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escort you.”
    She frowned with distaste. “He’s got a moist handshake. I hate that.” Looking thoroughly put out, she said, “It’s a few hours of your time, Duncan.”
    “Sorry.”
    “You just don’t want to be seen with me.”
    “What are you talking about? I’m seen with you all the time.”
    “But never in a social setting. Some people there might not know I’m your coworker. Heaven forbid anyone mistake me for your date. Being with a woman who’s short, dumpy, and frizzy might damage your reputation as a stud muffin.”
    He set his beer on the countertop, hard. “Now you’ve made me mad. First of all, I don’t have that reputation. Secondly, who says you’re short?”
    “Worley called me vertically challenged.”
    “Worley’s an asshole. Nor are you dumpy. You’re compactly built. Muscular, because you work out like a fiend. And your hair’s frizzy because you perm the hell out of it.”
    “Makes it easy to take care of,” she said defensively. “Keeps it out of my eyes. How’d you know it was permed?”
    “Because when you get a fresh one, I can smell it. My mom used to give herself perms at home. Stunk up the whole house for days. Dad begged her to go to the beauty parlor, but she said they charge too much.”
    “Salon, Duncan. They’re not called beauty parlors anymore.”
    “
I
know that. Mom doesn’t.”
    “Do they know about your jail time?”
    “Yeah,” he said with some regret. “I used my one phone call to talk to them because they get nervous if they don’t hear from me every few days. They’re proud of what I do, but they worry. You know how it is.”
    “Well, not really,” she said, using the sour tone of voice she used whenever her parents were referenced, even tangentially. “Do your folks know about Savich?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “I downplay it.”
    “What did they think of their son being in jail?”
    “They had to bail me out once when I was in high school. Underage drinking. I caught hell that time. This time, Dad commended me for standing up for what I thought was right. Of course I didn’t tell him that I’d used the f-word to get my point across.”
    DeeDee smiled. “You’re lucky they’re so understanding.”
    “I know.” In truth, Duncan did know how fortunate he was. DeeDee’s relationship with her parents was strained. Hoping to divert her from that unhappy topic, he said, “Did I tell you that Dad’s gone high-tech? Prepares his sermons on a computer. He has the whole Bible on software and can access any scripture with a keystroke. But not everybody is happy about it. One old-timer in his congregation is convinced that the Internet is the Antichrist.”
    She laughed. “He may be right.”
    “May be.” He picked up his beer and took another drink.
    “Not that I was asked, but I’d love a Diet Coke, please.”
    “Sorry.” He opened the fridge and reached inside. Then, with a yelp, yanked back his hand. “Whoa!”
    “What?”
    “I’ve gotta remember to set my alarm.”
    DeeDee pushed him aside and looked into the refrigerator. She made a face, and, like Duncan, recoiled. “What
is
that?”
    “If I were to guess, I’d say it’s Freddy Morris’s tongue.”
     
Chapter 2
     
    D UNCAN WOULD TAKE THE SEVERED TONGUE — NOW SEVERAL months old — to the ME in the morning. For the time being he placed it in an evidence bag and returned it to his refrigerator.
    DeeDee was aghast. “You’re not going to leave it in there, are you? With your
food
?”
    “I don’t want it smelling up my house.”
    “Are you going to have the place dusted for prints?”
    “It wouldn’t do any good and would only make a mess.”
    Whoever had been inside his house, either Savich or one of his many errand boys — Duncan guessed the latter — would have been too smart to leave fingerprints. More disturbing than finding the offensive, shriveled piece of tissue was knowing that his house had been violated. In and of itself, the tongue was a prank.