tone reaffirmed Maggie’s first impression.
“Yes,” she said. “Bo’s on his way.”
This got the taciturn man’s attention, much to Maggie’s regret. “How would you know that?” he demanded.
“We’re friends. I give his son art lessons sometimes. And Bo’s helped out before, so I called him.” Maggie made herselfmaintain eye contact with the chief. Looking away would indicate weakness; the last thing she wanted the man to see was how vulnerable she felt.
“Exactly what kind of help did you need?”
“Just support. It’s horrible finding someone who’s . . . passed away . . . on your property.”
“This would be the fourth time in only a few months.”
Perske glared at her, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. Maggie flushed. She felt her underarms start to perspire and wished she’d gone with something stronger than an all-natural deodorant. “I have an alibi. I was at work,” she blurted.
“Interesting you think you need an alibi considering we haven’t even determined Mrs. Starke’s cause of death.”
Maggie’s heart raced so fast that she felt faint. Too bad I can’t flag down Vanessa’s ambulance and hop in there with her, she thought. “I saw the back of Ginger’s head,” she explained to the chief. “I don’t see how she could get a wound like that and wind up face down in the water.”
“There are few things I hate more than an amateur sleuth,’” Perske said. “Very few things.”
“Honestly, I don’t mean to be. But I’m an artist. I’m very visual, so I tend to pick up things other people might miss. Not the police, of course. They don’t miss a thing.”
Perske was unimpressed by her ham-fisted attempt at flattery. In fact, Maggie’s visual instincts picked up downright disgust in his expression. She was searching for a way of climbing out of the verbal hole she’d dug when a welcome voice called out her name.
“Back here, Bo,” she called to him.
Bo pushed aside thick foliage and made his way to her. He was clad in his off-duty attire of jeans and a T-shirt, his hair slightly mussed up from colliding with branches. Maggie tamped down the surge of attraction she always felt at the sight of him and was always forced to hide—now more than ever given Chief Perske’s mistrustful glare.
She greeted Bo with a stiff “Hello. Thank you for coming.”
Bo nodded a greeting to his chief and then responded to Maggie with equal stiffness. “Just doing my job. If you’ll show us somewhere to sit, I’d like to get the details of how you discovered Mrs. Starke.”
“Yes. We can talk on the veranda. Just follow me.”
Chief Perske held up his hand and shook his head. “Yeah, that won’t be happening,” Perske said. “I don’t know what the deal is with you two, but I’m picking up a little too much personal history. You can supervise the boys here, Durand. I’ll be taking Ms. Crozat’s statement.”
Perske motioned to Maggie, who snuck an anguished look at Bo and then glumly led the chief to the veranda of the main house. She had the terrifying feeling that if Ginger’s cause of death really was murder, the chief considered her a prime suspect.
Chapter Eight
Maggie’s grilling by Perske did nothing to allay her fears. His tone was so suspicious and skeptical that Maggie felt compelled to remind him of what he himself had pointed out. “We don’t know yet that Ginger was murdered,” she said.
“No, we don’t,” the man had to acknowledge. “But we will know very soon.” He studied her. Maggie held his glance and studied him right back. While an unexpected heat wave had soaked through many a Pelican shirt, the chief was almost unnaturally dry. Even his skin had a matte finish instead of a dewy sheen. Was the man human or a cyborg? “Being a chief in a small town means listening to gossip,” Perske continued, “and from what I’ve heard, this Ginger had become a problem for your family. A very expensive problem.”
Maggie was
“Yes,” she said. “Bo’s on his way.”
This got the taciturn man’s attention, much to Maggie’s regret. “How would you know that?” he demanded.
“We’re friends. I give his son art lessons sometimes. And Bo’s helped out before, so I called him.” Maggie made herselfmaintain eye contact with the chief. Looking away would indicate weakness; the last thing she wanted the man to see was how vulnerable she felt.
“Exactly what kind of help did you need?”
“Just support. It’s horrible finding someone who’s . . . passed away . . . on your property.”
“This would be the fourth time in only a few months.”
Perske glared at her, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. Maggie flushed. She felt her underarms start to perspire and wished she’d gone with something stronger than an all-natural deodorant. “I have an alibi. I was at work,” she blurted.
“Interesting you think you need an alibi considering we haven’t even determined Mrs. Starke’s cause of death.”
Maggie’s heart raced so fast that she felt faint. Too bad I can’t flag down Vanessa’s ambulance and hop in there with her, she thought. “I saw the back of Ginger’s head,” she explained to the chief. “I don’t see how she could get a wound like that and wind up face down in the water.”
“There are few things I hate more than an amateur sleuth,’” Perske said. “Very few things.”
“Honestly, I don’t mean to be. But I’m an artist. I’m very visual, so I tend to pick up things other people might miss. Not the police, of course. They don’t miss a thing.”
Perske was unimpressed by her ham-fisted attempt at flattery. In fact, Maggie’s visual instincts picked up downright disgust in his expression. She was searching for a way of climbing out of the verbal hole she’d dug when a welcome voice called out her name.
“Back here, Bo,” she called to him.
Bo pushed aside thick foliage and made his way to her. He was clad in his off-duty attire of jeans and a T-shirt, his hair slightly mussed up from colliding with branches. Maggie tamped down the surge of attraction she always felt at the sight of him and was always forced to hide—now more than ever given Chief Perske’s mistrustful glare.
She greeted Bo with a stiff “Hello. Thank you for coming.”
Bo nodded a greeting to his chief and then responded to Maggie with equal stiffness. “Just doing my job. If you’ll show us somewhere to sit, I’d like to get the details of how you discovered Mrs. Starke.”
“Yes. We can talk on the veranda. Just follow me.”
Chief Perske held up his hand and shook his head. “Yeah, that won’t be happening,” Perske said. “I don’t know what the deal is with you two, but I’m picking up a little too much personal history. You can supervise the boys here, Durand. I’ll be taking Ms. Crozat’s statement.”
Perske motioned to Maggie, who snuck an anguished look at Bo and then glumly led the chief to the veranda of the main house. She had the terrifying feeling that if Ginger’s cause of death really was murder, the chief considered her a prime suspect.
Chapter Eight
Maggie’s grilling by Perske did nothing to allay her fears. His tone was so suspicious and skeptical that Maggie felt compelled to remind him of what he himself had pointed out. “We don’t know yet that Ginger was murdered,” she said.
“No, we don’t,” the man had to acknowledge. “But we will know very soon.” He studied her. Maggie held his glance and studied him right back. While an unexpected heat wave had soaked through many a Pelican shirt, the chief was almost unnaturally dry. Even his skin had a matte finish instead of a dewy sheen. Was the man human or a cyborg? “Being a chief in a small town means listening to gossip,” Perske continued, “and from what I’ve heard, this Ginger had become a problem for your family. A very expensive problem.”
Maggie was
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