Fear was a perfectly reasonable reaction, but I tried not to show it.

She studied me. “I probably shouldn’t be seen chatting with you, now that you’re a murder suspect. It could ruin my reputation.”

“We’re not chatting, and your reputation was ruined a long time ago.” I sighed. Seriously, if I was going to trade barbs with Minka LaBoeuf, I needed to regroup.

“What are you doing down here, Minka?” I asked wearily.

“I work here,” she said with a sneer. “That’s more than I can say for you. I belong here. You don’t. So you’re not the one calling the shots this time. This time it’s your ass on the hot seat. How does that make you feel, Brooks?”

“Don’t call me Brooks,” I snapped. Brooks was the nickname my family and close friends used. Like my old college boyfriend. The same boyfriend Minka had been so obsessed with that she’d picked up a wide-blade X-Acto knife and stabbed me in the hand.

“Whatever,” she said.

I noticed some of her coral lipstick had migrated to her tooth and it gave me the strength to lob another round of insults her way.

“I know reality isn’t your forte,” I said. “But let me remind you that Abraham Karastovsky fired you from the Winslow job and I know that pissed you off.”

“And your point, as if I care?”

“Now you’re stuck in archives and we all know that’s the bottom of the barrel.”

“It’s not so bad.”

“Right. But see, here on earth we call that motive and I’m sure the police would love to hear all about it.”

Her upper lip twitched and curled as her self-assurance slipped. She moved even closer and snapped her fingers back and forth in front of my face like some jive diva. “And I am so sure they would love to know who Abraham was hooking up with in his workshop earlier tonight.”

Every nerve ending in my body jumped into high alert. Had she seen my mother down here? But Mom had insisted that Abraham didn’t show up, so what was Minka talking about?