Read Online Confessions of a Werewolf Supermodel by Ronda Thompson - Free Book Online

Kinipski.”
    â€œOh.” Cindy visibly relaxes. What a friend. She’s relieved I’m the one in trouble, not her. “I was here at two this morning, spent the night in fact.”
    â€œCindy lives next door,” I feel moved to add. “We’re, ah, friends.”
    Shay takes a moment to appreciate Cindy’s outfit. He continues, “Did it appear that Ms. Kinipski had been home all evening?”
    Cindy considers his question. “It appeared that way to me. She was wearing her favorite flannel pajamas, wasn’t wearing makeup, and she had been sleeping. I came over because—”
    I frantically shake my head while Shay’s focused on Cindy. I don’t want her talking about the nightmares. “Because she had a falling-out with her friend,” I answer for her. “Cindy was upset. She wanted someone to talk to.”
    Damn. Cindy is an open book. Now she has this “I did?” look on her face. Fortunately, she’s a quick study. “Yeah, that’s right,” she agrees. “Hey, let me ask you something. This ‘friend’ I had over last night took some of my stuff. I want to know if she’s psychotic.”
    Now would be a good time for Shay to tell Cindy he has no further use for her and she can go. “Depends on what she took,” he says instead.
    Please do not answer something weird.
    â€œMy knee-high boots, my little black whip, and all my underwear,” Cindy provides, as if there isn’t anything odd about having knee-high boots and a black whip.
    â€œDefinitely psychotic,” Shay says, and I’m impressed that he can keep a straight face. “I’d steer clear of her.”
    â€œStupid dyke,” Cindy mutters. She glances between the two of us. “Why is Lou in trouble? I can vouch for her. She’s a good citizen, a supermodel, you know?”
    â€œI’m aware of Ms. Kinipski’s profession,” Shay assures her. He takes in Cindy’s outfit again. “And what profession are you in, Ms. Emerson?”
    If Cindy hadn’t already made it perfectly clear that she’s gay, I’m sure Shay would think she must be a prostitute.
    â€œMakeup specialist,” she answers. “I was there that day you came to see Lou on the roof, remember? Someday I hope to become a construction worker.”
    Too much information. “Are you finished questioning Cindy?” I ask Shay. “I’m sure she has other things to do.” I give Cindy a look that tells her she’d better find something else to do if she doesn’t.
    Shay snaps his notebook closed and places it back in his inside pocket. “That’s all for now. I have your cell phone number if I need anything else from you.”
    â€œRight,” Cindy says. She turns and heads for the door. Upon reaching it she says, “You should come watch COPS with us sometime. You can tell us what’s real and what’s just a load of crap.”
    Shay doesn’t respond. “Coffee should be done,” I say to distract him. I head back into the kitchen. Shay slides back onto his bar stool a moment later. I pour coffee in two floral-decorated cups and place one in front of him. “Sugar or cream?”
    â€œNo. Just black.”
    His coffee preference doesn’t surprise me. Maybe I am psychic. Maybe it’s because I was a waitress before I became a supermodel. I can always tell the just-black type guys. No nonsense. No frills. Just give them the caffeine and don’t try to dress it up. Manly men. I wonder what it means that Stefan likes lattes … and girls with broad shoulders?
    â€œYour friend is interesting.”
    Sipping my coffee, I consider the use of his emphasis on the word “friend.” Does Terry now think I’m gay? Maybe it’s best to let Shay draw his stereotyped conclusions. I detect a hint of interest toward me from the detective. Not just the business between