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I sprawled out on my office carpet, all 16 of Jackie’s books spread out around me. There were more, but these were the ones I thought could lead me to the killer. I had read and reread those that hinted at anything that could shed light on the investigation. I saw them as pieces of the puzzle, sucked up the words, tasted the ink. I ate and swallowed them whole. And, now, I wanted to s**t them out. They were giving me cramps, abdominal pains, and I was no further along in identifying the murderer. I felt like I knew Jackie almost as much as Toby did, since immersing myself in her work. She was not only sexy but brilliant. Her plotting and characterizations were spot on. I had developed a sadness for her passing.
Exhausted and feeling sorry for myself, I forced my body to a sitting posi
