Luci needed to think, had needed to since Boudreaux’s revelation in the garden that there might be another body, but it was hard with Mickey turning up here and there in the house and her father turning up where Mickey wasn’t. The only place she hadn’t run into either was the bathroom, so that’s where she retreated to, hoping to sort things out in her mind.
Luci closed the lid, settled herself as comfortably as she could and pulled a notebook out of one pocket, a stubby pencil out of another. It was a pity that she and Mickey couldn’t have one of those cozy, confiding sleuth-cop relationships so popular in series mysteries. If she only knew what Mickey and Delaney knew—
Of course, being an insider, a Seymour who was in the family but not completely of it, gave her an edge that all the fo
