“We don’t exactly know what time . . . it happened.”
“But I was with Bethany and Jennifer all afternoon.”
“You were with those two, but not . . .” He looked at his note pad. “This Mandy Adams woman.”
“No, she left to finish packing.”
He tapped the pad with his pen a couple of times. When he looked up he appeared to be about to ask something, then sighed.
She swallowed another knot of panic. “You really think they are going to believe I did this?”
“Yes. Sorry.”
“Mark?” a voice called out.
“In here,” Mark called then he looked at her. “That’s my partner.”
They started walking out, her in the lead, then she suddenly remembered . . . She stopped and turned around. He ran right into her. He grabbed her by the shoulders as if to steady her, then stepped back.
His touch, even through two layers of silk, felt warm. She pressed her palm to her stomach, feeling nervous. “I got gas.”
His eyes widened. “You . . . need a bathroom?” He pointed to the room off the hall.
She blinked and her mouth fell open. “No. Not me. For my car. You asked if I went anyplace else tonight. The receipt’s in my purse.”
“I thought . . .” He held out his hand, chuckled, then ran a hand over his mouth. If she wasn’t still half numb, she might have thought it was funny, too.
“That’s great,” he said. “What time?”
“I don’t know. On the way home. About a block from the cemetery.”
His smiled widened—they went back to that awkward silence, staring at each other. Sirens in the distance filled the moment’s stillness.
“That’s good,” he said. “I think we got you off the hook. Now let’s see if I can convince them I didn’t do it.”
“Why would they think that?” she asked.
“They always suspect any guy involved with the vic’s ex.”
She shook her head. “But . . . we’re not . . . involved.”
He frowned. “We are now.”
And he didn’t sound happy about it.
His partner stepped in the hall.
Mark handed him the pad. “Check into these names.” He looked back at her. “Where did you say your friends were going?”
She blinked. “Vegas.”
“Do you remember the flight number?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Airline?” he asked.
“United.”
“Time they were supposed to fly out?”
“Eight ten, I think.”
“Good.” He jotted something else down, and then handed it to his partner. The man looked at the paper, his eyes widened, as if what he read surprised him, and then he looked back at Mark and nodded. “Got it.”
“Got what?” she asked.
But the knock at the door ended that conversation and started a whole different one. One between her and the lead detective. One that landed her at the police station for hours. One that landed her getting pictures taken of the blood on her hands, knees, and gown. One that landed her losing her clothes and wearing prison garb.
Chapter Six
Two hours after arriving at the police station, Mark was told he could leave but to watch his step. He walked out and dropped down in a seat in the Piperville Police waiting room beside a sleepy-looking Jake. “You didn’t have to wait.”
Jake leaned forward and raked a hand over his face. “You’d have waited for me.”
Mark shrugged and smiled. “Probably not.”
Jake shot him one of his famous go-to-hell smirks. “How did it go?”
“Easy, thanks to you knowing the guy,” Mark said. Jake had gone to the academy with the lead detective and they’d remained friends over the past few years.
“He didn’t read you the riot act for running a check on the vic?”
“A little, but I had a legit reason. My neighbor said the guy stole her car.”
“Right.” Jake sounded about as convinced as his Homicide Detective buddy, Tom Hinkle. And Mark knew the shit he’d get for this wasn’t over.
“You ready to get the hell out of here?” Jake asked.
“Not until they release Savanna,” Mark said.
Jake frowned. “Surely you’re smart enough to know you need to back away for a while.”
Yeah, Mark knew that, but that quick peek he’d gotten of her, looking all kinds of vulnerable, walking back into the detective’s office wearing a prison jump suit, had him deciding to throw caution to the wind. Obviously, they’d confiscated her gown for evidence. He couldn’t blame the detectives, it was protocol, but she’d looked like a whipped puppy and he’d wanted to scoop her up and take care of her.
If she ended up calling someone, or having some guy show up to take care of her, he’d back off. But if she didn’t, he was here. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he’d seen every sweet inch of what that bulky jumpsuit hid. Hell, for that matter she’d seen him naked, too—and said she felt like puking, but that was insignificant. She was his neighbor and she’d come to him for help—twice. The first time he’d pretty much been an asshole. This time he planned to do better.
Mark ran a hand through his hair. “Did you check and see if I was right about the name on the list I gave you?”
“Yeah.” Jake said. “You were right. Did you tell Tom about it?”
“Nah, I wanted to be sure first. Besides, if she got on that plane like Savanna said, she couldn’t be our killer. They’re saying the time of death was around ten.”
Jake rested his hands onto his knees. “Yeah, well, there’s a problem with that.”
“What?” Mark asked.
“I got bored so I did a check on the flight. It was canceled due to weather.”
“Shit!” Mark said. “Did you inform anyone else of this?”
“No, I thought I’d drop it on you first. But we’re going to have to tell Tom soon. The next flight, if they rescheduled, is in four hours. ”
Mark exhaled. “Let me get her out of here first so they don’t hit her with this.”
