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wiggling his eyebrows. “Are you two bumping fuzzies yet?”
    “Hardly,” I say, still bristling over Hurley’s distant attitude of late. “I think I scared him off by using the “L” word back when I thought he might be dying.”
    “You told him you’re a lesbian?” Lucien says loud enough for everyone to hear. “Are you?” he adds, looking intrigued.
    Someone in the surrounding crowd yells out, “Hey, lawyer guy, can I have a card, too?” followed by a chorus of “Me too, me too, me too.” I’m saved from any further Lucien humiliations as a swarm of people close in and I gingerly pick my way out of the lightbulb debris pile to answer Hurley’s call.
    “Hey, what’s up, Hurley? Are you feeling better?”
    “I’m fine.”
    I glance back and see Lucien completely surrounded by potential clients looking to make a buck the good old American way—by suing someone. So I take advantage of his distraction and disappear down a nearby aisle. “Are you sure?” I say to Hurley. “You were looking pretty peaked the last time I saw you, like maybe you’re coming down with something. ’Tis the season, you know. Did you get a flu shot?”
    “My health is fine,” Hurley says. “Where are you?”
    I tell him where I am and why, leaving out the details about the lightbulb display.
    “I need to talk to you,” he says. “Can you come over to my place later?”
    An invite to the inner sanctum! My day is starting to look better. I’ve never been inside Hurley’s house, though I did some snooping a while back and found out where he lives. The fact that he hasn’t invited me over has left me wondering if he has something to hide, or if I was reading a little too much into the few full-body ogles and curl-my-toes kisses we’ve shared thus far.
    “Sure,” I tell him, trying not to sound as eager as I am. “I have to help Izzy post that body we found this morning, so it will probably be five or later before I can get there.”
    “That’s fine.”
    “Okay. I’ll see you then.”
    I end the call before he has a chance to change his mind. At first I’m pretty excited about the invite, hoping Hurley wants to talk about our future relationship. But then I recall the recent change in his attitude and wonder if I’m fooling myself. In my experience, most men’s understanding of commitment is limited to mental institutions and beer brand loyalty. Maybe Hurley’s planning to hit me with the let’s-just-be-friends discussion, or the oops-I-meant-to-tell-you-I’m-married discussion, or the I-thought-you-knew-I-was-gay discussion.
    My cell phone rings and when I see it’s Hurley calling me back, panic rears its ugly head. Damn, he’s changed his mind already.
    I wince as I answer, bracing myself for the blow. “Hello?”
    “I thought you might want my address,” Hurley says. “Unless you somehow know where I live already.”
    Busted!
    I consider trying to lie my way out of it by saying something like, Oh yeah, silly me. I guess that would help. But I don’t. “Hey, Hurley, it’s a small town. And you’re not the only one with investigative resources, you know.”
    “Good,” he says. “I plan to take full advantage of your resources.” Before I can respond to that he adds, “See you later,” and hangs up.
    I’m left standing next to the nuts and bolts display feeling edgy and oddly titillated. I can think of several “resources” I possess that I’d love to let Hurley take advantage of, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t what he meant. Whatever his meaning, my curiosity is definitely aroused. As are several other parts of my body.

Chapter 3
    I make it out of the store without any further gropes from Lucien or attacks from the red-vested meanies, and arrive back at the body dump site about ten minutes later. Richmond is still there, wedged behind his steering wheel, his car showing a definite tilt toward the driver’s side. As I haul my buckets and trowels out of the back of the hearse, he