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should just shut up already. Okay, I got it.
    “Kevin?”
    I’d forgotten about Tim. I could only hope he hadn’t heard our exchange, although he was the only person I knew who could hear those whistles that only dogs are supposed to hear. At least that was what he told me when we were kids.
    Tim was gesturing now, indicating that there was something enthralling going on in my trunk. As if we didn’t know that already.
    Flanigan joined him over at my car. Not wanting to be left out, I sidled up next to them and hoped they wouldn’t notice.
    But when I peered over Tim’s shoulder, I let out a loud gasp. I couldn’t help it.
    Mr. That’s Amore’s wasn’t the only body in my trunk.

Chapter 3
    T hey had rolled Mr. That’s Amore over, and apparently the rat had been squished underneath his body. The guy with the camera was busy shooting pictures from all angles, obviously terribly excited that there was something new to the composition.
    The rat had been dead longer than the man. The bits of fur that still clung to the carcass were matted with dried blood.
    Needless to say, it was a bit gross.
    I stepped back a little. Tim and Flanigan were mumbling to each other. I picked up a couple of words, but nothing useful.
    Finally, Tim turned to me.
    “Brett, we’re going to have to take your car.”
    “What?”
    “It’s evidence in a crime. You can use my Jeep.” He looked sorry. Although it was probably more because I was going to drive his beloved Jeep for an indeterminate period of time than that my car was being confiscated.
    I looked from Tim to Flanigan, who was staring at me as if daring me to oppose this turn of events. It was the good cop-bad cop thing.
    The coroner’s van eased against the curb next to the driveway. Maybe I should’ve made hors d’oeuvres.
    “How much longer is this going to take?” I asked. All I wanted to do was take a shower and go to work.
    Tim was surprised, probably because he thought I’d argue the car issue. But honestly, now that they’d found the rat, the whole thing was giving me the willies. I didn’t know why a dead guy was less creepy than a dead rat, but it was. So there.
    “You can go in and get changed if you want,” Tim said.
    I smiled my thanks and started toward the door, but Flanigan’s voice stopped me.
    “We’re going to need your clothes.”
    Not again. I’d had to give up my clothes once before after finding a dead body. If this was going to be a habit, I’d have to keep two separate wardrobes.
    “I’ll put them in a plastic bag,” I promised.
    But that wasn’t good enough. Flanigan told Tim to go in the house with me. I glared at him. As if I’d substitute this outfit for another one. As if I’d have some sort of crime evidence on me.
    And now the forensics guys were looking at me the same way Sarah Palin looks at a moose in the woods.
    I went into the house, Tim on my heels. Once inside, I turned to my brother.
    “Can I go to work after this?”
    He took a deep breath. “Flanigan’s in charge.”
    “Does he think I had something to do with this guy and the rat?” I asked.
    “I don’t think so.” But his tone wasn’t exactly reassuring. He started to say something else, then stopped himself.
    “What?” I asked.
    Tim shrugged. “Wondering about that clip cord.”
    I frowned. “Wondering how?”
    “Wondering whose it is.”
    “It’s not mine. I don’t keep my equipment in the car.”
    “But he wasn’t killed in the car,” Tim said softly.
    “How do you know that?”
    Tim rolled his eyes. “Brett, do you really think that the guy crawled into the trunk on his own, and then someone decided, Hey, why don’t I strangle him with a clip cord while he’s in there? ”
    “Maybe he did it himself.”
    “Did what himself?”
    “Strangled himself with the cord. You know, all that autoerotic-stimulation stuff. Aren’t some guys into that? You start to strangle yourself while you’re—um—well—servicing yourself so it feels even