“Really? Why is that?” I reached for my beer.
“Looks like he was too paranoid for his own good. His front door exploded when he was trying to get in. Some kind of flash explosive. He was charred to a cinder. His body’s in the District morgue.”
* * * *
The glass in my hand slipped from suddenly boneless fingers, and I stared at the spreading stain as beer soaked into the tablecloth. “You’re…you’re sure, DB?” My chest felt as if an elephant was sitting on it, and I wondered if I was having a heart attack.
“As sure as my contact can be without an autopsy, and they’ll be doing that first thing in the morning. April.”
Our waitress hurried over. “I’ve brought more napkins. Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. Thank you.” DB put them over the spill. “Are you okay, Quinn?”
“I…I can
