Jane woke with her teeth chattering in time to the elaborate coloratura coming from Maura's iphone. She snuggled in closer, pressing her cold nose against a warm neck and wrapping herself tighter against the doctor's body.

"Babe, you should live in an igloo in the South Pole, it's freezing in here."

"There are no indigenous inhabitants of the South Pole, Jane." She reached out one arm as far as she could and was able to just snag her phone from the bedside table. Another inch and it would have been impossible, her reach compromised with Jane holding her so tightly. She tapped the snooze button and allowed herself to doze, enjoying the feel of the detective's long arms and legs entwined around her torso and thighs.

"The word 'igloo,' or iglu, in Inuit simply means house. It could be made of any material, not just snow blocks."

"You speak Inuit now?" Jane mumbled against her neck.

"Just a few words that I picked up during my trip to Nunavut. You've seen my collection of Aleutian art."

"Mmmm."

"Maybe we could go back together one day. The aurora borealis is spectacular. I've dreamed about watching it with you."

"Hell no. Boston's cold enough for me."

Maura couldn't be disappointed though because Jane had slid one hand under her silky pajama top and was teasing her nipple between gentle fingers.

"Hit snooze one more time, Maur, that gives me nine minutes to make you come. Think I can do it?"

She slid down under the comforter and warmed her nose in the hot slick of Maura's sex.

The doctor groaned, eagerly kicking aside the pajama bottoms that Jane had lowered to her ankles.

"Yes, Jane, I think you can do it… with time to spare."


"I wanted to tell you, before I became so pleasantly distracted, what happened in the morgue yesterday."

"Maura, you are a hairdryer hog."

The doctor stood in a raspberry-colored bra and panty set in front of the vanity, carefully blowing out her hair layer by layer from the underside out, damp locks clipped on top of her head with a plastic clasp.

"We'll have to buy a second hairdryer, Jane. It takes me exactly 25 minutes to blow out my hair, and if I rush the process it goes limp and I may as well not bother at all."

"You didn't blow dry your hair once on the Vineyard and you looked beautiful."

"I'm not trying to look beautiful. This is a work day; I'm trying for polished, professional and well-groomed."

"Well, I am trying for dry hair, not wet and no big frizzy fro. If you don't hand it over in the next five minutes I'm going to spend my work day looking like Angela Davis in her Black Panther days."

The detective bobbed and weaved in her white tank top and navy blue boy shorts, sticking her head in the direct line of the blower, hoping to catch a current of warm air as it cascaded off of her girlfriend's head. Finally she gave up and pulled her damp hair into a tight ponytail. She caught the doctor's gaze in the mirror and stuck out her tongue.

"I'm going to pick out your outfit, Maur."

"Not today, Jane. My feet can't take a third day of your shoe choices. I am going to wear a smart but simple pantsuit and modest pumps."

Jane pouted, eyes still locked to Maura's in the mirror.

"You picked out my underwear, isn't that enough?"

She shrugged. "What happened in the morgue?"

Maura spun around, her eyes sparkling with merriment.

"Susie Chang kicked Detectives Crowe and Martinez in the testicles."

"What?"


The forensic garage assaulted the senses with a rattling, clanging cacophony of metallic pieces ringing against one another or clattering to the concrete floor. The buzz-click of power rivet guns warred with the whoosh of hydraulic lifts. In one corner, three detectives stood around a late model Ford Explorer, while a tech in a blue jumpsuit burned through a door with an acetylene torch revealing a hollow section crammed with plastic covered blocks of cash where the airbags should have been.

Korsak directed them to the opposite corner. Deniece Smoot's green minivan was parked under a bank of fluorescent lights, all four of its doors and liftgate unlatched and standing wide open.

Jane heard before she saw Susie Chang.

"I think I may have found something here, Dr. Isles. Let me move my tablet so you can take a look."

In Jane's mind, the geeky little woman had grown into a larger than life action figure, a defender of Maura's honor, a conqueror. She imagined the small criminologist flying from the back of the vehicle in a star-spangled catsuit, her white lab coat fluttering behind her like a cape.

"Um, Susie?" Jane stuck her head into the back seat where the criminologist, in her lab coat and neat black scrubs, not a catsuit, sat holding an ipad. Maura's face filled the screen, a body on the steel table behind her.

"Hey, baby." Jane winked at the image of a smiling Dr. Isles.

"Hey, lover." Maura winked back, a sorry squinty action.

"You two are so cute." Susie gushed.

"SC Chang has found three reddish-brown stains in the vehicle. She will bring back samples to the lab and we will run a DNA comparison against a sample of Phil Rigsdale's blood."

"So you are assuming these stains are blood?" Jane teased.

"I assume nothing." The M.E.'s mouth quirked in a smile, her dimples deepening.

"I've also found a full bottle of Protein-B-Gone and a half empty bottle of the same."

"Good work, Susie." Korsak appeared at the door opposite Jane while Frost sifted through papers, CDs, and maps in the minivan's glove compartment.

"Yeah, kudos to you, Suze." Frost nodded in the rear view mirror.

