I left Powell's office before he could come back and tell me more lies. I drove about a mile, pulled over, and called CID. The man who answered said Detective Harris wasn't in, and Detective Willard was in a meeting.

"I think I've solved one of Detective Harris's cases," I said. "At least, I'm reasonably certain that I have a prime suspect for her."

"Really." I heard a suppressed guffaw. Sure, Crimesolver Sam, doing police work now. Tell me another one, I expected him to say.

"The guy just lied to me about knowing someone connected to the case. Plus, he's in exactly the kind of position that would enable him to commit the crime." As Tina's guidance counselor, Powell must have arranged to meet Shanae at home, ostensibly to talk about Tina. She no doubt appreciated this accommodation since she hated going to Tina's school to discuss her problems. Shanae must have wanted to discuss Tina's performance with Beaufort on the DVDs. Powell had to know it was a matter of time before his part in the arrangement came out.

"So shall I have one of the detectives call you?" the man said, in a voice appropriate for dealing with small, unruly children.

"Can I have Detective Harris's cell phone?"

"I can take a message."

I gave him my cell number and told him to have her call right away.

I leaned back with my eyes shut. A sickening feeling overcame me. I shouldn't have left Powell's office. He would wonder about that. At some point, he would think of the photos and realize that they tipped me off to his lies. Which meant he'd come after me. Or he'd send Diesel.

I wondered if there was a motel far enough away for me to hide. And what would I do with Oscar? He didn't travel well. I couldn't ask Russell to take him again.

My phone rang. Reed Duvall's cheery voice greeted me.

"Hey," I said, trying to collect my thoughts. "How was your trip?"

"As good as it gets when you move your mother into assisted living," he said. "Now that's done and I've got a week's worth of backup to deal with. I thought I'd check in and see how things are going."

"Funny you should ask," I said, pondering how much had changed in a week. I gave him a bare bones update, including my revelation about Powell. "I'm trying to figure out where I can hide from a homicidal guidance counselor and a killer with a body that would make Arnold Schwarzenegger weep with envy."

"Let me help."

"Don't tell me. You'll give me your frequent flier miles to go to Tahiti?" The truth is, I've never been on a plane and I'm scared to death of flying, but I would ride shotgun with The Red Baron rather than face Diesel again.

"How about this?" Duvall said. "I'll be your bodyguard."

*****

"This is not the kind of service I usually provide," Duvall said, two hours later in my living room. "But, in your case, I'll make an exception."

Duvall had brought a small overnight bag that Oscar sniffed with great enthusiasm.

"I can't offer much in accommodations. I hope you don't mind sleeping on the sofa."

He grinned and brushed back the light-brown cowlick over his brow. "Of course not," he said. I thought I saw a glimmer in his green eyes. Unspoken desires?

"I can offer you dinner. I hope you like leftover moo goo gai pan."

"But what will you have?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Bread and water, maybe?"

Duvall went to the kitchen and opened the frig. "You've got eggs. I see cheese and ham. I'll make us omelets."

"Duvall, you don't have to cook—"

"Shut up. Sit down. Let me handle this."

I sat at the breakfast bar, answering occasional questions about the location of my pans and bowls, and watched as Duvall made magic in the kitchen. While the eggs sizzled, he grated the cheese, shredded some deli ham, and retrieved a few slices of green pepper from the salad-in-a-bag I kept in the produce drawer. He diced them, added them to the other ingredients and folded the eggs over the filling. The place smelled heavenly.

As he toiled, I described the events of the past week and a half in greater detail, noting how much Little D had helped.

"He didn't tell me about Tina," I said. "But I understand his reasons."

"I told you he has his own way of doing things, didn't I?" Duvall said. "You can count on him, though, when things get rough."

As he slid the omelets onto plates, I said, "That stove will need a vacation. It's not used to working that hard."

"I should bodyguard you more often."

"Thanks for dinner. And thanks for coming over. I'm still feeling shaky."

"Don't worry," he said. He placed his hand on mine. I thought about moving it, but didn't. "I'm here for you."

I thought about Ray and the difficulties of getting involved with a business associate. His touch conveyed concern, maybe more. I told myself that Duvall and I should remain friends.

"But you can't look after me day and night," I said. "When the hell is that detective going to call?" I added, trying to change the subject.

"I'll do what I can. Maybe we can go to the cops tomorrow and insist on seeing someone. I know people there. I can pull some strings."

"I can't rely on you all the time to protect me and pull strings for me," I protested.

He looked at me. "Why? That's what friends are for."

Without thinking, I leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"What was that for?" he asked.

"For friendship," I said. "And a great omelet."

My phone rang. Detective Harris relieved us of the need to say anything further.