Murder in Hindsight by Anne Cleeland Read Free Book Online

assignment. “Any particular book?”
    “Nothing embarrassing,” directed Munoz; “I don’t want him to think I am hanging around with someone stupid.”
    Doyle stifled an urge to purchase a stack of pornography and inquired, “And are you goin’ to be payin’ me back after we perform this little morality play?”
    “Shut up, Doyle; you can afford it.” Munoz had been interested in Acton, and was annoyed that Doyle had made such a spectacular match under the radar, so to speak.
    “If I may be sayin’ so, you are in a foul mood, for a temptress.”
    Munoz’s full red lips thinned. “I went to a community outreach last night, and all everyone wanted to ask about was the incident. ” She said the last word as though it were an epithet.
    Doyle shrugged in resignation. “I imagine the PR department is thinkin’ they may as well make some hay.” Munoz was trying to raise her profile with the PR department, and they were nothing loath as she was a telegenic minority female, and thus a good face to put forward.
    “I don’t like being cast as the victim.” The beauty ground out the words, and her scowl deepened. “It’s demeaning, and no one sees me anymore.”
    Biting back a retort—honestly; it never paid to save someone’s life, nowadays—Doyle suggested, “Saints, Munoz; then use your wits and turn it around. After all, you took a knife with my name on it.”
    They walked in silence down the street for a few moments. “I did, didn’t I? Why doesn’t anyone remember that?”
    “You need to remind them. And if you are recruitin’ the kids, explain how important it is to exercise and stay strong, because that is why you survived.”
    “I’m a lot stronger than you .”
    “No argument here, DS Munoz.” Mother a’ mercy, thought Doyle; how many more months of this? As they were almost to the bookstore, Doyle took the opportunity to change the subject. “What’s this favored fellow like, if I may be askin’?”
    “Nice,” Munoz replied with a touch of defiance. “Smart—he’s a graduate student.”
    It was intriguing that Munoz was interested in a bookstore clerk, graduate student or no. She tended to pursue high-profile men with money—as well she could; she was beautiful and tempestuous, a combination that was very attractive to men for reasons that escaped Doyle. Ever since Doyle’s abrupt and unheralded marriage, however, the girl had expressed an interest in finding someone marriageable, and perhaps the graduate student was the result of this new search criteria.
    They walked into the store, chatting casually so that the target would not realize that he was, in fact, a target. This subterfuge, however, was completely unnecessary; a young man spotted Munoz immediately, lit up like a candle, and hurried over to greet her.
    “Isabel—I’m off for lunch in a minute; can you join me?”
    The offer courteously included Doyle, who was well-aware of her expendability and demurred, explaining she had a limited time to make an important purchase. With a convincing show of deigning to make a concession, Munoz agreed to accompany him, and Doyle was thus left alone to examine some of the books displayed on the tables—in truth, she wasn’t much of a reader, and it seemed clear that Munoz’s offer of a meal was nothing more than a bait-and-switch. She was thinking about ringing up Acton to see if he could take a break from his class preparation, when she realized that the man next to her was intensely interested in her, and standing a little too close—he may be a pervert, best move aside. Without looking up, she moved away, but he moved right along with her, his acute interest unabated. Thinking to render a quelling stare, she glanced up and met the level gaze of her rescuer from the night before. “You will meet me at the religion section, if you please.” He turned and was gone almost before she registered that it was indeed he.
    Her first reaction was dismay; she’d put that little