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insisted.
    But Brady was looking to keep it simple and clean. “Maybe they’re all tortoise fans who are into graffiti. Who the hell cares?”
    His florid complexion was back, along with his cocky self-pride. “Look, Porter. This is the way it went down. What we’re dealing with is a crazy old hermit who was looking to strike the mother lode. Suddenly, she wakes up one day and realizes it ain’t never happened, ain’t never gonna happen. Gets out her gun, plugs her dog, plugs herself. Zippo. The end. You want to claim the dog was murdered? That’s your area of expertise, Kemo Sabe.” Brady’s lip curled up in a sneer. “Be my guest. But for chrissake, who wouldn’t be depressed living here? Jesus, just look at this place. I’d kill myself, too.”
    Maybe it was the heat, but my fingers twitched to reach for my own gun and pull the trigger. “Let me get this straight, Brady. Your explanation of the events as they occurred is as follows. First set the table for dinner. Then climb into a bathtub. Next decide to shoot your only companion between the eyes. Then shoot yourself in the forehead. And to top it off, throw the revolver under the tub when you’re done.”
    Brady picked his nose and wiped his finger on his pants. “The dog must have kicked it there.”
    “That ought to look good in your report,” I retorted.
    I stepped back, then realized I was in a cluster of bugs and shot forward, almost knocking Henry head first into the tub. He managed to catch himself in time, but his cigar was another matter. The stogie flew out of his mouth, landing in the brown sludge of body fluid that had collected at the bottom of the drain.
    “Careful! I’m working here,” Henry reprimanded me as he scooped up maggots. He methodically placed the parasites inside a plastic container.
    Brady took one look and blanched once again. “What the hell are you doing, Lanahan?”
    Henry chuckled as he ladled up another batch of the grubs. “If it was suicide, Ms. McCarthy might have decided to ingest some barbiturates first. We’ll find that out by putting these little fellas into a blender, making ourselves a maggot milk shake, and testing the results.”
    This was way more than I wanted to know. I left Brady and Lanahan to their own devices and wandered back outside.
    The powder-blue Studebaker had taken on a lustrous sheen under the sun, and I wondered what would happen to it now. Walking over to the car, I found the driver’s side was unlocked. I opened the door and slid in. The blanket thrown over the seat was warm, but it kept the seat from burning me. I peered underneath and was surprised to find that the leather had been maintained in flawless condition, without a gash or tear. I brought my foot to the pedal. The seat was adjusted just right for my height. I could still smell the scent of Annie’s dog and I wondered what her life had been like, living all alone. Well, not altogether alone. She at least had a dog. I didn’t even own a hamster.
    Leaning over, I opened the glove compartment and poked around inside. Empty candy wrappers filled the compact space. Annie had obviously been my kind of woman. I closed it and turned my attention to the visor above me, pulling it down. Instead of finding a vanity mirror, as I had expected, a set of keys fell into my lap. The master key fit the ignition, but it seemed inappropriate to turn the car on. I sat still for a moment, the second key burning in the palm of my hand. Then, sliding off the seat, I walked around to the rear and unlatched the trunk, which opened without a sound.
    Inside lay a tire iron, a wrench, and a navy duffel bag. For a moment, I wondered if I had discovered Annie’s secret stash of reptiles, no doubt baked to a crisp by now. Bracing myself for the worst, I slowly unzipped the sack, ready to leap back at the first sound of a rattle or sight of a spider’s hairy leg. But no mini-monsters were to be found. The bag was filled with letters, all of which were