“And besides,” I told Crowley, “Sheila’s mouth was covered with duct tape when I found her. Nobody would have heard her if she screamed.”

The implications of that sent a cold shudder through me.

“She’s the owner’s girlfriend?” Crowley asked.

I knew he was fishing. “Yes,” I said.

“And you and he weren’t involved.” He took in the scene again, slowly. “This looks like the kind of thing a woman might do in a jealous rage.”

“That is so sexist,” Jolie said.

“Shut up,” I told her.

Crowley arched an eyebrow and waited. His attention was all mine, lucky me.

“Bert was—is—my friend. My landlord. There was never anything romantic between us.”

Crowley didn’t speak.

“Am I under arrest or what?” I asked.

“No,” Crowley answered, “but you’re a person of interest again.”

“Don’t leave town?”

“Bingo.”

“Just exactly what constitutes not leaving town?” I was going to have a hell of a time corralling Alex Pennington’s harem if I couldn’t leave Cave Creek, and then there was Lillian. “My job entails some traveling, and my foster mother is in a nursing home in Phoenix.”

“You’re free to visit your mother,” Crowley said. He leaned in a little.

I knew what he was doing—turning up the heat, trying to get me to crack. I’d seen the tactic on TV and read about it in at least one Damn Fool’s Guide. Actually, I kind of admired his technique, and if I ever had to grill somebody, I’d be ready.

“Since when does your job involve traveling?”

I reddened. Of course he’d know all about my job. He’d probably run a background check when I was a person of interest the first time around. “I have to pick up printouts from the doctor’s offices and clinics I bill for,” I said.

I could scratch Alex off the list, after tonight.

“I thought that was all done over the Internet these days,” Crowley remarked easily. “Age of technology, and all that.”

“Can I go now?”

Crowley nodded, pushed back his chair and stood.

“Next time you hear noises, or see a broken lock, Ms. Sheepshanks,” he said, “call us before you barge in, will you?”

“Right,” I said.

“And, Ms. Sheepshanks?”

“What?”

“Bad-Ass Bert’s is a crime scene. Stay out of it.”

I swallowed. “Okay.”

Jolie took me by the arm and helped me to my feet. She and Russell and I went out, weaving our way between cops. Russell, so fierce before, seemed worn out now. Downright disheartened.

Upstairs, in the apartment, Jolie turned on every light in the place.

“You really need to move,” she said.

I gave Russell some fresh kibble and refilled his water dish. “Where would you suggest I go?” I asked reasonably. “As a person of interest, my options are limited.”

“Maybe you and I could get a place together.”