“Don’t be absurd,” Eduardo said, doing a great job of looking outraged.

“It’s true! He killed SueEllen Kingsley. He’s the blonde Heidi saw in the hallway. He’s the one who dropped the hair dryer in SueEllen’s tub. And last night he dropped one in my tub. And just now, he was going to take me into his studio with all those ghastly pictures and kill me. You wouldn’t believe the awful pictures he’s got in there. Really. Why anyone would pay good money for those monstrosities, I’ll never know—”

Why was I rambling like this? I sounded like a nutcase.

I guess that’s what the cops thought, because the next thing I knew I was standing up against the wall with my legs spread. Then Officer Washington started frisking me, touching me in places that only The Blob and my gynecologist had gone before.

I craned my neck to make eye contact with Ramirez. Maybe he’d be more sympathetic.

“I swear, officer. I’m not a burglar.”

“That’s not what the lady next door says. She saw you trying to break in this window.”

“I wasn’t breaking in, I was looking in. There’s a big difference. And okay, maybe I was thinking of breaking in, but only because I didn’t want him destroying evidence!”

“Look what I found,” Washington said.

She held up my screwdriver.

“She was probably going to use it to jimmy open the window.”

“No! I was using it to protect myself, in case the killer attacked me.”

They exchanged “loony alert” looks, much like the looks I was getting last night from the Beverly Hills cops.

Eduardo shook his head, pityingly.

“Just another drug addict looking for a quick fix,” he said. “The neighborhood is full of them.”

“Better cuff her,” Ramirez said.

“You don’t understand—”

“We understand,” Washington said, slapping a pair of handcuffs on my wrists. “We understand you’re going to jail.”

Grabbing me by the elbows, they escorted me out to their squad car. Ramirez was nice enough to read me my rights en route.

Eduardo shouted his thanks to the cops, then headed back inside.

“You’ve got to believe me. I’m a private investigator.”

They had a good chuckle over that one.

“Oh, yeah? Let’s see your license.”

“I don’t exactly have a license, but I’m investigating the SueEllen Kingsley murder.”

By now, Washington was on the phone, reporting to headquarters.

“Suspect apprehended. Probably a junkie looking for drug money.”

A junkie? What on earth would make them think I was a junkie?

And then I saw my reflection in the window of the squad car. Of course, they thought I was a junkie. I was dressed in my ratty sweats, which, thanks to that kamikaze runner, were clotted with sand. My hair was wild and I reeked of seaweed. Not exactly a profile of your law abiding citizen.

“I swear on a stack of bibles, I’m not a junkie. I really am investigating a murder. And the man in that house is a killer.”