Read Online Double Shot by Diane Mott Davidson - Free Book Online Page B

walking back down the driveway. When he climbed into the passenger seat, his ordinarily rosy face was drained of color.
I said, “now what’s — “
He held up his hand. Then he reached forward and opened my glove compartment. My glove compartment that I usually kept locked.
It was empty. I stared at the vacant space, not comprehending.
“Dammit!” Tom whacked the compartment closed. This unusually violet act unnerved me. My ears began to ring.
“Tom. Don’t tell me they found my gun in the garage.”
He shook his head. “You know they’re not going to let me be part of this investigation. But . . . I happened to see the thirty-eight beside the driveway, like someone had tossed it there. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“I did not shoot him. I swear.”
He reached out for my hands and held them. “I know.” He paused. “After you accidentally fired at the mice this morning, you didn’t lock your thirty-eight back in your glove compartment, did you?”
I thought back, now wholly confused. I must have locked the compartment. I ‘d unlocked it when I’d shown my gun to the officer investigating the attack. He’d left when Julian and Liz arrived. Then we’d been in such a hurry to get new food, my body had hurt so much from being hit, and I’d been so worried about Roger Mannis showing up . . . no, I remembered replacing the gun, but not relocking the compartment. But aside from that cop, Marla, and Tom, who knew I kept a gun in the van? And Marla would never have done this. She was working at the bake sale, and she would have joked that that was much more important than shooting the Jerk.
Tom reached for my cell phone and pressed the buttons for Marla’s cell. She must have answered right away, because Tom began talking almost immediately.
“Trouble here, Marla. We need you to find a criminal attorney for Goldy and have him meet her down at the department ASAP.” Tom paused. “What do you mean, why? Of course she didn’t do it. But things aren’t going too well. We’ll tell you more later.” Then he pressed End. I could just imagine Marla hurling her cell phone against whatever wall was convenient. She hated people hanging up on her.
Tom handed me my phone. “Put this in your pocket. We’re going to have to talk quickly because — “
“Oh, Lord, Tom, I’m going to be sick.”
“Listen to me. Look at me.”
I focused on those green eyes, usually liquid with love. Now they were stern, commanding. My stomach tightened even more. “Say as little as possible, understand? Don’t worry that it makes you look guilty.” He touched my cheek, as if to soften his words. “Do not talk about being attacked this morning. Do not tell them the gun went off in your hand. Do not even tell them you have a gun. Give as brief a statement as possible. Then when you get down to the department, demand to confer with your lawyer.” His eyes turned gentle. “You have to trust me on this.”
“I trust you on everything,” I said weakly.
Two detectives were sauntering down the driveway. I knew they were detectives because they wore dark suits and sober ties. One held a clipboard. The other signaled to Tom that they wanted to talk to me. panic rose in my throat, as it had so many nights when John Richard had been raging, hollering, and throwing things. The memory of that fear immobilized me.
I wanted to bolt.
My mind, so blank a while ago, was now whirling. This morning I’d been beaten up and sabotaged. Of course I’d suspected the Jerk. I’d taken my thirty-eight into the Roundhouse and been so startled by rodents, I’d accidentally fired at the floor. And now I had gunshot residue on my hands. John Richard had been shot with my gun, stolen from my glove compartment that I’d stupidly forgotten to lock. He’d been killed sometime in the three hours between when I’d last seen him at the Roundhouse and four o’clock. And when I’d last seen him at the Roundhouse, sixty-plus people had witnessed the