Free Flashpoint by Lynn Hightower

had I thought about the funeral? So then I thought maybe she was a reporter or something. I was going to hang up, but it made me mad. I thought she was out of line, and that I should get her name and her newspaper, or whatever, so I asked her again who it was.”
    Sonora gave him a moment. “What did she say?”
    â€œShe said … she said Mark was brave.”
    The nib of Sonora’s pen tore through the paper on the notepad. She listened to Keaton Daniels’s breathing on the other end of the line. She flipped the notepaper up, exposing a clean sheet.
    What is it? Sam mouthed. Gruber had picked up on the tension. Sonora could feel him edging close behind her.
    â€œMr. Daniels, I don’t guess you’ve had a chance to change the locks on your doors?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy don’t you get on to that right away?”
    â€œIt was her, then, wasn’t it?”
    Sonora pursed her lips, measuring her words. “It’s a possibility. It’s also possible, likely even, that it was some crank, some sick puppy out there getting a nasty little vicarious thrill.”
    Sam raised an eyebrow at her.
    â€œWe haven’t released your brother’s name to the press,” Sonora continued. “But something like this—the gossip mill churns pretty fast. The hospital people will talk. The reporters know the ID from the car license. Forgive me, but your wife may have talked about it to the wrong person at work.” How well are the two of you getting along? Sonora wondered.
    â€œI don’t think it was a reporter. And it wasn’t my wife, I’d know it.”
    Jumped right on that one, Sonora thought. She’d seen divorcing parties do worse.
    Keaton’s voice thickened. “There’s something else.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œAfter she said that about Mark. That he was brave. She said … will you be?”

9
    Mark Daniels’s roommate had said the apartment was in the Chevy Chase area, next to the University of Kentucky campus. The Taurus inched down Rose Street, and Sam squinted as he strained to avoid the knots of university students who seemed oddly oblivious to traffic. Sonora glanced at the sheet of directions.
    â€œTake a right at the intersection. I can’t read your writing here, Sam. Eunice?” She glanced at a street sign. “Euclid. Turn here.” She noticed a Hardee’s and a Baskin-Robbins and decided she was hungry. “Here,” she said, looking up. “No. Casa Galvan, that’s the Mex restaurant he mentioned. Turn around, we’ve gone too far.”
    It was a part of the city that mixed campus, old residential, and commercial. Mark’s apartment was in a pinkish red brick building with a black, wrought-iron fire escape down one side. Sam parked the car a long block away, tucking the Taurus between a pickup and an ancient Karmann Ghia.
    Sonora shut the passenger door softly. “Well, Sam, Lexington is one town where your pickup would blend.”
    Sam gave her a look. “Yeah, and who do you call when you need a load of firewood?”
    Sonora grinned and Sam waved her ahead, always the gentleman. The pebbled sidewalk in front of Mark Daniels’s apartment building had cracked and buckled. The lawn was sparse, equal parts crab, dandelion, and bluegrass.
    Sonora paused on the front walk and looked at the windows. No one was stirring. The mix of sagging Venetian blinds, cheap threadbare curtains, and woven shades—one open, one closed—gave the building a bedraggled look of neglect. People slept here. They didn’t stay long.
    Sonora checked her watch. Just after seven. Sam caught her look.
    â€œYeah, well. Be sure to find people home, this time of day. Plus the roommate has an eight-o’clock class.”
    Sonora thought of her own university days. “Doesn’t mean he actually goes. I can’t believe you got me up at five to drive down here.”
    She wondered