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

eye.”
    “Hold on, Detective. Why should she? Clearly, it was self-defense.” Susan stepped in, stood in his face.
    “We’d like to hear her account, nonetheless. That is, if you don’t mind.” Swenson stood nose to nose with Susan, sarcastic, facing her off.
    Stiles watched, silent.
    “Elle?” Susan didn’t take her gaze off Swenson’s eyes. “Are you up to this?”
    My thoughts were jumbled. Even so, I knew I shouldn’t say I didn’t remember what else happened. That would sound like I was lying. Maybe about everything. No. I had to tell them something that would satisfy them. Had to improvise.
    “He knocked me down. We fought,” I touched the lump on my head. Winced. Looked at my hands. The EMT had rewrapped the cut on my palm, but there were still stains of dried blood. “He bashed my head against the floor. I don’t remember how many times. But somehow, I rolled over and pushed to get him off me. I couldn’t. And he put his hands on my neck, like he was going to strangle me, so as hard as I could, I jabbed him in the face with the hanger.” Six eyes focused on me. Waiting. Not blinking. Ten eyes, if you counted the EMT and the uniformed officer standing beside the sofa. “I honestly wasn’t aiming for his eye. But there was kind of a slip and a pop. A spurt. And he let go of my throat and slumped down.”
    There. Finished. Was that good enough? I looked from face to face, measuring the reactions. Did they believe me? Was ittoo much detail? Not enough? Would they check my neck for strangle marks?
    Swenson moved closer. Too close. So close I could see into his pores. “Ms. Harrison,” he growled softly into my ear, “Detective Stiles here says I should take it easy on you. So I am. For now. But just so you know? Something about you isn’t right. I know it—”
    “Detective,” Susan actually shoved him, “if you want to speak to my client, do it within my hearing.”
    Swenson backed away but kept his eyes on me. I sat straight, didn’t look away. I knew about eye contact, that if you looked away first, you were admitting weakness. So I didn’t. I stared back until, finally, he turned away. And then, I let myself drift.
    Susan was talking again, her voice still stern. Stiles had an arm across her shoulders as if to calm her. The three of them—Stiles, Susan, and Swenson stood in a huddle, buzzing. And then, I saw myself flat on a stretcher, being rolled down the hall to the elevator. I watched the fancy light fixtures of Charlie’s building until they became the lights of the elevator, or the sun in the open sky, or the sterile white roof inside the ambulance, and I could see the ambulance racing through the city, passing cars, going through red lights, siren blaring. Then strong arms helped me onto a bed, from which I watched the drop ceiling in the emergency room. And dozed. Until a voice—Susan’s?—asked what my room number would be. Repeated it, telling someone on her phone that I had a mild concussion, would be fine, had to stay overnight for observation.
    A while later, I sat up in bed. Saw the room spin. Had a headache. In front of me was a tray of roast chicken, peas, and mashed potatoes, a slice of apple pie, a pot of brewing tea.
Jeopardy!
—
Jeopardy!
Teen Tournament played on a television near the ceiling. And, seated in a row, facing me, looking somber, frightened, and frantic, were the three most beautiful women on earth. Susan, Becky, and Jen.

    They watched me eat. They brushed my hair. Becky rubbed skin cream onto my feet. I thanked them over and over. Told them they were the best friends ever. That I didn’t deserve them.
    “You’re right,” Becky agreed. “You don’t.”
    “We’re just here so when we want something you’ll owe us.” Jen grinned. I could see her aura: golden pink.
    Alex Trebek read categories for Double Jeopardy!
    I tried to get up to go to the bathroom.
    “Don’t move.” Becky put a hand on my shoulder. “You have a