“Are you?”

“Maybe.”

Flipping the mask over her back, she said, “C’mon, I’m thirsty.”

I followed her into the tiny, old kitchen at the rear of the duplex. Old, white appliances, yellow tiles, several of them mended. The room was one-third the size of the spiffy new kitchen we’d designed together. But as in that room, all was spotless, everything in its place.

She got a pitcher of iced tea and poured two glasses and brought them to the Formica table that barely fit the room. Space for two chairs, only. Guess they didn’t entertain much. Probably busy entertaining each other…

“Cheers,” she said, looking anything but cheerful.

We drank tea. She glanced at her watch.

I said, “If you’re busy-”

“No, I’m tired. Been at it since six, ready for my nap.”

In the old days, I’d have suggested a mutual nap. “I’ll go,” I said.

“No. What’s on your mind, Alex?”

“China Maranga.”

“What about her?”

“I was thinking,” I said. “She and Baby Boy. There could be similarities.”

“China? In what way?”

I told her, added the bare facts of Juliet Kipper’s murder.

She got pale. “I guess- but really, there are so many differences.”

“You’re probably right,” I said.

“You could say China’s career was taking off,” she said. “Her records were selling better than anyone expected. But, still… Alex, I hope you’re wrong. That would be hideous.”

“Murdering art?”

“Murdering artists because they’re on the way up.” Her color hadn’t returned.

“Here I go again,” I said, “bringing the bad stuff into your life.” I stood. “I was wrong. Tim was right.”

“About what?”

“The last time you saw me you were upset. I should know better.”

She frowned. “Tim tries to protect me… I was upset. But not by anything you did.”

“What, then?”

“Everything. The state of the world- all this change. I know we did the right thing, but… then Baby Boy. One day I’m talking to him, the next day he no longer exists. At the time I guess I was especially vulnerable. I’m better now. Talking to you helped.”

“Till now.”

“Even now.”

She took hold of my wrist. “You were there for me.”

“For a change.”

She let go and shook her head. “With all our history, you still need to fish for compliments?”

The spot where she’d touched me itched.

“Sit down,” she said. “Please. Have more tea. We can be civilized.”

I took a seat.

“Baby Boy was my friend,” she said. “I had no relationship with China. My only contact with her was that one job, and she wasn’t happy with it. Remember how she flipped me off?”

“Flipped us off,” I said. “I think it was me she didn’t care for. She kept calling me Mr. Yuppie.”

“She was obnoxious… there’s something she didn’t have in common with Baby. He was the sweetest guy in the world. Another difference is that he had real talent. And her body was buried- no, I don’t see it, Alex. My bet is she allowed herself to get picked up by the wrong person, maybe shot off her mouth and paid for it.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “She left the session angry. What about her band? Any of them ever display aggressive tendencies?”

“Those guys?” she said. “Hardly. They were like China. College kids playing naughty. And why would they kill China? When she died, so did the band. What does Milo think?”

“I haven’t asked him, yet.”

“You came here, first?”

“You’re a lot better-looking.”

“I guess that would depend on who you ask.”

“No,” I said. “Even Rick would say you’re cuter.” I got up again. “Thanks and sorry if I upset your biorhythm. Have a good nap.”

I began walking toward the front of the house.

“They’re hard, aren’t they?” she called after me.

“What?”

“Changes in biorhythm. Tim’s wonderful to me, but sometimes I still find myself starting to say something to you… are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“She’s treating you well?”

“Yes. How’s Spike?”

“Too bad he’s not here,” she said. “Periodontal work.”

“Ouch.”

“They’re keeping him overnight. You can visit. Call to make sure someone’s here.”

“Thanks.”

“Okay,” she said, standing. “Let me walk you out.”

“Not necessary.”

“Not necessary but polite. Mama raised me right.”

She accompanied me to the curb. “I’ll think more about China, ask around. If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know.” Big grin. “Hey, look at me: girl detective.”

“Don’t even think about it,” I said.

She took my hand in both of hers. “Alex, what I said before is true. You didn’t upset me. Not then, and not now.”

“Big tough girl?”

She looked up at me and smiled. “I’m still pretty small.”

Once upon a time, you took up a big corner of my heart.

“Not to me,” I said.

“You could always do that,” she said. “Make me feel important. I’m not sure I did that for you.”

“Of course you did,” I said.

She’s wonderful. What the hell happened?

Allison’s wonderful…

I dropped her hand, got into the car, started up the engine, and turned to give her a wave. She’d already gone inside.

A partner. The last thing Petra needed.

Not that she had any choice. Halfway through her shift, Schoelkopf had summoned her into his office and dangled a scrap of paper in her face. Transfer slip.

“From where?” she said.

“The Army. He’s new to the department but he’s got serious experience as a military investigator, so don’t treat him like an idiot rookie.”

“Captain, I’ve been doing fine solo-”

“Well, gee, that’s great, Connor. I’m so glad the job’s giving you intrinsic satisfaction. Here you go.”

Waving the paper. Petra took it but didn’t read it.

Schoelkopf said, “Go. He’s due over in a couple of hours. Find him a desk and make him feel at home.”

“Should I bake him cookies, sir?”

The captain’s big black mustache spread as he flashed too-white caps. Last summer, he’d been gone for three weeks and had come back with a scary tan and new dentition and what looked like more hair in front.

He said, “If that’s where your girlish talents lie, Detective, go ahead. My personal preference is oatmeal crunch.” He waved Petra away.

When she reached his door, he said, “That Armenian thing squared away?”

“Seems to be.”

“Seems to be?”

“It’s all set with the D.A.”

“What’s on your plate, now?”

“The Nunes stabbing-”

“Which one’s that?”

“Manuel Nunes. The bricklayer who troweled his wife-”

“Yeah, yeah, the bloody mortar. You on top of it?”

“It’s not a whodunit,” said Petra. “When the blues showed up Nunes was holding the trowel. I’m dotting the t’s and crossing the i’s.” She resisted the temptation to cross her own eyes and give the bastard a goofy look.

“Well, dot and cross everything- speaking of whodunits, you ever accomplish anything on that musician- the fat boy, Lee?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re telling me it’s ice-cold?”

“Afraid so.”

“What,” said Schoelkopf, “some nutcase just walked up and gutted him?”

“I can bring you the file-”

“Nah,” said Schoelkopf. “So you got stuck. Guess what, it’s good for you, once in a while. Gain a little humility.” More caps. “Lucky for you he wasn’t a big-time celebrity. Small potatoes like that, it goes cold, no one gives a shit. What about his family? Anyone squawking at you?”

“He didn’t have much family.”

“Lucky for you, again.” Schoelkopf’s big smile was polluted by anger. The two of them had gotten off to a bad start, and no matter what Petra did, she knew it would never improve. “You’re a pretty lucky gal-’scuse me, lucky woman- aren’t you?”