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level.
    And we both knew calling 911 was out of the question—because ambulances didn’t carry dead bodies.
    Ambulances didn’t carry dead bodies , I thought over and over to take my mind off the scene in front of me.
    Lieutenant Shatley, Hope Valley homicide and close friend of Jagger’s—although I had no idea how they knew each other—gave orders to the police staff while I stood behind the yellow taped off area—trying to think of anything else but…a dead body.
    Pansy had been notified, or make that hurried over when she heard the commotion and to this very minute, wailed in grief.
    I wondered if losing an identical twin hurt more than a regular sibling then told myself that was crazy. However, I do think it was different as they were way too close. And now that I thought about it, her wailing was eerie and strange, and I was ashamed to even think it, but almost…fake.
    I looked at her. She stood with one of the other secretaries holding her by the shoulders and glaring down at the body of her brother.
    I realized I couldn’t do that if it were one of mine. I couldn’t just stand there looking. Hm. Maybe it was me, and I shouldn’t let my personal feelings get in the way.
    Deciding to have a more Christian attitude, I felt a bit better until I watched Pansy wiping her face.
    No tears.
    Had she cried herself out already? Or,was it something else? Then again, she could have had some condition that dried up her tears. That was a reality for some people. But she acted as if she were crying.
    And made me wonder if acting was the operative word here.
    Once the lieutenant said to clear the scene, we all started to move about, and before I knew it, the undertaker was taking out Payne’s body.
    And Pansy was nowhere to be seen.
    I knew, just knew, I’d be following the stretcher along not ready to let go of a loved one so easily.
    Lilla walked past me with a solemn look on her face. “ Chérie .” She nodded.
    For some reason I needed a bit of confirmation on my thoughts, and I touched Lilla’s arm. Before I let her startled look stop me, I asked, “If that was your brother, would you just let them—”
    â€œWheel him away like that?” she finished while shaking her head. “Never. I’d be clutching onto their shirttails to not take him.” She shrugged. “Guess we are all different.”
    â€œThat we are,” I said, making a mental note to observe dear Pansy much closer. Hopefully I wasn’t shifting suspicion onto her just because my number one suspect was now deceased.
    I hated when that happened.
    Although a gloomy air now filled the TLC Ambulance Company halls, work resumed. No one joked around, but phones rang, clients came in, and 911 calls never stopped.
    Before I knew it, I heard, “Four, five, six, code eighty-three at 114 Buckingham Place.”
    ER Dano rushed out of the living room, grabbed me by the arm, and said, “Get going!”
    Not able to protest, I remembered why I was here, or make that what my cover was and obediently followed him along. Jagger was nowhere to be seen, and Dano didn’t seem to notice or care.
    â€œWhere’s Jagger?” I asked as Dano nearly shoved me into the front seat of #456.
    He shrugged and said, “Breathing difficulty. Can’t wait.”
    With that I clicked on my seatbelt, said a fast prayer to St. T for the patient and myself (the driving, you know), and we were out onto East Main Street, siren blaring and Dano leaning back and driving as if in a kid’s bumper car.
    I swallowed hard, refusing to let my lunch even near my mouth again.
    After several deep breaths, we pulled into the driveway of a dilapidated house on Buckingham Place—not exactly the ritzy section of Hope Valley. Dano grabbed the bag of supplies, muttered something to me, and we ran up the stairs to the front door, which wasn’t locked.
    For a fleeting second, I thought,