several times he stared directly at the spot where Ansgar stood.
At the end of the narrow, dreary hall, the sheriff opened the door to a small cell and motioned her inside. The county must have gotten a dandy of a deal on industrial gray paint, because the whole sheriff’s department was one big ball of blah. Her cell consisted of more gray blah, a narrow bed, and a toilet without a lid.
Her cell. Oh, God, this could not be happening.
The hard line of the sheriff’s jaw softened. “With any luck, you won’t be here long.”
“The bond is seventy-five thousand dollars,” Evie said glumly. “It might as well be seventy-five million. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Just so you know, that wasn’t my doing. All I asked for was fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. I don’t consider you a flight risk, that’s all. The magistrate had a different opinion, for some strange reason. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.” His expression tightened. “There’s something mighty peculiar going on here, Ms. Douglass. I searched your car myself first thing this morning, and there was nothing in it. Then, like magic, this afternoon we find a bloody knife on the front seat.” His gray gaze was hard as flint. “I get the feeling somebody’s dicking with me, and I don’t like it. Not one little bit. And, for the record, I don’t think you killed Meredith Peterson.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “But that won’t amount to a hill of beans in court, especially if that knife turns out to be the murder weapon. Can you think of anyone who hates you enough to frame you for murder?”
“No. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did?”
“Yeah, I reckon you would at that. Tell your boyfriend to come talk to me when he gets a chance. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure this thing out.”
“He’s not my boyfr—”
The door clanked shut and Evie was alone. At least, she thought she was alone.
“Ansgar?” she whispered.
No answer.
She sat on the edge of the lumpy cot, her knees pressed together, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and contemplated this unlikely turn of events.
Evie Douglass, the rule follower, the perennial good girl, had gotten her first conduct check, and it was a doozy.
She was the prime suspect in Meredith’s murder, and a bloody knife had been found in her car.
She might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but she had enough sense to know when she was being set up. Mr. Malevolent wasn’t satisfied with killing Meredith. He was out to destroy her as well. And doing a bang-up job of it. Why he’d zeroed in on her, Evie had no clue.
The creepy whatzit wasn’t her only problem. The Petersons were probably behind the high bail the magistrate had set. They had a lot of pull in Behr County. Meredith had been a bitch walking, but she was Trey’s wife and the Petersons always presented a united front.
That left her with pure evil on one side and old money on the other. She didn’t know which was worse. The knowledge should have frightened her. She should be a lump of jelly now, trembling with terror, her brain locked in an endless cycle of ohcrapohcrapohcrap.
But she wasn’t scared. She was pissed.
It took her a while to recognize the feeling. She couldn’t remember being pissed before. Hurt, ashamed, embarrassed, and a full spectrum of other emotions, but never pissed. Being pissed required a certain amount of self-esteem, a confidence that you deserved better, that you mattered. How could you matter if you were invisible?
She wasn’t invisible anymore, that was for sure. Talk about your coming-out parties. This one was big. Little Evie Douglass was going to be front-page news.
Ansgar materialized in the cell without warning. His sudden appearance startled Evie, but she was so tired she didn’t jump. Murder, binge eating, sexual bliss, exhaustion, being arrested, cuffed, and
At the end of the narrow, dreary hall, the sheriff opened the door to a small cell and motioned her inside. The county must have gotten a dandy of a deal on industrial gray paint, because the whole sheriff’s department was one big ball of blah. Her cell consisted of more gray blah, a narrow bed, and a toilet without a lid.
Her cell. Oh, God, this could not be happening.
The hard line of the sheriff’s jaw softened. “With any luck, you won’t be here long.”
“The bond is seventy-five thousand dollars,” Evie said glumly. “It might as well be seventy-five million. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Just so you know, that wasn’t my doing. All I asked for was fifteen thousand dollars.”
“Thanks, Sheriff.”
“Don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you. I don’t consider you a flight risk, that’s all. The magistrate had a different opinion, for some strange reason. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.” His expression tightened. “There’s something mighty peculiar going on here, Ms. Douglass. I searched your car myself first thing this morning, and there was nothing in it. Then, like magic, this afternoon we find a bloody knife on the front seat.” His gray gaze was hard as flint. “I get the feeling somebody’s dicking with me, and I don’t like it. Not one little bit. And, for the record, I don’t think you killed Meredith Peterson.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I don’t,” he said. “But that won’t amount to a hill of beans in court, especially if that knife turns out to be the murder weapon. Can you think of anyone who hates you enough to frame you for murder?”
“No. Don’t you think I’d tell you if I did?”
“Yeah, I reckon you would at that. Tell your boyfriend to come talk to me when he gets a chance. Maybe we can put our heads together and figure this thing out.”
“He’s not my boyfr—”
The door clanked shut and Evie was alone. At least, she thought she was alone.
“Ansgar?” she whispered.
No answer.
She sat on the edge of the lumpy cot, her knees pressed together, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, and contemplated this unlikely turn of events.
Evie Douglass, the rule follower, the perennial good girl, had gotten her first conduct check, and it was a doozy.
She was the prime suspect in Meredith’s murder, and a bloody knife had been found in her car.
She might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but she had enough sense to know when she was being set up. Mr. Malevolent wasn’t satisfied with killing Meredith. He was out to destroy her as well. And doing a bang-up job of it. Why he’d zeroed in on her, Evie had no clue.
The creepy whatzit wasn’t her only problem. The Petersons were probably behind the high bail the magistrate had set. They had a lot of pull in Behr County. Meredith had been a bitch walking, but she was Trey’s wife and the Petersons always presented a united front.
That left her with pure evil on one side and old money on the other. She didn’t know which was worse. The knowledge should have frightened her. She should be a lump of jelly now, trembling with terror, her brain locked in an endless cycle of ohcrapohcrapohcrap.
But she wasn’t scared. She was pissed.
It took her a while to recognize the feeling. She couldn’t remember being pissed before. Hurt, ashamed, embarrassed, and a full spectrum of other emotions, but never pissed. Being pissed required a certain amount of self-esteem, a confidence that you deserved better, that you mattered. How could you matter if you were invisible?
She wasn’t invisible anymore, that was for sure. Talk about your coming-out parties. This one was big. Little Evie Douglass was going to be front-page news.
Ansgar materialized in the cell without warning. His sudden appearance startled Evie, but she was so tired she didn’t jump. Murder, binge eating, sexual bliss, exhaustion, being arrested, cuffed, and
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