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records.”
    The courtroom? Could he hear my mind shouting those words? Was he threatening me? I clamped my jaws together to keep my teeth from chattering as I pictured twelve jurors staring at me from a jury box while a black-robed judge banged a gavel for attention in the courtroom.
    “Your reflexology treatments must have given Mrs. Ashford relief, right?”
    “Yes, of course. That’s why she booked the standing appointment.”
    “Do you ever treat patients with shoulder and back pain?” He dropped his pad and ballpoint back into his pocket.
    “Of course,” I replied. A trick question? I wondered. Why would he ask that?
    “Are you taking new patients? I mean, if you could fit me in, I’d like to have you see what you can do for my shoulders. Doctors haven’t seemed to help me any. Foot reflexology’s a new healing concept to me, but I’m willing to try it. Is it painful?”
    “Very little pain involved.” It amused me that this big guy, this formidable detective, might be afraid of a little pain.
    “I like to play tennis and golf, but here lately…”
    I hesitated. Would a detective investigating a suicide or a murder spend time asking questions about my reflexology business? About making an appointment? Something about his quick questions and his seemingly quick acceptance of reflexology as an alternative treatment put me on guard.
    He came here to investigate a death, didn’t he? Did he really have shoulder and back problems, or did he just want to see my office, see if I had a legitimate business? My mind swirled with questions I couldn’t answer. Police detectives didn’t have to make appointments to investigate, did they? Nothing could stop this man from coming to my office at any time with a search warrant or with more questions. Or nothing would keep him from coming to my office to make an appointment. I decided to take him at his word—at least for the time being. He wanted a reflexology treatment and I seldom turn down the chance to work with a new and needy patient.
    “Yes, I can give you a time slot, but I’ll have to check my appointment calendar at the office.”
    “Fine,” he said. “I’d like to go there with you now. My men will finish taking care of the crime scene and notifying the next of kin.”
    Now I felt almost sure that he wanted to check out my place of business. I considered telling him that Margaux had no next of kin except Beau, that she had been born in a Greek village where her family had all been killed by raiding Albanians many years ago. That she had escaped by playing dead until the raiders left. I kept quiet. Why should I be of help? Let this detective do his own detecting into Margaux’s past.
    “Do you care to ride along with me?” he asked. “Or do you prefer to go on ahead and let me follow you there?”
    I nodded toward the reflexology equipment I’d laid on the entryway table when I stepped into the house.
    “I travel by bicycle. After I’ve loaded my equipment into my bike basket, you’re welcome to follow me to my office. Or if that’s too slow for you, you can meet me there. Duval Street. My office’s next to my grandmother’s coffee shop. Celia Hernandez Sundries.”
    “I know the place,” he said. “I’ll meet you there. I’ve enjoyed your grandmother’s espresso for years. Can’t say that I’ve ever noticed your office, though.”
    I had many mixed feelings about having Detective Curry visit my office right now. I’d left it very early, before I’d had a chance to straighten it up, make it presentable for visitors, and I’ve never been noted for my housekeeping skills. I had no choice. He followed me out the door.
    Detective Curry helped me off the porch and down the steps with my reflexology gear, assisted me in loading it onto my bicycle, and then watched while I pedaled toward Duval Street. At least he didn’t seem to think I might try to escape via bicycle. Of course, he beat me to my office. When I arrived, he already sat