Susie blushed deeply. "Thank you, Barry."

"Frosty, is there a GPS in this puppy?"

"No way. This thing has a steering wheel and four tires, that's about it. No extras, nothing fancy."

"Too bad. It would be quite a score if we had a GPS with the crime scene programmed in."

"Yeah, sure. How about a journal with an entry, 'Dear Diary, today I killed my ex-boyfriend.'"

"I'll take that if you have it, and I'll raise you a home-security video tape showing the crime in progress."

Jane's cell phone rang, "Cherry Bomb" by the Runaways echoing off of the concrete walls of the garage, her ringtone for unknown callers.

"Rizzoli."

She stepped away from the Pontiac and spoke into the phone, a hand over her other ear to block out the din from across the room. She returned after a moment and stuck her head back into the minivan.

"You still there, Maur?"

"Yes."

"We have a lunch date."

"I'm in the middle of an autopsy, Jane. I'm afraid I will have to eat something here out of the dead people fridge. You're welcome to join me."

"Funny! But I have to go to lunch with Bradley Brewster. He remembered something."

"Who's that, Janie?" Korsak looked puzzled.

"The Historian General of the General Society of Mayflower Descendants."

"I'd like to be there, Jane. What time is your lunch date?"

"1:30 at Hungry Like the Wolf."

"Senior Criminologist Chang? If you come back now and help me, we can be finished with this autopsy by 1:00."

"On my way, Dr. Isles."

Jane followed her to the door of the garage where she touched the other woman's shoulder and spoke softly and earnestly to her.

"Hey, Korsak." Frost pointed across the room. "Jane is hugging Susie Chang."

Korsak shrugged.

"Women." He muttered, as if that explained everything.

"What are we doing for lunch?"

"Street cart spuckies and Yoohoos in the park?"

"You're on, old man."


Dr. Bradley Brewster was already seated in a dayglo purple booth perusing a spiral-bound menu as big as a standard bed pillow when Jane and Maura arrived at the restaurant. He stood and waved when he saw them.

"Being a child of the '80s, I love this place. I always come here when I'm in Boston. I try to tell myself it's research for the course I teach on pop culture, but it's not. It just makes me happy." He confessed. "I know it's a bit..."

"Colorful?" Maura suggested.

"Cheesy as hell." Jane growled.

"Perhaps a bit of both, but it's fun, isn't it?"

"Yeah, triple murder, suicide, lots of fun."

Maura pinched her under the table. The friendly historian didn't seem to notice and continued making small talk.

"Dr. Isles, I hope you have given some thought to becoming a member of our society, and of taking an active role. Your mother is so seldom in New England; I don't think she's made a board meeting in five years."

Maura smiled politely but didn't respond.

"Where do you teach, Dr. Brewster? I thought your duties as Historian General of the society would keep you busy full time."

"No, no. The society gig is pro bono. I'm an Associate Professor of American Studies at Amherst."

Jane glowered into the menu, flipping through page after laminated page. If Dr. Brewster had something to say, he could have told her over the phone instead of wasting her time in a tacky themed restaurant. She scanned the menu again; the creativity of the proprietor was astounding. By the time she got through the appetizer list, she was fighting off a grin, music from her teen years playing in her head.

"Hey babe, you gonna have the She Blinded Me with Science burger?"

"No. I'm having the Sussudio sushi."

Jane wrinkled her nose.

"I hate that seaweed shit. You better brush your teeth good before you kiss me."

Dr. Brewster roared. "You remind me so much of my partner, Gino, a real dry sense of humor. I am going to have the Rock Lobster ravioli."

"Jane, have you decided?"

"I guess I'll have the Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go Gouda Burger with Pointer Sisters pickles and Sweet Child O' Mine potatoes."

"How about a bottle of Red Red Wine to accompany our meal?"

"Not for me, I'm on duty."

"Jane can't drink red wine in public; she gets a wine mustache." Maura confided behind her hand.

"I heard that." Jane mock scowled. "I guess I'll just have a Dr. Pepper, strange that it's not called a Lonely Hearts Club Band soda."

"Wrong decade."

They placed their orders and continued to chat throughout the meal. Jane was relaxed, mostly because Maura seemed so happy. The M.E. was in fact elated; this was their first time out in public as a couple, and Jane seemed comfortable and engaged.

Bradley's partner was a plumber by trade as well as a die-hard Patriots fan. The professor and the detective laughed together over shared tales of exploding toilets, frozen pipes and tailgating in a blizzard outside of Gillette Stadium.

"My brother Tommy and I were so cold that we grilled up an entire pack of Sabrett hot dogs and put them in our shoes."

"No! What a waste of a good meal."

"Who said we didn't eat them later?"

"You didn't!"

"Did too, on the ride home."

"Oh Jane!" The professor wiped at the table where he had spit out his wine in laughter.

"You and Maura really have to come up to Amherst for a weekend. Gino will love you."

"I'd like that. What do you think, babe?"

"Yes, that sounds marvelous and next time you are in Boston, please call on us. Hopefully it will be soon, and you will have Gino with you." Maura squeezed her hand.

