Never Happened. Debra Webb

side of the scenario, was there ever a good time to die? Who was she to complain? She made her living off the dead. That put her and morticians in the same boat. No death and dying, no income.

      Evicting the idea that she had anything at all in common with anyone she knew who worked behind the authorized personnel doors of a funeral home, she asked, “What’s up?”

      “There was a strange call for you this morning. Some really odd guy.”

      A frown scrunched its way across Alex’s forehead. She opted not to point out to Shannon that there were a lot of odd guys in a city the size of Miami. “Did this odd man have a name?” She hadn’t dated anyone since the freak who got off on peeking whenever she used the bathroom. Surely it wouldn’t be him. Alex was pretty certain she’d made herself crystal clear as to how she felt about hearing from him again.

      Three whole weeks without a date. Had to be a record. Cutting herself some slack she had to admit she had been busy. People didn’t stop dying just because her dating life was in the toilet. Which was, as she’d just noted a few seconds ago, a good thing for business.

      “He wouldn’t leave his name. It was very strange. He wanted to know if you were here. When I said no, he asked where he could find you. I offered him your cell number but he hung up on me.”

      Shannon was right, that was a little weird. Alex couldn’t think of anyone she’d ticked off lately. “I suppose if it’s important he’ll call back. Next time, if he’s a jerk, hang up on him.” Alex started the engine and backed out of the parking slot. Every business had its share of cranks and jerks. “Did Marg ever come in?”

      “Eventually,” Shannon said covertly. Alex imagined her craning her neck to make sure Marg wasn’t listening. She didn’t like that Shannon and Alex kept such close tabs on her.

      “Keep an eye on her.” Alex thought back to how her mom had forgone her usual third-date sex last night. Maybe sweating to the oldies had only put off the inevitable. She and Robert could have rendezvoused this morning. “We may have to stage another intervention.”

      “Will do. What’s the favor you needed?” Shannon asked, returning her attention to the reason for Alex’s call.

      “How about checking the Herald for anything on an explosion over in Morningside. Happened sometime last night.”

      Another call came in and Shannon promised to get back to her as soon as she took care of the call and checked the paper.

      Alex pulled out onto the street, her mind rolling over and over the idea that Henson was dead. She would miss him. There was no way to deny that. She couldn’t help wondering now if she’d made a mistake walking away.

      “Enough, Alex.” What was she doing? Just because the guy was dead she was going all freaky. Henson was not the one. No one was the one. She was happy with her life just the way it was. No one was sorrier than her that he was dead, but she had to get past this obsession with what she hadn’t said or done.

      It was that stupid contact lens. If she hadn’t found it and called him about it, maybe he’d still be alive. That was the part that really bothered her. Whether Patton wanted to take what she said seriously or not, there was something to it. The part that really disturbed her was the call she’d gotten from Henson last night. He’d sounded so excited. The guy who did the analysis had to have given him some pretty juicy feedback to get Henson that pumped. And why had he driven toward Hallandale after picking up the analysis? He didn’t live in that direction and hadn’t mentioned letting anyone else look at the evidence last night. It didn’t make sense. Maybe he had intended to let someone else have a look-see. Another cop who kept the same kind of hours he did.

      But wouldn’t that have been his partner?

      She supposed not, since Patton had been at the hospital welcoming his new daughter into the world. Maybe Henson and his partner hadn’t bonded closely enough in the past six months for Henson to share his obsession with all things electronic.

      The idea that something was wrong with the scenario just kept nagging at her.

      Alex drove, her destination uncertain. She couldn’t go to the scene of the explosion in Morningside until Shannon called her back with an exact location. No point in checking out the crash site where Henson’s car had been found; the cops had already been over it and the car was in the hands of forensics.

      There was just one thing she could do right now.

      Go to the morgue.

      The concept was a fairly simple one that had only just occurred to her. The old guy who’d blown off half his head had two eyes—or at least he did before he opted to discharge a .45 into his skull. Most folks who chose contacts over eyeglasses wore two. Maybe there was still one attached to the guy’s intact eye.

      Anticipation fired through her.