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Authors: Sheryl J. Anderson
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interrupting.”
A clear female voice cut through all the background noise to call out, “Busted.” As much as I wanted to imagine the voice belonging to a female police officer about to inform a suspect of his rights, I highly doubted that even a woman who loved her job would say “Busted” to a criminal with that teasing, singsong tone.
Kyle ignored the voice and asked me, “What’s up?”
Cassady stepped out through the French doors. “What’d he say?” she asked urgently.
“Nothing yet,” I told her.
“So why the call?” Kyle asked.
“I was talking to someone else,” I told him, wishing Cassady’s voice were deep enough to pass for male over a cell phone. I didn’t want to be jealous; I just wanted to know exactly who had said “Busted,” what she was wearing, and where both her hands were at this exact moment.
“Everything okay?” he asked calmly.
“I’m having a great time, how ’bout you?”
Cassady rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you!” I glared at her with all the irritation I felt for the Busted Babe and she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.
“I’ve had better,” Kyle said.
I wondered what BB thought of that evaluation. “I just have one question and then I’ll let you go.”
“I’m not in a rush.”
“I am.”
“Okay.” He seemed amused. I wasn’t.
“What does chlorine do to fingerprints?”
I thought I heard the chair scrape as he sat up straight. His voice got taut. “What happened?”
“Just a technical question.”
“In my line of work, not yours. What happened?”
“I don’t have a lot of time.”
“What happened?” he repeated, more slowly and, from the sound of it, through gritted teeth.
“There’s just a situation I’m trying to clarify.”
“You still at Mrs. Malinkov’s? I’m on my way.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Are you asking me not to?”
Boobytraps are effective because you don’t see them, no matter how well you think you know the terrain. I scrambled to keep my footing. “No, I’m asking you about chlorine and fingerprints.”
“And you want to know because … ?” I thought I heard Cassady ask.
I waved her off. “Tell you in a minute,” I said, looking up to glare at her again. Cassady shook her head and pursed her lips to indicate that she had, in fact, said nothing. I sighed, realizing my mistake. “Thanks, talk to you later,” I said to Kyle and flipped my phone shut while he was in mid-exclamation.
Detective Cook put her hand on my shoulder and said, “How about you tell me now?”
4
Dear Molly, Is turnabout really fair play? Just because I call the man in my life (notice my agile avoidance of the term “boyfriend”) in the middle of the night, does that give him the right to call me back before dawn? And just because I suspected him of an encounter with a UFO (Unidentified Female Opportunity), should he be able to perform telephonic bed checks on me? Will I be less grumpy about all this sixteen ounces of coffee from now? Signed, Sleepless Beauty
I was determined to answer the phone with a sweet, pleasant voice. Even though said voice would be a complete sham because I felt miles away from both sweet and pleasant, but, as I told Cassady, staying up all night with a cop will do that to you.
“Really? I thought staying up all night with a cop made you happy,” Cassady yawned as I fumbled with the phone.
“Different cop, different incentive,” I growled. I had just enough time to clear my throat and answer the call before it went to voice mail. “Good morning,” I said, hoping to disarm Kyle with long distance charm.
“Clearly, you need a new dictionary, because I don’t understand by what definition this could possibly be a good
morning. File a purchase order immediately. No, wait. You work at home enough. Buy one yourself. You can take a tax deduction. That should make you happy.”
I flopped back on the bed, the gorgeous, comfortable bed I had only had an
A clear female voice cut through all the background noise to call out, “Busted.” As much as I wanted to imagine the voice belonging to a female police officer about to inform a suspect of his rights, I highly doubted that even a woman who loved her job would say “Busted” to a criminal with that teasing, singsong tone.
Kyle ignored the voice and asked me, “What’s up?”
Cassady stepped out through the French doors. “What’d he say?” she asked urgently.
“Nothing yet,” I told her.
“So why the call?” Kyle asked.
“I was talking to someone else,” I told him, wishing Cassady’s voice were deep enough to pass for male over a cell phone. I didn’t want to be jealous; I just wanted to know exactly who had said “Busted,” what she was wearing, and where both her hands were at this exact moment.
“Everything okay?” he asked calmly.
“I’m having a great time, how ’bout you?”
Cassady rolled her eyes. “I can’t believe you!” I glared at her with all the irritation I felt for the Busted Babe and she huffed, folding her arms over her chest.
“I’ve had better,” Kyle said.
I wondered what BB thought of that evaluation. “I just have one question and then I’ll let you go.”
“I’m not in a rush.”
“I am.”
“Okay.” He seemed amused. I wasn’t.
“What does chlorine do to fingerprints?”
I thought I heard the chair scrape as he sat up straight. His voice got taut. “What happened?”
“Just a technical question.”
“In my line of work, not yours. What happened?”
“I don’t have a lot of time.”
“What happened?” he repeated, more slowly and, from the sound of it, through gritted teeth.
“There’s just a situation I’m trying to clarify.”
“You still at Mrs. Malinkov’s? I’m on my way.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Are you asking me not to?”
Boobytraps are effective because you don’t see them, no matter how well you think you know the terrain. I scrambled to keep my footing. “No, I’m asking you about chlorine and fingerprints.”
“And you want to know because … ?” I thought I heard Cassady ask.
I waved her off. “Tell you in a minute,” I said, looking up to glare at her again. Cassady shook her head and pursed her lips to indicate that she had, in fact, said nothing. I sighed, realizing my mistake. “Thanks, talk to you later,” I said to Kyle and flipped my phone shut while he was in mid-exclamation.
Detective Cook put her hand on my shoulder and said, “How about you tell me now?”
4
Dear Molly, Is turnabout really fair play? Just because I call the man in my life (notice my agile avoidance of the term “boyfriend”) in the middle of the night, does that give him the right to call me back before dawn? And just because I suspected him of an encounter with a UFO (Unidentified Female Opportunity), should he be able to perform telephonic bed checks on me? Will I be less grumpy about all this sixteen ounces of coffee from now? Signed, Sleepless Beauty
I was determined to answer the phone with a sweet, pleasant voice. Even though said voice would be a complete sham because I felt miles away from both sweet and pleasant, but, as I told Cassady, staying up all night with a cop will do that to you.
“Really? I thought staying up all night with a cop made you happy,” Cassady yawned as I fumbled with the phone.
“Different cop, different incentive,” I growled. I had just enough time to clear my throat and answer the call before it went to voice mail. “Good morning,” I said, hoping to disarm Kyle with long distance charm.
“Clearly, you need a new dictionary, because I don’t understand by what definition this could possibly be a good
morning. File a purchase order immediately. No, wait. You work at home enough. Buy one yourself. You can take a tax deduction. That should make you happy.”
I flopped back on the bed, the gorgeous, comfortable bed I had only had an
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