01 - Playing with Poison Read Free Page B

sarcastically before hanging up.
    Rye stopped the tape and stared at me.
    “What?” I asked. “Isn’t that exactly how I explained it last night? As I recall, it took us hours to go over what that dispatcher got out of me in a mere minute or two.”
    “How did you know he was murdered?”
    I blinked twice. “Excuse me?”
    He slipped the tape player back in his pocket. “You agree that you point blank told the dispatcher Stanley Sweetzer was murdered?”
    “Yes?” My heart had started beating way too fast.
    “But there was no blood, no gunshot wounds, no stab wounds, the guy wasn’t beaten up. Nothing.” He paused. “So how did you know it was murder?”
    I turned and walked away before the cop could notice that my hands were shaking. How had I known it was murder?
    ***
    “You don’t have to be nervous, Ms. Hewitt.”
    Rye had followed me into the living room, and we were now sitting across from each other. We may have been in easy chairs, but trust me, we were not relaxed. How could anyone relax with his pesky, pesky, question hanging over us?
    “I have no idea how I knew.” I forced myself to meet his gaze. “I’m a writer, okay? I have more intuition than the average person. I know things about people. Really, I do. I’m not lying.”
    “There’s no reason to be nervous.”
    Why did he keep saying that?
    I hesitated and then just blurted it out, “Do you think I killed Stanley?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Probably?” I squeaked.
    “But what I think doesn’t matter if that’s where the evidence leads us. You understand that?”
    I failed to answer, since I was too busy remembering how to breath.
    “Since you’re so sure it was murder,” he continued relentlessly, “what killed him? Your intuition tell you that?”
    I stared at my bare feet and lamented my unprofessional appearance. Maybe if I were wearing a business suit, this cop would be less inclined to accuse me of murder. But there I was, impersonating Huck Finn yet again.
    “Ms. Hewitt?”
    I looked up. “Stanley Sweetzer was poisoned.”
    Rye stared at me as if I had suddenly turned green and sprouted antennae from my forehead.
    “Well?” I said. “He was, wasn’t he?”
    “Yes, he was.” He kept staring. Apparently my antennae had started growing. “Now do you see the problem? How do you know all this?”
    “What? You think I know because I’m the one who did it? Get a grip, Captain. What possible reason could I have for killing Stanley?”
    Rye didn’t answer, so I insisted again, “I had no motive. You can’t arrest me without a motive.”
    “I’m not here to arrest you.”
    Thank you, God.
    “However, someone who had a mind to might be able to argue a motive.”
    I sat up and braced myself for who knows what. “Okay, enlighten me,” I said. “What is this supposed motive?”
    “Jealousy.”
    “Jealousy! Jealousy of what?”
    “Of Ms. Poppe.”
    I offered Rye the glare he so richly deserved. “That, sir, is absurd. Absolutely absurd.”
    He held my eye. “It’s conceivable—conceivable mind you—that you were jealous of your friend’s love life.” I glared harder, but still failed to discourage him. “It’s happened before. A lonely woman—let’s say, a woman of a certain age—”
    “I’m fifty two,” I interrupted. “And I am not lonely.”
    Rye hesitated a moment before continuing, “—sees a younger woman with a rich and handsome boyfriend, and she gets jealous.”
    I crossed my arms so as not to slap him. “Are you always this charming?” I asked.
    The captain winced, which was satisfying indeed. That is, until Snowflake jumped onto his lap. He stroked the cat from head to tail, and she purred accordingly.
    “I’m sorry,” he said to me, “but it looks bad. Especially considering your choice of career.”
    “Excuse me? What are you talking about now?”
    “Any prosecutor worth his salt would have a heyday with the kind of stuff you write. They would argue you have an overactive