I had just settled into my desk chair to finish a report on a double homicide, nothing exciting. A single weapon, probably a machete, and a few moments of wild abandon. The initial wounds on both victims had been delivered in bed, where they had apparently been caught in flagrante delicto. The man had managed to raise one arm, but a little too late to save his neck. The woman made it all the way to the door before a blow to the upper spine sent a spurt of blood onto the wall beside the door frame. Routine stuff, the kind of thing that makes up most of my work, and extremely unpleasant. There is just so very much blood in two human beings, and when somebody decides to let it all out at once it makes a terrible and unattractive mess, which I find deeply offensive. Organizing and analyzing it makes me feel a great deal better, and my job can be deeply satisfying on occasion.

But this one was a real mess. I had found spatter on the ceiling fan, most likely from the machete blade as the killer raised his arm between strokes. And because the fan was on, it flung more spatter to the far corners of the room.

It had been a busy day for Dexter. I was just trying to word a paragraph in the report properly to indicate that it had been what we like to call a crime of passion when my phone rang.

Hey, Dex, the voice said, and it sounded so relaxed, even sleepy, that it took me a moment to realize it was Deborah.

Well, I said. The rumors of your death were exaggerated.

She laughed, and again the sound of it was downright mellow, unlike her usual hard-edged chuckle. Yeah, she said. I’m alive. But Kyle has kept me pretty busy.

Remind him of the labor laws, Sis. Even sergeants need their rest.

Mm, I don’t know about that, she said. I feel pretty good without it. And she gave a throaty, two-syllable chuckle that sounded as unlike Debs as if she had asked me to show her the best way to cut through living human bone.

I tried to remember when I had heard Deborah say she felt pretty good and actually sound like she meant it at the same time. I came up blank. You sound very unlike yourself, Deborah, I said. What on earth has gotten into you?

This time her laugh was a bit longer, but just as happy. The usual, she said. And then she laughed again. Anyway, what’s up?

Oh, not a thing, I said, with innocence blooming from my tongue. My only sister disappears for days and nights on end without a word and then turns up sounding like she stepped out of Stepford Sergeants. So I am naturally curious to know what the hell is going on, that’s all.