He turned to leave, but Pryce cleared his throat. Mickey froze, then looked at his captain. “Was there something else, sir?”
“This.” He held up an old file with the name Grace Seymour written in aged-looking handwriting on the label. “What’s your interest in a forty-year-old murder, Ross? You pursuing a line of investigation you haven’t told me about?”
“It’s going to be a lovely gazebo, Boudreaux,” Luci said. Working together, they’d been able to get the frame in place without the concrete Reggie had been so sure was necessary. Over Boudreaux’s shoulder she could see the bougainvillea with yellow Police tape still around it. “Not exactly original, but a workable plan, I will admit.”
Boudreaux, not following her train of thought, mumbled a question.
“The body under the gazebo thing. Thi
