hand was resting on the table, his fingers drumming lightly. He had hair on the back of his hands. I wondered if he had a hairy back. I hated hairy backs. Then I felt guilty for thinking about his hairy back when I had Curt's perfectly smooth back to think about. Only I didn't have Curt's perfectly smooth back, because Curt was in upstate New York not speaking to me. Curt wanted a "normal"woman, whatever that meant. Probably someone who didn't carry on entire conversations in her head. Good luck with that.
"…between five and six o'clock?" Detective Bensinger was asking.
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
He stopped drumming, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a pack of Dentyne. He offered it to me. "Gum?" I shook my head. He took a piece for himself and put the pack away. "I said, do you happen to remember where you were between five and six o'clock Friday before last?"
Friday before last. The night I'd found Dorcas dead. I thought back. "I was here until five," I said. He nodded and chewed. I'd had dinner with Curt and Maizy. After… "I got stuck in traffic on the way home," I added. "On the interstate. Some sort of accident or something. You probably heard about it. Maybe you were there. Except I guess you wouldn't be, would you, unless someone was killed. Not killed in the accident, I mean. Unless someone got run over on purpose. That would qualify, right?" I took a deep, shaky breath and bit down on the inside of my mouth. I really had to learn how to control my nerves. Maizy would stare this guy straight in the eye and make up some fantastic story as if she'd been aboard Air Force One on her way to Stockholm with the President at the time of the murder.
Was he asking about the murder? Did he think I'd had something to do with it? My heart did a slow roll into my throat. "You don't think I had something to do with Dorcas's murder," I said. "Do you?"
"Just checking something out," he said pleasantly. I expected him to whip out a notepad and jot Nothing to see here, but he kept sitting there, smiling, chewing Dentyne, just him and his hairy back and his suspicions. "Don't suppose you called anyone on your cell phone while you were stuck in traffic."
I shook my head primly. "That's against the law."
"Right." He looked at me some more. "And I guess you were alone."
I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth without throwing up, and I didn't want to throw up on his poorly fitting sport coat. Up close, it had a few loose threads and a missing button. I focused on the buttonhole to avoid meeting his eyes. Then I thought it might seem suspicious if I didn't look him in the eye. I tried to remember the body language experts I'd seen interviewed on television, but the only thing that came to mind was Nancy Grace howling for the death penalty.
Wait. I forced myself to look up. "What do you mean, checking something out?"
"Let's call it following up," he said. "As I said, I'm not here to arrest you. Did you happen to see anyone you knew? While you were sitting there on the highway, waiting for this accident to clear?"
I wish I could have said I'd seen the Pope. Or more precisely, that the Pope had seen me. "I didn't really pay attention." I hesitated. "What are you following up, exactly?"
His eyes remained steady on me. Under other circumstances he would have had nice eyes. Light blue, like glacier ice. "Just a tip that someone matching your description was in the Oak Grove business district around 5:30 on the day Mrs. Beeber was killed."
My mouth fell open. "What? But I didn't get there until almost eight o'clock!"
He nodded. "I read that. With Maizy Emerson, right?"
"Her father is a cop," I said. "Police officer," I amended.
"Pretty good alibi," he said.
"I wasn't looking for an alibi," I told him. "Maizy wanted a reading."
"Yeah, so she said. Guess she never got one, huh." His forefinger lifted and fell. Other than that, he was still and watchful. "Maybe you went there earlier, too, after work?"
"I
"…between five and six o'clock?" Detective Bensinger was asking.
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
He stopped drumming, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a pack of Dentyne. He offered it to me. "Gum?" I shook my head. He took a piece for himself and put the pack away. "I said, do you happen to remember where you were between five and six o'clock Friday before last?"
Friday before last. The night I'd found Dorcas dead. I thought back. "I was here until five," I said. He nodded and chewed. I'd had dinner with Curt and Maizy. After… "I got stuck in traffic on the way home," I added. "On the interstate. Some sort of accident or something. You probably heard about it. Maybe you were there. Except I guess you wouldn't be, would you, unless someone was killed. Not killed in the accident, I mean. Unless someone got run over on purpose. That would qualify, right?" I took a deep, shaky breath and bit down on the inside of my mouth. I really had to learn how to control my nerves. Maizy would stare this guy straight in the eye and make up some fantastic story as if she'd been aboard Air Force One on her way to Stockholm with the President at the time of the murder.
Was he asking about the murder? Did he think I'd had something to do with it? My heart did a slow roll into my throat. "You don't think I had something to do with Dorcas's murder," I said. "Do you?"
"Just checking something out," he said pleasantly. I expected him to whip out a notepad and jot Nothing to see here, but he kept sitting there, smiling, chewing Dentyne, just him and his hairy back and his suspicions. "Don't suppose you called anyone on your cell phone while you were stuck in traffic."
I shook my head primly. "That's against the law."
"Right." He looked at me some more. "And I guess you were alone."
I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth without throwing up, and I didn't want to throw up on his poorly fitting sport coat. Up close, it had a few loose threads and a missing button. I focused on the buttonhole to avoid meeting his eyes. Then I thought it might seem suspicious if I didn't look him in the eye. I tried to remember the body language experts I'd seen interviewed on television, but the only thing that came to mind was Nancy Grace howling for the death penalty.
Wait. I forced myself to look up. "What do you mean, checking something out?"
"Let's call it following up," he said. "As I said, I'm not here to arrest you. Did you happen to see anyone you knew? While you were sitting there on the highway, waiting for this accident to clear?"
I wish I could have said I'd seen the Pope. Or more precisely, that the Pope had seen me. "I didn't really pay attention." I hesitated. "What are you following up, exactly?"
His eyes remained steady on me. Under other circumstances he would have had nice eyes. Light blue, like glacier ice. "Just a tip that someone matching your description was in the Oak Grove business district around 5:30 on the day Mrs. Beeber was killed."
My mouth fell open. "What? But I didn't get there until almost eight o'clock!"
He nodded. "I read that. With Maizy Emerson, right?"
"Her father is a cop," I said. "Police officer," I amended.
"Pretty good alibi," he said.
"I wasn't looking for an alibi," I told him. "Maizy wanted a reading."
"Yeah, so she said. Guess she never got one, huh." His forefinger lifted and fell. Other than that, he was still and watchful. "Maybe you went there earlier, too, after work?"
"I
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