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Heather. I’m sure her extreme prettiness worked well when questioning men. They’d probably confess just to be able to spend more time with her.
    This was not to say that she was just a pretty face. She had it all, brains and beauty and youth. She was more than ten years younger than I was. But despite all her attributes, I had managed to solve some cases she hadn’t been able to crack. There was an additional undercurrent of hostility between us because I had something she wanted badly. Barry Greenberg. I don’t think she could understand how he possibly could have chosen me over her. I could kind of see her point. They would have been the homicide division’s golden couple. Though I had to wonder what it would be like for two people whose daily work really was a life-and-death matter to deal with something mundane like whose turn it was to take out the trash.
    She had questioned me a number of times before, and I began to wonder if she just kept a sheet in her little notebook with all my vitals. The first few times we’d gone through this, I’d been the docile answerer of questions, but by now I asked as many as I answered.
    “Why do you think it’s murder?” I asked. Detective Heather rocked her head with frustration. I might ask questions, but it didn’t mean she wanted to answer them.
    “What’s this?” she asked, ignoring my question and pointing to the giant turquoise crochet hook with the tangle of purple yarn sticking out of my pocket. Adele had been frustrated with her messy stitches and tossed it aside and I had picked it up. Did I mention that on top of all her other talents, Heather was a first-class knitter? Lucky for her, she’d gotten me to question. Adele knew about her knitting talents and would have either thrown a fit or taken the opportunity to try to convert her to crochet.
    I explained the whole audience incident and how it was that Adele and I had ended up in the waiting room. “And you were going to tell me why you think there was foul play,” I said with an expectant air.
    “Nothing is certain until the coroner determines the cause of death. We’re just investigating. What makes you think we think it’s murder? We could just be following up on a sudden death,” she said. How could I tell her it was all based on Barry’s reactions?
    “Because if you didn’t think it was, you would just say it wasn’t.” I rolled my eyes at the tongue twister. I wished what she was saying was true. If it was murder, the three of us who were with Robyn were the most likely suspects. And I had a bad feeling that when I finished answering all of Detective Heather’s questions, the suspects would be whittled down to just one.
    She knew I had caught her and dealt with it by ignoring my comment. “So then, why don’t you tell me what happened,” she said with her pen poised.
    I was shocked at how long Detective Heather kept questioning me. Once she realized who Nell was and that I knew her, she was relentless, going over and over what happened. I was pretty relentless, too, asking her over and over again why they thought it was murder.
    “I give up, Molly,” she said finally. “If I tell you what we found, will you let it go and just answer my questions?” I sucked in my breath in anticipation while I nodded. I wanted to know and not know at the same time.
    “One of the paramedics noticed a smell on the victim and . . .”
    “I know what you’re going to say,” I interrupted. I had noticed it, too, but hadn’t put it together until now. When we were hovering over Robyn and the spilled drink, I’d noticed a faint almond smell. It didn’t register then. Though I’d had a fleeting thought that the drink had one of those flavored syrups added. But of course it didn’t; Robyn wouldn’t have needed sweetener if it had.
    “Cyanide?” I said.
    “You promised no more questions,” Detective Heather said.
    Even though she didn’t confirm it, I was pretty sure I was right. I knew from a