran.
    â€œI think the situation’s serious, Mel, and you have reason to be worried. But I’m a long way from giving this up.”
    He waited for the reaction, but Mel just turned, nodded, and gave him a wan smile. “We’ll find