Death Stretch Read Free Page B

go there.
    “So, Detective Johnson, what does bring you by?”
    “I have a few more questions. Mind if I come in?”
    My brain stopped at the word come . Silly, but have I mentioned it's been awhile since I’ve dated?
    He grabbed my arm. “Ms. Sheridan? Katie?”
    The sizzle of his touch jolted me back to life. “Um, sure. Sorry, I haven't cleaned yet today.” Or last week, but who's keeping count? And why apologize?
    I closed the woman's magazine I'd left open to an article on Giving Good Head and shoved it under a pile of papers, hoping Detective Johnson hadn't noticed my reading preference. His smirk suggested he probably had.
    My attention shifted into hostess mode. I might be a slut wanna-be, but my Mama raised me right.
    “Something to drink? I have iced tea, bottled water, Pepsi.” I stopped before adding “wine and beer.”
    The smirk disappeared and his jaw tightened. “All I want are answers.”
    His sudden mood change threw me. I struggled for composure. Cop A-hole had returned.
    He consulted his notebook. “A witness reports you bent over and touched Anderson's body before you left the room. Care to tell me why your accounts differ?”
    Oh, let me count the ways. “First, I told you—I didn't bend over or touch Morgan's body. I stopped to make sure he hadn't seen me then I scooted to the bathroom. Second, I don't know who told you something different, but I'd like to know why they lied. Third, if I had bent over, you would have seen the puddle, because I really had to pee.”
    Crap. I hadn't meant to say that last part aloud.
    Detective Johnson looked away, but not before I saw his grin. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should stop drinking from that big bottle of water you carry. No wonder you need the bathroom so often.”
    “Toxins. I flush them with water.”
    “Leading to the Mrs. Crankshaw effect.”
    We faced each other so I couldn’t miss his raised eyebrow. “What?”
    “Don't tell me you're on some weird diet. Having as many curves as the Blue Ridge Parkway isn’t a bad thing.” He coughed and looked at his notes.
    My stomach dropped deliciously . I could fall in love with this version of the man. I squashed that thought under my steel-toed work boot. “Who said I bent over and touched the body? Everyone had their eyes closed.”
    “Apparently not everyone.”
    “I guess someone could have seen me standing. When I looked around, everyone seemed lost in Nirvana. The place you're supposed to find with meditation, not the band.”
    “So you looked around? Why? Feeling guilty? Or making sure there were no witnesses?”
    “I didn't do anything to Morgan. I didn't even know the man.” I stopped to control my temper but my raised voice proved my failure. “Who said I did more than stand there?”
    He didn't answer my question. “If you were leaving the room, why didn't you take your things with you? Isn't that proper yoga etiquette?”
    How did he know yoga etiquette? Finally I had a clue to my accuser's identity. The finger pointer had to be Flash. She'd made a big deal about my not removing my shoes instantly when I walked in the door. I knew I didn't like her. But why would she lie about my actions? And why had she been watching me? “I told you. It was my first lesson. I had to use the bathroom. I figured everyone would be up when I returned to the room.”
    “So your story is you didn't know the victim, didn't bend over him and didn't kill him. Is that right?”
    “Right.” My pulse slowed and my chest ached. “Was he really murdered?”
    He ran a hand through his hair. “Yes, he really was murdered.”
    “Why?”
    “I'm working to answer that question. Meanwhile, don't—”
    “Yeah, I know. Don't leave town.”
    He grinned. “No, I was going to say don't forget to lock your door. Any nut job could get in here.”
    “Including you?” Dang, there went my smart mouth again.
    He shook his head. “I don't want another case on my overloaded desk because you're too