Killing America's Sweetheart: A Natalie Miller Mystery Read Free Page B

over his shoulder and could see that most of the cameras were aiming at the area by the garage.
    “Do they know the cause of death?” I asked.
    “If they do they’re not saying,” he replied as he touched his finger to his ear piece. “Excuse me, I’m about to go live.”
    I moved away to let him get bac k to work while I moved near the safety of my vehicle and decided to make a call. Before I was able to dial, the phone sounded with the Halloween Theme song, (it was my favorite time of the year).
    “Hello?”
    “Where are you?!” asked my friend Karen, sounding very out of breath.
    “Uh, I’m out,” I replied.
    “No shit you’re out. I called your place and there was no answer. I know you never get out of bed this early unless you’re being nosy.”
    Damn. She knew me so well.
    “Okay fine, I’m over here on Road 97.”
    “I knew it! Man, I hate you,” she said with a bit of envy.
    Karen and I had been BFF’s since junior high. She was the only one who understood my sarcastic sense of humor and my other sense. She never once made me feel like a freak, which is more than I can say for all the other kids who went to school with me.
    “So, what have you found out?” she demanded.
    “Not much actually. Just that she was found dead in her SUV by Simon Bellamy.”
    I listened half-heartedly as Karen listed off her thoughts about what happened. I made the audible agreements here and there to make it sound good. But really I was focused on the well-defined Detective who was walking down the long paved driveway toward me and the rest of the media. I knew he had seen me, and then I heard my call waiting sound chime.
    “What’s that?” Karen asked.
    I pulled my iPhone down from my ear and looked at the screen.
    “Hey, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.” I disconnected before she could say anything else and accepted the call on my screen.
    “What the hell are you doing here?” the male caller asked.
    Some body was in a bad mood.
    “Nice to hear from you too,” I replied waving casually as to not draw attention to myself and alert the other media standing nearby.
    “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.”
    With that the call ended and I saw him moving closer to me.
    Chapter Five
    Detective Zachary Reynolds was pissed. He walked directly over to me, grabbed my arm and pulled me past the police line and cops doing crowd control.
    “Detective! Anything new to add?” A female CNN reporter asked running up to the barricade with a microphone in hand. The others followed her in droves.
    “Fuck,” Zack muttered and shook his head, dragging me behind the privacy of his work issued SUV.
    “Ouch!” I said.
    “Oh, I barely pulled on your arm.”
    “Well, I bruise easily,” I said rubbing the spot where his hand had been.
    “Yes, I remember,” he replied with a glint in his eye.
    So, it’s probably best to tell you that once upon a time Zack and I h ad a little thing. Nothing hot and heavy or deep and meaningful, just a simple one night stand. It happened right after my divorce, and I swear it was only once. (Okay maybe three times, but seriously no more than five!) Every woman should be so lucky as to have a divorce remedy like him. But beyond that night nothing else happened. Now he’s dating one of the other town trolls, Emma Phillips. I couldn’t for the life of me understand what he saw in her. Emma was a notable local relator and an even more notorious home wrecker. She was older than Zack, (over forty) but it was nothing that a plastic surgeon couldn’t fix. Rumor has it she’s already had implants, lipo and a tummy tuck. However, judging by some of her latest Instagram and Facebook photos, she might want to start with some Botox and fillers soon (I know I’m a catty bitch). Emma loved being out in the sun, hitting the river in the summer and tanning her naturally fair skin to the coveted bronzed shade that so many women strive to achieve. Unfortunately it was starting to show on her