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voice held a hint of laughter.
    “Is it too late for an annulment?” I asked with a dramatic groan.
    She pointed a French-manicured nail at me. “I warned you about getting hitched up with a Latino man. They want to run your life like they’re five-star generals and you’re a buck private with no chance of advancement. Not to mention he’s a cop. And a cop in management.”
    “Ah, he’s not that bad,” I said, grinning. “Besides, I never could resist being sweet-talked in Spanish.”
    “Tramp,” she said, taking a sip of her iced cappuccino. “You just married him for the great sex.”
    “Shh,” I said, putting my finger over my lips. “He thinks I married him for his fascinating personality and government pension.”
    She rolled her luminous black eyes, and we were both giggling when José, Blind Harry’s cook, brought over my order and told Elvia briefly that they were running low again on almond-flavored Tortani syrup.
    “Double the order next time,” she told him, then raised her eyebrows at me. “What’s with the food to go?”
    I stopped laughing, suddenly feeling guilty for making jokes after having discovered only hours earlier the body of someone I’d known and liked. But as Gabe once said, people joked automatically to protect themselves. Especially those who saw man’s inhumanity to man on a regular basis.
    “If cops didn’t,” he’d told me, “they wouldn’t last a year. That’s why you hear so much grotesque humor at crime scenes. If any of us contemplated emotionally at the moment what really happened and how it could happen to us or to someone we love, we’d end up eating our guts or our guns.” His blue-gray eyes turned dark with sadness. “Some cops lose that ability to disengage, and that’s what they do. Too many.”
    Elvia’s face instantly sobered. “Benni, what’s wrong?”
    I hugged myself, running my hands up and down my upper arms, trying to smooth out the gooseflesh. “You remember Nora Cooper, don’t you?”
    Her brows furrowed in concentration, smoothing out when they placed the name. “Nick Cooper’s older sister. He works at the library, right?”
    “Head reference librarian. Nora works there, too.”
    “What about her?”
    “She’s dead.”
    “That’s too bad. Was she sick?”
    “No, she drowned. It might be murder.” I grabbed her cappuccino and took a large gulp. She could tell I was upset so she didn’t harp like she normally would about me drinking out of her glass. I set the glass mug down, my hand shaking slightly. “I found her body.”
    Elvia pushed her computer printouts aside and leaned closer. “Tell me what happened.” Her shiny black hair caught the overhead light and flashed. It reminded me of Nora’s lifeless strands floating in the water. I closed my eyes for a moment.
    “Benni,” Elvia said softly. “Do you want to go up to my office?”
    “No,” I said, opening my eyes. “I’m fine.”
    Remembering my single quarter’s worth of parking time, I gave her the condensed version. I finished her drink as I talked, and suddenly realized when I was through that I was ravenously hungry and deliriously happy to be alive. Survivor’s guilt pricked at my conscience, that small relieved voice whispering, “Aren’t you glad you weren’t the one who died?”
    “Would you like another one?” she asked. She held up the glass mug and motioned at the counter clerk to bring us two more.
    “I can’t stay long,” I said. “This is Gabe’s lunch. He hates eating the food they order when they’re working on an investigation. It’s always pizza or hamburgers or some junk food. And I’m bringing him a change of clothes.”
    “How’s he taking it?”
    I rested my chin in my palm and sighed. “Like he does everything, stoically, professionally . He really doesn’t need this right now.”
    “And exactly when does a person need a murder investigation in their life?” she asked ironically.
    “You know what I mean.”
    “Yes,