Jake grimaced. “You’re already up to your nose hairs in this,” he said. “You need to stay clear of her for a few days at least.” He shook his head and then exhaled. “But you’re not going to, are you?”
“Probably not,” Mark said.
“Okay, get her out of here. But I’ve got to let Tom know this. We can’t let the suspects get on that plane.”
• • •
“You are free to go, Mrs. Edwards,” Detective Ross said. “But I need to advise you not to leave town for the next few weeks.”
Savanna’s heart gripped. She’d answered every one of his questions. She hadn’t argued when asked for her nightshirt, or when the female detective handed her an orange prison jumpsuit. Orange was so not her color. Plus, Mark Donaldson and his partner Jake Baldwin had even supplied her receipt for gas across town, which proved she hadn’t done this. Yet Mr. Ross still didn’t believe her.
That stung. She popped up from her seat and walked out of his office into the waiting room. Walked out so fast that she didn’t even stop to think that while she was free to go, she didn’t have a car. Not her Honda or her rental car. And even if she did, she couldn’t go home. She’d been informed she wouldn’t be able to return there for a few days, maybe as long as a week.
She didn’t even have her purse, so she was penniless and credit-cardless and wearing orange prison garb. Add to the fact that all her best friends were probably playing dollar slots in Vegas right now, and Savanna just wanted to fall onto the cold tile floor and weep. Not that she would. No. She’d do what she always did. Pull up her big girl panties.
But that thought only lead her to realize she was also pantiless.
Tears stung her eyes. She tried to figure out which of her employees at the flower shop would mind an early-morning phone call to come pick her up the least. Before the door swished closed behind her, she saw Mark
Donaldson. Sitting across the room, he had his smart phone in his hand reading something. Beside him was his partner, sound asleep. Mark’s blond hair looked mussed, and his light green eyes tired. He glanced up, looking almost guilty.
“You okay?”
She blinked back a few tears. “They think I did it.” Her voice shook.
“No, they don’t. If they thought you did it, you wouldn’t have gotten out of there so quickly.”
“I’ve been in there for three hours!”
“They can legally hold you for up to forty-eight. Three hours is nothing.”
She remembered seeing one of the detectives taking him into another room.
“They don’t think you did this, do they?”
“Let’s just say I’m not their lead suspect.” He smiled almost sympathetically.
“That would be me, right?”
He nodded. “The good news is that by tomorrow they’ll probably be looking at someone different.”
“He said he was going to go talk to Juan at the restaurant. But . . . I don’t think Juan would have done that.” The image of Clint filled her head again. Her breath shuttered in her lungs.
Mark moved closer. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I just . . . see . . . him in my head every few minutes.”
“That’s normal,” he said.
She swallowed “There’s nothing normal about this.”
“True.” He paused. “Did they ask about your friends?”
“He got their information, but since they’re in Vegas he said they weren’t really suspects.” She brushed her hair off her cheek. “Would you mind loaning me your phone? I need to get a ride . . . to somewhere.” She paused and felt another wave of desperation hit. “And I need my purse. My keys. My rental car. Clothes.” Her voice shook. I need my mother. The thought ran through her mind. “I need to wake up from this nightmare.”
He stared at her. Probably thought she was battier than bat shit. “Look, why don’t you just come home with me? Tomorrow, I imagine they’ll turn over your car and you’ll be able to grab some clothes and stuff.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to bother you anymore.”
“It’s not a bother, and besides . . . there’s something we need to discuss.”
“What?” she asked.
He paused. “Let’s go back to my house first.”
She searched her mind for a reason to refuse his offer. But she didn’t search too long, or too hard. She hadn’t looked forward to calling one of her employees and explaining this. And since her friends were hundreds of mile away, her employees were the only people she had.
“You sure?”
“Positive.” He reached out and rubbed her forearm. His touch caused emotion to tug at her heartstrings. She looked away before he saw the swell of tears in her eyes. He was being nice. She didn’t recall exactly when he’d gone from jerk to nice, but she appreciated it.
Right then she remembered the other nice thing he’d done. “Crap!”
“What?” he asked.
“I need to get your robe. I left it in the—”
“Don’t worry.”
“But they don’t need to keep it.” She looked back toward the door. “I had it in the office, I just forgot. . .”
“I don’t need it.”
“It was a gift from your mother.” She turned to go get it.
He caught her. “Savanna, seriously... I have three more at home, and in a week it’s Christmas and I’ll get another one. Probably a striped one this time.”
“But it’s expensive,” she said. “I know, because I saw the label and I bought Clint . . .” His name rolled over her lips like glass. She caught her breath.
Mark’s hold on her elbow, softened and his thumb started moving in little circles. “It doesn’t matter. If you go back in there, they might start asking more questions. Let’s just go.” He met her eyes. “Okay?”
The thought of more questions won her over. “Okay.”
He looked back at his partner. “Let me wake him up.”
As he walked away, she saw it again. Clint’s body. She wrapped her arms around her orange prison jumpsuit and hugged herself. This was so going down as one of the worst nights of her life.
