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my pocket and ran out of the garage.
    When I got to the driveway, I locked my fingers behind my head and gulped air. After a few moments I took Kacey’s arm and pulled her farther from the garage. Her face was pale. Her breathing was short and quick. “Stay back here,” I said. “I don’t want you getting poisoned, too. Sit down on the driveway if you need to.”
    After a few more deep breaths, I ran back into the garage. When I got to the car I grabbed Elise around the waist to pull her out. She was frozen in a nearly fetal position. If I pulled her into the driveway and sat her up, she would tip over like a grotesque piece of yard art. I leaned into the car and studied her more closely. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes contrasted like delicate black stitching against the bright red of her cheeks and eyelids. Beneath her robe she wore pink wool pajamas with red hearts. On her feet were fuzzy pink slippers.
    Despite the unnaturally twisted pose of her lower body, from the shoulders up she appeared as peaceful as I had ever seen her; much different than when she was alive. She was a woman who had always fought an unsuccessful battle to be included. At that moment I desperately wished I hadn’t called her a rat. A curly lock of blonde hair dangled over her left eye. I reached across her and brushed it back, my fingers grazing her clammy forehead. There was no reason to disturb her now. I left her where she was and jogged back out to the driveway.
    As I approached Kacey, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “Is she dead?”
    I nodded. “She’s been dead for quite a while. Are you okay?”
    “I’m fine. Sorry, it was the shock that got me. I just wasn’t expecting—”
    I touched her arm. “Kacey, there’s a dead person in there. I’d be concerned about you if you weren’t upset.”
    “It never occurred to me that she’d do this. I feel awful. Maybe if we had handled it differently.”
    I placed my hand on her back. “Look, we didn’t steal the money, she did. It’s sad that she’s dead, and I’m sure we’ll feel even worse about this later, when we have a chance to think. But we didn’t do anything, and we don’t have any reason to feel guilty. So don’t do that to yourself.”
    She nodded.
    I walked over and picked up my purse from where I had left it on the driveway. I pulled out my phone.
    “Why is she so red?” Kacey said. “It’s awful.”
    “Carbon monoxide. That’s what it does.” I dialed 9-1-1.
    When the operator answered, I said what seemed obvious: “I want to report a suicide.”

CHAPTER
    THREE
    WITHIN FIVE MINUTES A white-and-blue Lewisville police SUV rolled into the driveway, lights flashing, and made a U-turn so it was facing the open garage door. A bowlegged, mustached officer stepped out onto the pavement from the passenger side. He held up a hand to shade his eyes against the sun, which had risen above the roof of the house. His partner, a heavyset woman with a dark, round face and remarkably large eyes, walked around the front of the SUV from the driver’s side.
    It quickly became apparent that the bowlegged one was in charge. “Hello, ladies. Did one of you place a 9-1-1 call about a suicide?”
    I raised my hand. “I did.”
    “I’m Officer Ferrell. This is my partner, Sandra Jackson. Where is the victim?”
    “In the car, there.” I pointed toward the garage.
    “Carbon monoxide?”
    “Yes.”
    “Have you been in there?”
    I nodded.
    “Did you check for a pulse?” He took a step toward the garage.
    “Rigor has already set in.”
    He turned back to me. “You a doctor?”
    “I’m a security consultant. I’ve seen dead people before.”
    He put his hands on his hips and looked us up and down, but mostly up, since Kacey and I were both taller than he was. “Are you relatives of the victim?”
    “Business associates,” I said. “We were supposed to meet her at eight o’clock. When we got here, she didn’t answer the doorbell. We came around back