Body of Evidence

When they finally reached the table, Belinda introduced her husband Henry to Je

“So,” Belinda said, once Je

“No, I haven’t,” Je

“Are you starting a list of possible names for the baby?” Belinda said.

“Belinda, for crying out loud,” Henry said, “Miss Ma

“Well, why not?” Belinda said. “Would it become proper if we discussed the weather between the two subjects? That’s silly.”

Je

“The name Joe DiMaggio didn’t cut it with the mama, either,” Evan said, smiling.

“I should hope not.” Belinda frowned at Evan. “That’s a ridiculous name.”

“I liked it,” Evan said, shrugging.

“I still say,” Henry said, “that you don’t ask about the wedding dress in the same breath as inquiring about the coming baby, for heaven’s sake.”

“This baby is no secret, Henry.” Je

“I guess I did miss that.” Henry looked at Evan. “What did you say?”

“I missed it, too,” Belinda said. “Evan, what have you gone and done?”

Evan frowned. “Well, hey, I could understand the press wanting details on the breaking news about the Gardner case, and how did I feel about the documentary, but they wouldn’t stop there. They’d heard a rumor about Je

“Uh-oh,” Belinda said.

“Until,” Je

“Evan Stone,” Belinda said, narrowing her eyes, “spill it.”

“Well, hell, is it any of their business? No. So I decided to end the speculation, the questions and rumors, the whole nine yards. I said that yes, Je

Henry put his head back and roared with laughter, which set Je

“Humor me here, Evan,” he said, “then I promise to change the subject to something more pleasant. I’ve been out of the country for weeks on business and just flew in this evening.

“I sca

“No, I don’t mind. What has your brilliant brain baffled, Henry?”

“I know about the prostitution ring that Franklin Gardner was ru

Evan nodded.

“Lyle panicked,” Belinda said, “and tried to make it look like Franklin interrupted a burglary of his fancy-dancy apartment. Lyle stabbed him with an ice pick after Franklin was already dead from whopping his head on a table. Lyle might have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for the impression left of Lyle’s ring in the bruises on Franklin ’s face. Then Lyle stashed the ring in a pawnshop in Michigan and on the story goes. You know all that part, Henry.”

“Yes, that much is clear,” Henry said. “Those two detectives did a heck of a fine job by finding that ring. Incredible.”

“Je

“Oh, okay,” Je

“What was your question, Henry?” Evan said, raising his eyebrows.

“It doesn’t work for me, that’s all. Here we have a man…Lyle…who is so distraught about his brother…Franklin…destroying lives of i

“Mmm,” Evan said.

“How can a man…and this is my question finally…who is that sensitive and sickened by the horror befalling those girls turn around and beat the pulp out of his brother, then stick him with an ice pick, for heaven’s sake? Panicked or not, the two sides of the man don’t match up. They really don’t.” Henry shook his head.

“Because you’ve assumed that Lyle was concerned for the young girls, Henry,” Je

“Oh, I see,” Henry said. “Well, that makes sense then. Lyle was a scumball.”

“Right.” Je

“Hear, hear,” Belinda said. “Je

Je

“You didn’t answer my question, Evan,” Henry said, frowning. “It was Belinda and Je

“I know,” Evan said, smiling, “and I doubt seriously that they realize it. Trust me, Henry, I understand this stuff. It’s a woman thing. And as far as my woman goes? I intend to enjoy every crazy, wonderful, loving minute with Je

Joan Elliott Pickart

JOAN ELLIOTT PICKART is the author of over eighty-five novels. She is a two-time Romance Writers of America RITA® Award finalist. When she isn’t writing, she has tea parties, reads stories, plays dress up-and the list goes on-with her young daughter, Autumn. Joan also has three grown daughters and three wonderful little grandchildren. Joan and Autumn live in a small town in the high pine country of Arizona.