"Are we having dessert?" Jane opened her menu again.

"Maybe we could share something, I'm so full."

"Your choice, ladies, but please don't order Michael Jackson's spotted dick."

"WTF, that's not really a choice is it?"

Maura shrugged. "It might be. Spotted dick is a traditional English dessert consisting of fruitcake and custard, though it would be in poor taste to name such a confection after a deceased alleged pedophile."

"Ya think, Maur? Let's have the Bananarama Foster."

Jane closed the menu with a sigh.

"I suppose it's time to talk business. You said you remembered something, Brad, something about Deniece Smoot and her boys."

"Yes, I pulled up the minutes of the last few meetings after we spoke. Deniece attended roughly half of them and usually brought one of the boys with her. I wanted to be able to put a date to our last conversation. She was at the General Membership meeting at the beginning of May with her younger son, Prior. That was on Sunday afternoon, the 5th."

"She and her sons had less than two weeks to live." Jane frowned into her coffee cup.

"We announced the winner of the GSMD scholarship for the new school year that day, and Deniece was downhearted. She knew Prior wasn't eligible, but I suppose she started wondering in earnest how she was going to pay his tuition. He had been accepted to BCU and he wasn't the swimmer his brother was, so no scholarship there."

"Did you talk to her?"

"Yes. We walked to the parking lot together and spoke for a few minutes standing in front of her minivan. I remember distinctly that she said she was thirsty and sent Prior down to the park to get her a bottle of water for the ride. She must not have wanted him to hear what she was going to tell me."

Maura and Jane both leaned forward across the booth.

"She said that it was time to ask Prior's father's family for some money, that they had gotten a free pass on the boys for years, she hadn't asked for a penny."

"Do you know who his father is?"

"No. She never said, only that his family was very wealthy and prominent in Boston. I assume they are Caucasian, but that is only an assumption based on my own internalized racism." He grimaced. "My mother is white and both Smoot boys are lighter skinned than I am."

Maura patted his hand. "It's not racism, Brad, it's simple genetics, with their light eyes and fair skin tone in relation to Deniece, it is statistically probable that their father is Caucasian."

"Do you recall the exact words she used, Brad?"

He shook his head.

"She mentioned other children, something about her boys being just as much of their blood as the other two though they didn't carry his name. She said she wasn't looking for a car or a house or to stop working, just tuition money for Prior."

"And she said she was going to ask their father's family or their father?"

"I'm not sure. She mentioned the wealth and social standing of his family, but I can't be certain who exactly she was going to ask. I think she said his family."

"Okay."

"Does this help?"

"Yes, immensely."

"Good. I've enjoyed our lunch tremendously, but I'm very glad that I haven't wasted your time."


"Too bad there wasn't any of that spotted dick on the menu, Maur. I would have loved to bring some back for Korsak."

"Do you think he would eat it?"

"Does the pope shit in the woods?"

"What an image, Jane. You'd better not say that in front of your mother, she may be very offended."

"Who do you think I learned it from?"

Jane pushed the up button on the elevator, rocking back and forth on her heels as she waited.

"You coming up, Maur?"

"Later. I want to put together my report from the autopsy this morning while it's still fresh in my mind."

"Murder?"

"No, autoerotic asphyxiation, that's the third one this month."

Jane remembered her brief loss of consciousness when Maura made love to her and she blushed fiercely.

"I'm gonna take the stairs, babe, gotta work off that heavy lunch."

She kissed the doctor's temple and cantered off toward the stairwell.

The homicide bullpen was crowded with boxes when Jane arrived. There must have been 50 of them, neatly closed with clear packing tape and marked with a sharpie pen.

Frost squatted over an open box marked "kitchen," pulling out dishes and cups with a gloved hand. Korsak sat at his desk, sifting through a box of assorted cutlery.

"You have a nice lunch, Janie?"

"Yeah. That's a weird place, but the food was good. I had a burger with gouda cheese."

"Was the gouda good-a?"

"Yes it was. These the boxes from the Smoot place?"

"Yup. Frankie just brought them up. We're starting with the kitchen because that would be the natural hiding place for a knife, in plain sight, right?"

"I don't think we're going to find the murder weapon, guys. Deniece Smoot was an intelligent woman. You'd have to be a fuckin' idiot to stab someone to death and then bring home the knife to cut your tomatoes with."

"You never know. We found the Protein-B-Gone in her trunk."

"She uses it for work every day. She is a crime scene cleaner after all."

"True. You learn anything?"

"Uh-huh." Jane strode to the murder board and wrote the date 5/5/13 on the timeline.

"What happened then?"

"Deniece Smoot went to a GSMD meeting and told the Historian General that she was going to ask her baby daddy for tuition money."

"So maybe she asks some time that week and…."

Frost stood. "Boom, Prior is dead."

"Boom." Jane circled his name.

"So she goes back to the baby daddy and kills him."

She circled the name Phil Rigsdale on the murder board.

"Then who killed Prescott?"

"No fuckin' idea, Frosty. But we're getting there."