by Jayne Castle
“No. Fortunately, Detective Martinez also seems to be aware of the fact that Chester had a lot of disgruntled clients and more than a few enemies on Ruin Row. It’ll take her a while to sort out all the possible suspects. It’s going to be a long list.”
Melanie shrugged. “I doubt the police will spend too much time on the case. Chester Brady wasn’t exactly a high-profile victim or an upstanding member of the community. He had several brushes with the law, and his name was compost with the Society of Para-archaeologists.”
“True. I imagine the only people at his funeral will be the folks he ripped off. They’ll attend just to make sure he’s actually dead.”
“Probably hold a celebration at the nearest bar afterward.”
“Probably.” Lydia sighed. “I don’t think there will be any family at the graveside, either. Chester once told me that he had no close relatives. He was always saying that was one of the things he and I had in common.”
Melanie snorted softly. “You and Chester Brady had nothing at all in common. He was a classic loser, always looking for the big score and always screwing it up whenever he came close to getting it.”
“I know.” Not so very different from her at all, Lydia thought glumly. But she refrained from saying that aloud. “It’s weird, but I think I’m going to miss him.”
Melanie rolled her eyes. “I don’t see how you can summon up any sympathy for the little jerk after the way he stole your first client away from you last month.”
“He just looked so pathetic lying there in that sarcophagus, Mel. The blood and everything.” Lydia shuddered. “It was awful. You know, Chester was pond scum, but I’m surprised that he actually made someone mad enough to murder him.”
“Among his other glowing qualities, Brady was a thief. That tends to irritate folks.”
“There is that,” Lydia conceded. “And as a parting gift to me, on his way to the afterlife he managed to sabotage the sweet deal I had going this morning.”
“Think you’ve lost the client who came to interview you today?”
“For sure. The poor guy had to spend an hour with the cops because of what happened. He was polite about it, but I got the impression that Mr. London is not accustomed to tolerating that kind of inconvenience. He’s a rich, successful businessman from Resonance City. When he phoned earlier he made it clear he prefers to keep a very low profile. He wanted all sorts of assurances about discretion and confidentiality. Thanks to me, he’ll probably wind up in the evening papers.”
“Not real discreet or confidential,” Melanie agreed.
“Considering the circumstances, he was amazingly civil about the whole thing.” Lydia propped her chin on her hands. “He didn’t say anything rude, but I know I’ll never see him again.”
“Hmm.”
Lydia cocked a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, really. It just occurred to me to wonder why a rich, successful businessman who likes to keep a low profile would contact a para-archaeologist who worked in a place like Shrimpton’s House of Ancient Horrors.”
“When he could have had his pick of university consultants from the Society of Para-archaeologists?” Lydia asked grimly. “Okay, I’ll admit I sort of wondered about that, too. But I didn’t want to push my good luck, so I refrained from posing such delicate questions.”
Melanie leaned across the desk to pat her arm. “Hang in there, pal. There will be other clients.”
“Not like this one. This one had money, and I had plans.” Lydia held up her thumb and forefinger spaced an inch apart. “I was this close to giving my landlord notice that I would not be renewing my lease on that large closet he calls an apartment.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah. But maybe it’s all for the best.”
“What makes you say that?” Melanie asked.
Lydia thought about the too-casual way London had asked her if she had murdered Chester. “Something makes me think that working for Emmett London might have been almost as stressful as finding dead bodies in the Tomb Gallery.”
