Attempting to control her flowing red hair, Ruby grabbed it into a ponytail and twisted on a rubber band. Her impatience stemmed from having to sit through Darren's funeral service a couple of hours ago, pretending to be heartbroken. Oh, she regretted his murder, but at the same time was relieved to have him out of her life.

No one would have believed how he had tormented her mind with hateful remarks. To everyone else, Darren St. James came across as a saint. When other people were around, he was kindness itself -- to them. The glances he'd slip to her boldly said she wasn't worth such treatment. Other women thought he was a fantastic marital catch, but other women weren't shown his dark side.

The pranks he used to pull on Ruby were nothing less than downright mean. Anchovies on pizza when she couldn't stomach looking at the small fish corpses. Silent treatments that could last for several weeks. Having his guy friends over frequently, and them sitting up until three in the morning playing cards. She had been expected to keep the sandwiches, snacks and beer flowing, while ignoring their filthy jokes. A favorite of his was pinching her fanny, but only in public, under the guise of affection. Honest affection was A.W.O.L. all of the time. She had coped, because she was a fool.

One of the reasons Ruby had married the jerk began to cry. Then his twin cut loose with a wail mighty enough to have issued forth from the mouth of a moose, rather than a girl who had celebrated her first birthday six months ago.

"I'm coming; keep your diapers on!" their mother yelled. Smiling at her own reflection, she muttered, "Catch you later, dummy. Duty calls."

-

TIM ALBRIGHT THUMPED the desk with the side of his fist. He was not a happy Detective and didn't care who knew it. Including the smug Chief of Police.

"Aw, come on, Uncle Charlie. You know I've been aching to sink my teeth into the Wangler drug smuggling case."

That's Chief Armatron to you," the late fifties head honcho of the Tucson cop shop stated calmly.

"If I go along with calling you that, do I get re-assigned to the drug case?"

"Not a chance! Darren St. James was an up-and-coming cyclist. His death could prevent the U.S. from copping the Tour de France. Pun intended."

"St. James wasn't even on the team. He'd only been good enough to be a back-up in the event one of the team had to drop out," Tim grumbled.

"In your line of work, you should know the value of competent back-up."

"Let Ryan and Curtis nose into this and put me on the Wangler case."

With a mighty roar that was heard not only out in the corridor, but up and down its entire length, Charlie lunged up from his swivel chair. Beefy fists planting in the middle of his desk, muscular arms stiff, he glared meaningfully. "Sunset Investigations is not part of this Police force! You are!"

"Does that mean I 'are' on the St. James case?" Tim muttered, slouching into his chair.

"What do you think?"

"I think you aren't my favorite uncle anymore."