Read Online How to Host a Killer Party by Penny Warner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Penny Warner
Ads: Link
started to beat double-time. “I . . . uh . . . you said she died how?”
He nodded. “In a car wreck. She was found at the bottom of the hill, off Macalla, on her way to the island.”
A chill ran up my spine. “Macalla? I . . . I don’t understand.”
“That’s the exit you take off the Bay Bridge to Treasure Island.”
“I know that,” I snapped. I tried to shake my head at his sarcasm, but my neck seemed to have locked up. What was Andi Sax doing on Macalla Road? Had she really been on her way to my office? Why?
Detective Melvin interrupted my silent self-interrogation with a question of his own. “You not only work on Treasure Island, you live there too, don’t you?”
“Yes, I have a condo—the old military housing—but—”
He folded his hands on the desk, his eyes steely blue. “I think it’s obvious that Ms. Sax was on her way to meet you.”
“I . . . suppose it may look that way, but—”
“But she had an accident and never made it.”
I didn’t like his tone. “Apparently not, but—”
He leaned in. “So why was she coming to see you, Ms. Parker?”
“I. Don’t. Know,” I said, enunciating each word. “I’m telling you the truth—I had no idea she was coming to see me— if she was. And you said it was an accident.”
He shrugged.
What did that mean?
“Well, if it was an accident, I’d like to know why I’m here. Even if I was supposed to meet her—which I wasn’t—her car went off the road—which I had nothing to do with. We’ll never really know whether she was coming to see me, right?” I felt as if I were trying to convince myself as much as the detective. From the look on his face, I think he sensed it too. It seemed to say, Let her hang herself.
I felt my face flush with anger and tried to take a calming breath, something I’d been taught by one of my many special ed teachers as a way of controlling my hyperactivity. I had no reason to be on the defensive, but somehow this Bogart wannabe made me react that way. I sat back, gripping the arms of the chair, and crossed my legs, trying to look relaxed, even if I didn’t feel it.
“Is that all, Detective? Because I have a business to run—that is, if I still have a business. . . .” I trailed off as Detective Melvin pulled out another folder that was hidden underneath Andi’s. He flipped the cover over and scanned the report. All I could read upside down was the heading in bold black letters: “SF Medical Examiner.”
My heart began pumping wildly. There was something more to Andi’s death.
The detective took a moment to look over the report—as if he didn’t already know what it said. Finally he lifted his eyes and summarized it for me. “According to the autopsy report, Ms. Sax had three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a contusion to her forehead.”
“No seat belt?”
“Yes, but the air bag in her SUV didn’t deploy.”
I thought for a moment. “Did she die of the head wound, then?” I asked, puzzled. The injuries didn’t seem bad enough to cause her death. But then, I’m not a doctor.
He glanced again at the paper. “She died from a myocardial infarction, just before the crash.” He looked up with those steely eyes to gauge my reaction.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. “A heart attack?” I wheezed. “But she was only in her early thirties, wasn’t she?”
“According to the tox scan, there was a high level of KCN in her bloodstream.”
“KCN?”
“Potassium cyanide.”
“I thought you just said she had a heart attack—”
“With five milligrams of KCN in her bloodstream, she probably lost consciousness. Her stomach was nearly empty, which no doubt hurried things along. The ME found traces of”—he paused to read from his notes, carefully pronouncing the multisyllabic words—“theobromine, endogenous cannabinoid anandamide, N-oleoylethanolamine, soy lecithin, cacao, and cocoa butter.”
Cocoa butter? “So . . . what does all that
He nodded. “In a car wreck. She was found at the bottom of the hill, off Macalla, on her way to the island.”
A chill ran up my spine. “Macalla? I . . . I don’t understand.”
“That’s the exit you take off the Bay Bridge to Treasure Island.”
“I know that,” I snapped. I tried to shake my head at his sarcasm, but my neck seemed to have locked up. What was Andi Sax doing on Macalla Road? Had she really been on her way to my office? Why?
Detective Melvin interrupted my silent self-interrogation with a question of his own. “You not only work on Treasure Island, you live there too, don’t you?”
“Yes, I have a condo—the old military housing—but—”
He folded his hands on the desk, his eyes steely blue. “I think it’s obvious that Ms. Sax was on her way to meet you.”
“I . . . suppose it may look that way, but—”
“But she had an accident and never made it.”
I didn’t like his tone. “Apparently not, but—”
He leaned in. “So why was she coming to see you, Ms. Parker?”
“I. Don’t. Know,” I said, enunciating each word. “I’m telling you the truth—I had no idea she was coming to see me— if she was. And you said it was an accident.”
He shrugged.
What did that mean?
“Well, if it was an accident, I’d like to know why I’m here. Even if I was supposed to meet her—which I wasn’t—her car went off the road—which I had nothing to do with. We’ll never really know whether she was coming to see me, right?” I felt as if I were trying to convince myself as much as the detective. From the look on his face, I think he sensed it too. It seemed to say, Let her hang herself.
I felt my face flush with anger and tried to take a calming breath, something I’d been taught by one of my many special ed teachers as a way of controlling my hyperactivity. I had no reason to be on the defensive, but somehow this Bogart wannabe made me react that way. I sat back, gripping the arms of the chair, and crossed my legs, trying to look relaxed, even if I didn’t feel it.
“Is that all, Detective? Because I have a business to run—that is, if I still have a business. . . .” I trailed off as Detective Melvin pulled out another folder that was hidden underneath Andi’s. He flipped the cover over and scanned the report. All I could read upside down was the heading in bold black letters: “SF Medical Examiner.”
My heart began pumping wildly. There was something more to Andi’s death.
The detective took a moment to look over the report—as if he didn’t already know what it said. Finally he lifted his eyes and summarized it for me. “According to the autopsy report, Ms. Sax had three broken ribs, a punctured lung, and a contusion to her forehead.”
“No seat belt?”
“Yes, but the air bag in her SUV didn’t deploy.”
I thought for a moment. “Did she die of the head wound, then?” I asked, puzzled. The injuries didn’t seem bad enough to cause her death. But then, I’m not a doctor.
He glanced again at the paper. “She died from a myocardial infarction, just before the crash.” He looked up with those steely eyes to gauge my reaction.
It felt like the air had been sucked out of my lungs. “A heart attack?” I wheezed. “But she was only in her early thirties, wasn’t she?”
“According to the tox scan, there was a high level of KCN in her bloodstream.”
“KCN?”
“Potassium cyanide.”
“I thought you just said she had a heart attack—”
“With five milligrams of KCN in her bloodstream, she probably lost consciousness. Her stomach was nearly empty, which no doubt hurried things along. The ME found traces of”—he paused to read from his notes, carefully pronouncing the multisyllabic words—“theobromine, endogenous cannabinoid anandamide, N-oleoylethanolamine, soy lecithin, cacao, and cocoa butter.”
Cocoa butter? “So . . . what does all that
Similar Books