• • •
She was still hugging herself when she walked into his house. Two police cars were still parked in front of her house.
“What are they still doing at my house?”
“Police work,” he said.
She cringed. “Have they taken him . . . away yet?”
“I think so.” He motioned toward the sofa. “Sit down. You want something to drink?”
“No, I . . . I just want . . .” She looked down at the bright orange scratchy fabric and then at her hands. They had let her wash up briefly, but she wanted a shower.
He must have read her mind. “I’ve got a T-shirt and some boxers. And you can shower if you’d like.”
She looked up.
“Not that you don’t look good in the jumpsuit. You’re the . . . best looking person I’ve seen wearing one of those.” He smiled.
She forced herself to smile back. “A shower would be good.”
He took off and returned in a second with the items. “The bathroom’s right through the hall. Towels and washcloths are out.”
As she turned, she suddenly felt something soft at her ankles.
“Boots?” She leaned down and scooped up the animal. “How did he . . . ?”
“I brought him here right after they took you. He would have been in the way. I put his litter box in the back bedroom.”
She met her neighbor’s green eyes, almost the same color as her cat’s. “Thank you. I should have thought about him.”
“You kind of had a lot on your plate.”
Hugging Boots, she looked up and spilled her soul. “Is this my fault? I said I wanted him dead with . . . Oh, God, it is my fault.”
“Hey.” He moved closer and looked her right in the eyes. “People say things all the time. I wish I were dead. I’ll pinch your head off. I’ll kick your ass. Saying something isn’t a crime. Doing it is. If someone heard you, and it seems they did, then they are one sick individual to believe you meant it, much less do it. Do not put this on yourself.”
She felt a few tears slip down her cheeks. She gave Boots another soft pat, then set him down to go shower.
She scrubbed her hands and knees extra hard. In her mind, the crusty feeling of blood clung to her skin—just like the remnants of guilt. She knew Mark was right. She hadn’t meant what she said, but she’d still said it.
After the shower, after seeing Clint’s image a good three times, she got out and got dressed. The shirt hung to her knees. The boxers were so big, she twisted one end and knotted it. She’d give anything if she’d donned a pair of panties under her nightshirt before she’d . . . before she’d found Clint’s body.
She glanced in the mirror. You’re the . . . best looking person I’ve seen wearing one of those. His words floated through her head. The man was either blind or a good liar.
Giving her hair a good finger combing, she walked out, hopefully to find a place to lie down. She doubted she’d be able to sleep with the constant images flashing in her head, but he needed to sleep.
Right then, she recalled he’d told her he had something to talk to her about.
Stepping into his kitchen, she smelled coffee. He was getting out two cups.
“I thought I’d make some.” His gaze moved over her, then back to the mugs. “Want a cup?”
“No, thank you. My stomach’s still queasy.” She paused, recalling being sick earlier. She watched him fill one of the cups and actually shook her head, finding it odd to have memories fill her head, memories that she didn’t recall until right then. Oh Lord, had she really thrown up on him?
Then she remembered again what she’d hurried out to ask. “You said we needed to talk about something?”
“Yeah.” He motioned to the table and then sat d
own himself.
She joined him then saw him look at the clock. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you up all night.”
“No. I wasn’t . . . it’s not that,” he said and he seemed to struggle with the words. “About your friends, the three girlfriends.”
“Yes.”
“Jake checked, and their plane was delayed due to bad weather. The next one doesn’t go out for another couple of hours.”
She sat up. “Bethany and Jennifer are still here?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have called them. I didn’t have to come here. They would have come to get me.”
He turned the steaming cup in his hands. “I don’t think that would have been best. Since they didn’t leave for Vegas, they’ll be considered suspects.”
She shook her head. “But that’s crazy. They wouldn’t do that. And besides, you said you were a suspect as well. And I’m staying here.”
“Yeah, but as soon as. . .” He paused as if remembering something. “You asked about Bethany and Jennifer just now . . . you didn’t mention the other one.”
Boots brushed up against Savanna’s leg. She dropped her hand and passed her fingers over his gray fur. “That’s because she isn’t . . . as close. I’ve known Jennifer and Bethany since junior high.”
“How well do you know Amanda Adams?”
“She worked with Bethany at the law firm a couple of years ago.”
“She’s a lawyer?” he asked.
“Bethany is. Mandy was a receptionist at Bethany’s office. They sort of became sort-of friends and she invited her to join our group because Bethany thought we needed a perspective of someone who hadn’t grown up with us and wasn’t so close.”
“Group?”
“Not an official group. Just a . . . support group kind of thing. Two years ago when Bethany got her divorce she heard about some women forming support groups. She said it was cheaper than seeing a therapist. So she got us together and now we meet twice a month, whine, and then offer each other insights.” And I’m going to need a really long lunch to cover everything that has just happened.
Realizing she was just staring at the table and had stopped talking, she looked up. “Why are you asking about Mandy?”
The Cop Who Stole Christmas (Tall, Hot & Texan) Page 5
