that.
Placing my hand on Lindsey’s back, I made small circles like I used to do when she and Chad were my babies. “The dog was scarcely more than a pup, a mutt actually. I’m afraid he was seriously injured. At this point, honey, I have no idea whether he survived or not.”
“Hmph!” Officer Moyer snorted. “A likely story.”
“Quiet,” McBride growled, and the policeman lapsed into a sullen silence.
“It seems the vet was called away on a family emergency so I have no way of knowing the outcome,” I said, in an attempt to clarify the situation.
“No alibi, eh?” CJ shoved his hands into pants pockets. “Not looking good, Scooter.”
“Dammit, CJ,” I flared. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Ma’am,” McBride interrupted the potential feud. “You need to come down to the station with me for further questioning.”
“Am I under arrest?” I was embarrassed to hear the quiver in my voice.
“Depends on how the questioning goes.”
“Daddy,” Lindsey squealed. “Don’t just stand there! Do something.”
“Sure thing, baby.” CJ drew on his meager theatrical talent to appear concerned. “Scooter darlin’, don’t say a word without an attorney present.”
“You her attorney, Prescott?” McBride wanted to know.
“Sorry, that rules me out.” CJ shed McBride’s question as easily as water off a duck’s back. “I’d be more than happy to offer representation, but considerin’ our history together, it’s probably not a wise decision. Unfortunately, what my ex-wife needs is a criminal lawyer. Not my area of expertise.”
“Thanks,” I muttered as McBride led me away.
C HAPTER 12
M CBRIDE PROPELLED ME past Precious Blessing, who seemed engrossed in the nail art on her index finger, and down a short hallway. “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked.
“Doing what?”
“Treating me as though I’m a murder suspect.”
“Don’t make this personal.”
I thought I detected a flicker of regret in McBride’s icy blues, but it vanished so quickly I thought maybe I’d imagined it.
“I’m only doing the job the good citizens of Brandywine Creek hired me to do.” He opened the door of a small windowless room and motioned me inside. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
The room was bare except for a narrow table and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. Dingy beige walls and speckled brown tile comprised the décor du jour.
Too restless to sit, I made laps around the table. Part of me rebelled at the notion that anyone might even remotely think me capable of killing a man. The other part was too frightened to think clearly. I wanted to turn tail and dodge out the back door. I wished I’d never heard of Mario Barrone, much less cajoled him into performing a cooking demo. Now, all because of him and some stupid juniper berries, I was about to be thrown into the slammer.
Tired of pacing, I slumped down in one of the chairs. McBride let me stew for a good fifteen minutes, then returned carrying a tape recorder and a file folder in one hand, a brown bag in the other. If his ploy was to make me nervous, it worked like a charm. If I knew the notes, I’d sing like a canary.
I eyed the recorder warily. “Do I need a lawyer?” I swallowed. “Of the criminal variety?”
“That’s up to you,” he replied, his tone noncommittal. “You’re not under arrest. Just here for questioning.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing the gesture was defensive, but didn’t care. “I didn’t do anything. I have nothing to hide.”
“Good. Let’s get started then, shall we?”
“Fine.” I sat up straight.
McBride took the chair opposite me and clicked on the recorder, stating our names for the record along with the date and time. This was as official as it gets. Reba Mae was going to get an earful once this was behind me. The two of us would probably share a good laugh comparing reality against TV shows and movies. But this wasn’t TV. Wasn’t a movie. And I
Placing my hand on Lindsey’s back, I made small circles like I used to do when she and Chad were my babies. “The dog was scarcely more than a pup, a mutt actually. I’m afraid he was seriously injured. At this point, honey, I have no idea whether he survived or not.”
“Hmph!” Officer Moyer snorted. “A likely story.”
“Quiet,” McBride growled, and the policeman lapsed into a sullen silence.
“It seems the vet was called away on a family emergency so I have no way of knowing the outcome,” I said, in an attempt to clarify the situation.
“No alibi, eh?” CJ shoved his hands into pants pockets. “Not looking good, Scooter.”
“Dammit, CJ,” I flared. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Ma’am,” McBride interrupted the potential feud. “You need to come down to the station with me for further questioning.”
“Am I under arrest?” I was embarrassed to hear the quiver in my voice.
“Depends on how the questioning goes.”
“Daddy,” Lindsey squealed. “Don’t just stand there! Do something.”
“Sure thing, baby.” CJ drew on his meager theatrical talent to appear concerned. “Scooter darlin’, don’t say a word without an attorney present.”
“You her attorney, Prescott?” McBride wanted to know.
“Sorry, that rules me out.” CJ shed McBride’s question as easily as water off a duck’s back. “I’d be more than happy to offer representation, but considerin’ our history together, it’s probably not a wise decision. Unfortunately, what my ex-wife needs is a criminal lawyer. Not my area of expertise.”
“Thanks,” I muttered as McBride led me away.
C HAPTER 12
M CBRIDE PROPELLED ME past Precious Blessing, who seemed engrossed in the nail art on her index finger, and down a short hallway. “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked.
“Doing what?”
“Treating me as though I’m a murder suspect.”
“Don’t make this personal.”
I thought I detected a flicker of regret in McBride’s icy blues, but it vanished so quickly I thought maybe I’d imagined it.
“I’m only doing the job the good citizens of Brandywine Creek hired me to do.” He opened the door of a small windowless room and motioned me inside. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”
The room was bare except for a narrow table and two uncomfortable-looking chairs. Dingy beige walls and speckled brown tile comprised the décor du jour.
Too restless to sit, I made laps around the table. Part of me rebelled at the notion that anyone might even remotely think me capable of killing a man. The other part was too frightened to think clearly. I wanted to turn tail and dodge out the back door. I wished I’d never heard of Mario Barrone, much less cajoled him into performing a cooking demo. Now, all because of him and some stupid juniper berries, I was about to be thrown into the slammer.
Tired of pacing, I slumped down in one of the chairs. McBride let me stew for a good fifteen minutes, then returned carrying a tape recorder and a file folder in one hand, a brown bag in the other. If his ploy was to make me nervous, it worked like a charm. If I knew the notes, I’d sing like a canary.
I eyed the recorder warily. “Do I need a lawyer?” I swallowed. “Of the criminal variety?”
“That’s up to you,” he replied, his tone noncommittal. “You’re not under arrest. Just here for questioning.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, knowing the gesture was defensive, but didn’t care. “I didn’t do anything. I have nothing to hide.”
“Good. Let’s get started then, shall we?”
“Fine.” I sat up straight.
McBride took the chair opposite me and clicked on the recorder, stating our names for the record along with the date and time. This was as official as it gets. Reba Mae was going to get an earful once this was behind me. The two of us would probably share a good laugh comparing reality against TV shows and movies. But this wasn’t TV. Wasn’t a movie. And I
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