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the dirt and flowers. “There was a struggle here. And those are fresh,” she said. “The broken plants are barely even withered. And the footprints are clear, nice and deep.”
    â€œYeah, I’ll have to tell Dr. Liu to have her lazy-ass assistants get up here and get some castings of those to—”
    Savannah cleared her throat.
    â€œUm…” He donned a saccharine smile. “…I mean, ask the CSU if they would be so kind as to get their lazy butts up here and take some castings of those prints, and then get the results to me whenever they damned well feel like it.”
    â€œOh, much better.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a beautiful thing—watching personal growth in progress.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNever mind.” Leaning down, until her face was nearly touching the flowers, she saw something strange sticking out of the loose soil. It was about six inches wide and looked like a gray butterfly’s wing.
    With one finger she pushed some of the nasturtiums aside and saw that it was attached to a fairy…or rather, a broken fairy statue, about a foot long, that was half-buried in the dirt.
    â€œYou’ll want to tell the team about this,” she said, pointing it out to him. “That thing looks heavy enough that it might even be your murder weapon.”
    He studied it with interest and nodded. “Yeap, that would be a first in my career. ‘Cause of Death: Bludgeoned by a Tinkerbell.’”
    She stood up and shook her legs to restore circulation.
    Squatting in your forties wasn’t what it was in your twenties.
    â€œAnd, by the way,” she said. “Those are high-heel prints…the little holes there in the dirt.”
    â€œYeah, I noticed that already.”
    â€œAnd Mrs. Wellman had dark soil like that on the heels of her shoes.”
    â€œYeap. Saw it.”
    She bit her bottom lip and stared at him long and hard. “And the blood? You also saw the blood stain on her left heel?”
    She had him. He glared at her, slack-jawed for several long moments. She watched the mental battle register in his eyes. Lie? Or tell the truth?
    Finally, with his best poker face and most even, noncommittal tone, he said, “Blood. Blood on her left heel.”
    â€œYeap.”
    More tense silence.
    He broke. “You saw blood on her left heel?”
    â€œNaw.” She turned to walk back toward the house. “I was just messin’ with you.”
    â€œI hate you.”
    She laughed. “No, you don’t. I’m the best friend you’ve got.”
    â€œAnd what a sorry commentary that is on my social life.”
    Â 
    By the time they walked into the house, Dirk had stopped complaining, and Savannah had put aside all thoughts of teasing him.
    Few things were more important than tormenting Dirk, but talking to the deceased person’s family—who also just happened to be your primary suspect—was one of those things.
    Neither of them wanted to have to draw Dr. Wellman out of his bedroom seclusion at a time like this, but it had to be done.
    After examining the body and the edge of the cliff, they were both pretty certain that Mrs. Wellman hadn’t simply taken one step too many while strolling around her backyard in the dark. She had fought for her life before being pushed to her death.
    And that meant they were looking for a killer.
    But as they entered the living room, they heard voices. Angry voices. A man’s and a woman’s.
    The two were arguing in an adjoining room, so loudly that Savannah and Dirk could hear everything they were saying.
    â€œI want my money,” the female was saying, “and if I don’t get it, I’m going to make a lot of trouble for you.”
    â€œYou’ve already made trouble for me,” he replied. “You’re nothing but trouble.”
    â€œWhen am I getting it? When?”
    â€œI can’t believe you’re hassling