Bad Publicity

Chapter 3

Isobel crouched eye-level with the counter and examined the coffee in the pot. Had any of the others helped themselves? She wished she could remember how much was left after she'd poured Jason Whiteley's cup. Then again, if she waited long enough, the answer might manifest itself in the form of another dead body. Horrible thought.

"What are you doing?"

Isobel jumped and turned to see Katrina standing behind her.

"Don't do that!" Isobel held her hand over her pounding heart. She pointed to the half-empty carafe. "I'm checking the coffee. Has anyone else had any?"

"Why?" Katrina looked puzzled. "What does it matter?"

"Because that's obviously what killed him. There was something in the coffee."

Katrina stared at Isobel.

"What?" Isobel said.

"That never even occurred to me," Katrina said, sweeping a coppery curl behind her ear.

"It didn't?" Little warning hairs began to prickle the back of Isobel's neck. "Wasn't he your biggest pain in the ass client?"

Katrina's face flushed the color of her hair. "Are you suggesting that I - "

"Of course not! I just thought that somebody might have..." Isobel shook her head. "I don't know what I thought."

Katrina stepped further into the kitchenette and pulled the door closed. "Look," she said quietly, "I know what happened at that bank job you were on, but even though Jason is...okay, dead...it doesn't mean somebody killed him. I'm sure there's a logical explanation, like he was sick and nobody knew it. But nobody here - and that includes you and me - poisoned his coffee." Katrina allowed herself a little laugh. "You were always such a drama queen."

Isobel bristled. "That's not true!"

Katrina c****d her head at Isobel. "Freshman year? When you had a crush on that guy, what was his name? And you wrote all those love poems and stood outside his dorm and sang them to your own tunes?"

That was the problem with college friends, thought Isobel. They remembered all your stupid behavior and never hesitated to out you at some particularly inopportune moment. At least there was nobody else in the room. Isobel tuned out Katrina as she rattled on. As much as she liked Katrina, right now Isobel was finding her maddening. Even the fact that Katrina's hair should have - but didn't - clash with the pink of her Chanel jacket irked her.

"Okay, okay, I get the point," Isobel said, irritated. "Are the police here yet?"

"Yes. And the medical examiner. That's what I came in here to tell you. They want to talk to you."

"I found him, so I'm automatically the prime suspect. For now."

Katrina threw her head to the ceiling and mouthed "drama queen."

Isobel turned back toward the kitchen counter, but Katrina pulled her around. "And leave the coffee."

Isobel set her hands determinedly on her hips. "What if somebody pours it out? Or, worse, drinks it?"

Katrina pursed her lips, then with long, graceful fingers, reached for the carafe.

"Wait!" Isobel snatched a dishcloth from the counter and handed it to her. "There might be fingerprints."

Katrina rolled her eyes. "Somebody's been watching too much 'SVU'."

"Just do it, okay?"

"Fine. We'll bring it with us and tell them what you suspect." Katrina wrapped the cloth around the handle and looked thoughtfully at the carafe. "I suppose it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility that someone killed him. He was an asshole."

"And I'm not a drama queen," Isobel insisted.

Katrina gave her an annoyingly smug look as they left the kitchen together. "Well, maybe not as much as you were in college."

"Do you have any particular reason to think the coffee was poisoned?" asked Detective O'Connor, a towering blue-eyed blond with a light Irish accent and a refined turn of phrase. He would have been attractive if his head weren't just a bit too small for his body. His partner, Aguilar, was a short, chubby Filipino, with deep-set dark eyes and a crew cut. Together, they were a walking sight gag, although the small empty office they'd commandeered offered little room for pacing.

"Not really," Isobel said. "But it's the last thing he ingested."

O'Connor nodded. "We'll test the remains in the cup and the pot. So, you settled him in the conference room, he asked for coffee, and then?"

"He didn't ask for coffee. I just brought it. I also set out soda and water on the side table."

Aguilar turned his penetrating gaze on Isobel. "He didn't ask for coffee?"

"No, but he looked like he could use a cup."

"What do you mean by that?"

Isobel shrugged. "It just seemed like he wasn't totally awake yet."

"So you brought him the coffee, and then what?" O'Connor asked.

"I set it in front of him, and he said thank you."

"But you don't know if he ingested any."

Isobel hesitated. "I guess not. I just assumed he did."

"Never assume. It makes an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me'." O'Connor nodded genially at Isobel. "Rule number one of police work. But we'll test the coffee all the same."

Isobel tried to smile, despite the fact that she'd been hearing that tired old adage from her father since she was about eight.

"What happened next?" O'Connor asked.

"I went back to the kitchen and unwrapped the fruit and pastries. When I came back, he was face down on the table."

"So, let me guess, you assumed he was dead," said Aguilar.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Isobel retorted.

"What do you know about Jason Whiteley?" O'Connor asked. "It interests me that your first instinct was that his death was a homicide."

"Why should that interest you? It's only an assumption." She cast a smile at Aguilar, whose eyes glinted dangerously.

"There's a difference between assumption and instinct," O'Connor instructed. "Rule number two of police work is to follow your instincts."

Thinking back to her experience at the bank, Isobel knew he was right. Her assumptions had gotten her into trouble, while her instincts had led her to the killer. But she felt a demon possess her, and she asked, in her most ingenuous voice, "Could you elaborate on the distinction between the two? I think I was absent from class that day."

Before O'Connor could respond, a commotion erupted in the hall.