She barely noticed her cotton dress clinging to her damp skin in the sweltering Sacramento heat, or people staring at her as if she were crazy. Her thoughts were focused on Dooley.Please God, please. He can’t be dead.She stumbled at the thought of her grandfather’s old body, broken and bleeding on the floor of his beloved pub. She grabbed a pillar to steady herself when she caught sight of the police cars, an ambulance and news crew double-parked on the street in front of Dooley’s Irish Pub. Taking a deep breath and swallowing thick tears, she pushed off from the support and sprinted down the block to the entrance.“Whoa, ma’am, you can’t go in there.”A burly cop reminiscent of a bear blocked the entrance, effectively stopping her momentum when she bounced off his chest.Winded and sweating from her sprint as well as the morning heat, she tried to speak. “My. Grand. Dad. I—”“Slow down, young lady. This is a crime scene; you can’t go in there.” His voice was nauseatingly placating, and a flash of temper rose in her throat, as red as her hair.
