"Landry tried to break the contract," Murphy echoed quietly.

Mr. Cleveland laughed the way all people do who outsmart the big guys. "Did everything but threaten our pensions. Lucky for us, the lawyers from the original Restcrest were old socialists and sharp as tacks. Didn't stand for old folks being taken advantage of. We paid a flat fee of eighty-five dollars a day, no matter what, till Father died. Drove that Landry guy bats."

Murphy was itching again. "I'll just bet it did."

While Murphy was still taking that one in, Leary slung her purse over her shoulder and got to her feet. "Thank you again, Mr. Cleveland. We really do appreciate the help."

She held out her hand and Mr. Cleveland took it in both of his. "Thank you," he said, his soft face disheveled with relief.

Murphy was getting to his feet, too, when Leary blindsided him yet again.

"And thank you for the phone call," she said, hand still wrapped in Cleveland's. "It helped quite a bit."

Murphy made it to his feet just in time to catch the confusion on Air. Cleveland's face. "Phone call?"

Now Leary looked tentative. "To warn us about what was happening at Restcrest?" she said. "I thought it might have been you."

Mr. Cleveland shook his gently graying head. "No. I didn't even know who you were. How could I?"

She beamed. "Of course. I'm sorry. I guess we might have another family who wasn't as relieved as they might have been. Thank you again. I hope we can visit under better circumstances."

"You give your father a hug tonight, young lady," he admonished, and Murphy saw those tears glitter briefly again.

Leary smiled, nodded, and fled.

* * *

"Landry," Leary mused, gingerly climbing back into Murphy's car fifteen minutes later with her bag of doughnuts. "That wouldn't be a huge surprise. Not if those people were costing him money."

"I don't see it," Murphy argued, slamming his own door shut and handing off a cup of coffee.

It was almost noon, and the streets around the Donut Hole were fairly crowded with traffic headed toward real food farther out toward the highway. The Hole sat in the middle zone, where used car dealerships and strip malls dominated. Almost developed, never quite successful, usually crime free, since the local constabulary didn't see fit to break the stereotype and opt for popcorn over doughnuts.

As for Leary, she was twitching like a gigged frog. Probably too much forced inactivity at the Cleveland house. Too many revelations she hadn't wanted to share with that sad, middle-aged man. Murphy watched her bounce around as she juggled coffee, doughnuts, and painkillers, and wondered if she knew how damn brittle she looked.

"What do you mean you don't see it?" Leary demanded as she threw back the acetaminophen and washed them down with a quick swig of coffee. "Landry's ruthless, he's hungry, he'll obviously do anything to make that unit fly. Why not off a couple old farts who are costing him money?"

Murphy popped the lid of his coffee and took a long slug that damn near seared his esophagus. "Not his game. He only murders on the books. Not in person."

Leary snorted. "You just want it to be Alex."

Murphy had to smile. "We do know he recognized the shooter, now, don't we?"

"No, we don't," she argued, her nose stuck in the doughnut bag in search of her cholesterol of choice. "He might not have seen his face before we broke it all up."

"Nice try. He knew him, he knew what it was about, and he won't admit it."

"Wrong. He's not that complicated."

"We could go ask him now."

"We could if we were in New York. He left for a conference this morning right after leaving the keys to his shiny new Lexus in my mailbox."

Murphy reached in the bag alongside her chin and grabbed the first doughnut he found, a cruller. "Bribery now. We'll nail him the minute he gets back."

Leary shook her head, still intent on her hunt. "We'll nail Landry as soon as I find out just how many of our early graduates were 'old-timers,'" she said, finally snagging a chocolate-covered longjohn and taking a big bite. "Then we have to decide just how to ask the rest of the relatives whether the offer was made, or if they just woke up one morning to find Grandma dead."

There was chocolate on her chin. For a minute Murphy couldn't take his eyes off it. A tattoo on her ass and chocolate on her chin. He was in lust all over again, and it was only noon. Even worse, he found himself beset by the most absurd urge to calm Leary down. Ease that stretched — thin look she was getting around the eyes. And that didn't just make him wary, it damn near made him afraid. He hadn't been compelled to do something that stupid for about twenty years now.

"If it's an exercise in cost cutting," he said instead, his focus never wavering from that daub of brown, "why bother to make an offer? Isn't that overkill?"

Leary took another bite. "Who knows? Maybe he gets off on the power. God knows he seems to at the hospital. Wouldn't you just love to know what Victor found out before he died? Although I don't think that's the way I would have handled Mr. Cleveland if I were him."

"It wasn't. Where'd you learn your interrogation techniques?"

She grinned and slid her coffee cup between her knees so she could fiddle with it. Murphy couldn't take his eyes off that, either. "Best homicide dick in L.A. Her name was Corinne Jackson, and perps dropped like flies for her honey-tongued little number."

"I bet. Tell me again you don't want to have sex."

Leary didn't miss a beat. "I don't want to have sex."

But she was grinning. At least she wouldn't be bringing him up on charges yet.

"Heavy necking," he offered, leaning back in his seat so he was actually, at least in his mind, farther away.

She finished off the doughnut with a very suggestive flourish. "No thanks."

Murphy closed his eyes, content that he'd at least gotten her to smile. "I guess this means that accident wasn't a life-altering experience."

"No," she said. "The divorce was."

He opened his eyes again and saw it. That crackle of attraction. The regret that she was going to let her head rule. Ah, well, definitely for the better. He just wished he didn't feel that that smile was a personal accomplishment.

As if just the thought of necking compelled community response, there was a brusque tapping on the window. Murphy leaned forward to see a red-headed guy in a detective suit bent over Leary's side of the car. He had coffee in his hand and white icing on his Jerry Garcia tie.

"I hope impure thoughts aren't an ordinance violation around here," Murphy said.

Leary laughed as she rolled down the window. "Nah. Detective Sergeant Micklind and I are old friends. Aren't we, Detective?"

The guy bent a little farther over to lean an elbow on the car door as he continued to sip his coffee. "Ms. Leary. How are you today?"

"Leary-Parker, Detective Sergeant," she countered brightly. "But I guess it's worthless to insist anymore."

The detective didn't so much as twitch. "Hear you did a gainer and a half over some farmer's silo."

"Yes, sir, I did. Thank you for asking after my health."

Murphy actually saw a tic of humor at the corner of the detective's mouth. "You look healthy, Ms. Leary. I was wondering if I might stop by to talk to you later today."