A Caress of Twilight

"I doubt it. None of the others did."

I stared up at her. "Others?"

"Jeremy's had to go with Teresa to the hospital."

"What happened?" I asked.

"Teresa touched a lipstick that one of the women had been about to put on before she died. Teresa started hyperventilating, then she couldn't breathe. If we hadn't had paramedics on the scene, she might have died. I should have known better than to invite one of the most powerful clairvoyants in the country into this mess."

She glanced at Frost, who was standing a little out of the way, one hand on the other wrist, very bodyguardish. The effect was somewhat ruined by his silver hair spilling around him in the wind, as if it was trying to pull loose from the ponytail. A pale pink shirt matched the show hankie in the white suit jacket that matched the slacks. The slender silver belt matched his hair. His shiny loafers were creamy tan. He looked more like a fashion plate than a guard, though the wind gave occasional glimpses of the black shoulder holster underneath all that V white and pink.

"Jeremy said you were ru

"Not much." I didn't bother to explain it wasn't Frost who had kept me up last night. We were doing friendly banter, empty, meaningless, something to say to fill the windy silence while we stood over the dead woman.

I looked down at her face, lovely even in death. The body looked thin, not exactly strong, more like she'd dieted her way to a size whatever. If she'd known she would die last night, would she have gone off her diet the day before?

"How old was she?"

"Her ID says twenty-three."

"She looks older," I said.

"Dieting and too much sun will do that to you." Any flash of humor had gone now. She was somber as she looked up on the cliff above us. "You ready to see the rest?"

"Sure, but I'm a little puzzled about why you called Jeremy and all of us in. It's sad, but she got herself killed, or choked to death, or something. She suffocated, it's horrible, but why call us in?"

"I didn't call in your two bodyguards." For the first time there was true hostility on her face. She pointed down the beach at Rhys. Frost might have been uncomfortable, but Rhys was having a very good time.

He watched everything with an eager eye, smiling, humming the theme song to Hawaii Five-O under his breath. Or at least that's what he'd been humming when he went farther down the beach to watch some of the uniforms wade in the surf. Rhys had already done Magnum, P.I., until Frost told him to stop. Rhys preferred film noir and would always be a Bogart fan at heart, but Bogie wasn't making movies anymore. In the last few months Rhys discovered reruns in color that he actually enjoyed.

He turned toward us and waved, smiling. His white trench coat billowed out around him like wings as he began to trudge his way back up the beach. He had had to take off his tan fedora to keep it from blowing into the sea.

"Rhys is creepy around murder scenes," Detective Lucy said. "He always has such a good time, like he's happy someone's dead."

I didn't know how to explain that Rhys had once been worshipped as a god of death, so death didn't bother him all that much. But that part was best not shared with the police. I said, "You know how much he loves film noir."

"This isn't a movie," she said.

"What's got you all upset, Lucy? I've seen you at worse murder scenes than this. Why are you so ... bothered?"

"You just wait. You won't need to ask once you've seen it."

"Can you just tell me, Lucy, please?"

Rhys came up to us, face all shiny like a kid on Yule morning. "Hi, Detective Tate. There's no burst blood vessels in the girl's eyes, no bruising anywhere that I could find. Does anyone know how she suffocated?"

"You looked at the body?" Her voice was cold.

He nodded, still smiling. "I thought that's what we were here to do."

She pointed a finger at his chest. "You weren't invited to this show. Merry was, and Jeremy was, and Teresa was, but you -- " She poked the finger into his chest, " -- were not."

The smile faded and left his tricolored blue eye cold. "Merry has to have two bodyguards with her at all times. You know that."

"Yeah, I know that." She poked again, hard enough that he was shoved backwards just a little. "But I don't like you around my murder scenes."

"I know the rules, Detective. I haven't messed with your evidence. I've stayed out of the way of everyone from the EMTs to the video photographer."

The wind gusted, blowing her dark hair across her face, so she was forced to take a hand out of her pocket to smooth it back. "Then stay out of my way, too, Rhys."

"Why, what did I do wrong?"

"You enjoy this." The last was almost spit in his face. "You're not supposed to enjoy it." She stalked back up the beach toward the stairs that led up to the road, the parking lot, and the club on its little promontory.

"Who licked her fur the wrong way?" he asked.

"She's creeped out by whatever's up the stairs, and she needs someone to take it out on. You're it."

"Why me?"

Frost had joined us. "Because she is human and humans mourn death. They don't enjoy poking at it like you do."

"That's a lie," Rhys said. "A lot of the detectives enjoy their work, and I know the medical examiner does."

"But they don't go around humming at the crime scene," I said.

"Sometimes they do," Rhys said.

I frowned at him, trying to figure out how to make it more clear. "Humans hum, or sing, or tell bad jokes over the bodies so they won't be scared. You hum because you're happy. This doesn't bother you."

He glanced down at the dead woman. "She doesn't care anymore. She's dead. We could stage a Wagnerian opera on top of her and she wouldn't care."

I touched his arm. "Rhys, it's not the dead you should try to placate; it's the living."

He frowned at me.

"Be less happy in front of the humans when you are looking at their dead," Frost said.

"Very well, but I don't understand why I should pretend."

"Pretend that Detective Tate is Queen Andais," I said, "and it bothers her that you go around chortling over the dead."

I watched some thought slip over his face, then he shrugged. "I can seem less happy around the detective, but I still don't understand why."

I sighed, and looked at Frost. "Do you understand why?"

"If it were my kinswoman on the gurney, I would feel something for her death."

I turned back to Rhys. "See."

He shrugged. "I'll be sad around Detective Tate."

"Just somber will do, Rhys." I'd had this sudden image of him falling on the next corpse with weeping and wailing. "Don't overdo it."

He gri

He suddenly looked somber; that mattered to him. "Okay, okay, I'll be good. Sheesh."

Detective Tate yelled back at us, her voice riding the wind like seagulls overhead. She was halfway up the stairs, and it was impressive that her voice carried back to us so clearly. "Hurry it up. We don't have all day here."

"Actually, we do," Rhys said.

I was already walking through the soft sand toward the stairs. I was very sorry that I'd worn high heels today, and I didn't protest when Frost offered me his arm. "Actually we do what?" I asked.

"We have all day. We have all eternity. The dead aren't going anywhere."

I glanced at him. He was watching the tall detective with a sort of faraway, almost dreamy look on his face. "You know what, Rhys?"

He looked at me, raising one eyebrow.

"Lucy's right. You're creepy at a murder scene."

He gri