Merry Jones - Elle Harrison 01 - The Trouble With Charlie by Merry Jones

company. The lights low. The water warm, bubbly and scented. My head woozy from drink. And Charlie’s eyes glowing. About Somerset Bradley.
    “The guy was a big developer,” Susan spoke quickly, glanced at the front door. “He owned everything. Malls. Hotels. Skyrises. Commercial real estate everywhere.”
    “So what was he doing here?”
    Susan shrugged. Got up. Looked at the body. “Somebody gave him a key. Did Charlie often give his clients keys to his apartment?”
    Why would he? “I don’t have a clue.”
    She eyed the body. “He looks like a cat burglar, those black running clothes. But why is he dressed like that? Somerset Bradley sure didn’t need to rob anyone. So what was he up to?” She twisted her neck to look at his face. Grimaced. “Man. You sure did a number on him.”
    I didn’t know what to say. Made kind of a moan.
    “Okay.” She stood straight, all business. “Here’s the deal, Elle. The press is going to be all over this, especially after Charlie. Ignore them. Do not speak to them under any circumstances. More importantly, when the police ask questions, I’ll advise you about whether or not to answer. We want to cooperate, but not self-incriminate, understand?”
    I did. Sort of.
    “We’ll explain that you were attacked in your husband’s apartment. No matter who this guy is, you were the victim here. You acted in self-defense. Although—”
    Although?
    Susan pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Folded her arms. Stood up straight. “They may argue that you had time to think. You know, to plan to stab him. I mean, you had the time to make this hanger thingie—”
    “Susan. I wasn’t planning to kill him. I was hiding. I thought Charlie’s killer was here. I made that to protect myself. I was scared.”
    “I know, Elle.” Susan sat again. Touched my arm again.Tilted her head. “Of course that’s what happened. And that’s exactly what we’ll tell the police.”
    For the briefest moment, I wondered if she believed me. And I probably would have asked her, but just then Charlie’s front door swung open, and police swarmed in.

    An EMT looked me over. Checked the swelling on my head. Recommended a trip to the hospital. Susan agreed. In fact, even though I didn’t see the need, she insisted.
    Detectives Stiles and Swenson had arrived. Looked at the body. Looked at me. My insides flipped and blood drained from my head, but met their eyes. Susan stood with them, spoke in a low voice, her head bent toward Stiles. His eyes warmed, listening to her. Friends.
    I waited on the sofa. Watching the commotion. Wondering if they would take me in. If I’d sleep that night in jail. If I’d be able to shower, wash off all the blood. An officer stood beside me, watching the EMT take my blood pressure.
    Swenson, not Stiles, finally came to talk to me, Susan at his side like an extra sleeve.
    “You want to tell me what happened, Ms. Harrison?”
    I looked at Susan. Did I?
    She nodded. “Just briefly, Elle. I’ve already explained the basics to the detectives, and they can see you’re in no condition for a lengthy conversation.”
    Detective Stiles stood within hearing range. Listening. Swenson took notes. I was shivering, teeth chattering. The EMT wrapped me in a blanket, mentioned the word, “shock.” Susan scolded Stiles, said I needed immediate medical attention. Swenson argued that if I would just answer his questions, we could all move on. Susan looked at me, her face a question. I nodded, yes; I could do it. Told them what happened. How I’d gone there to get funeral clothes, and seen the doorknob turn, heard a keyin the lock. How I’d run back, hid in the closet. And made myself a weapon, just in case it was the killer. And finally had left, but forgotten Charlie’s clothes. Gone back for them. And boom. I’d hit the ground.
    I stopped, not sure what else to say.
    Swenson leaned close, breathing on my eyes. Frowning. “You didn’t mention stabbing Mr. Bradley in the