Forget it. Whoever locked us in was likely someone not involved in this murder. I mean, unless Hilary had another lover or some friends or enemies no one has mentioned, it's most likely the cooler culprit was someone after Kevin. I have nothing to do with this.
I set my pen down and lean back in my chair.
Nope, I'm back to staying out of it. Kevin's a cop, and if he's truly innocent, he can figure this out by himself. It is his job after all.
I get up and walk to the bathroom. After I dry my hands on the hanging towel and open the door, I hear the traffic outside get louder. This means someone has entered the office. A new client. Julian will be thrilled.
"I'll be right there," I shout and turn off the light.
I walk back into the main room, and Sanchez is standing in front of my desk. I frown, and my footing misses a step. What is he doing here?
"Hi," I say and offer a smile. "Are you looking for Julian?"
Kevin said that the cops like to know who the private investigators in town are. Maybe Sanchez is introducing himself?
He turns to me and looks solemn. He's not usually an emotive guy, but he is normally friendly and not as stiff as right now.
"I'm sorry, who?" he asks.
A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach begins. This won't be good. I can feel it.
"My boss. Julian Reed. He's the PI."
"Oh, yes, we've met, but no, I'm not here to see him."
That only leaves me, and since I doubt he's here to fill me in on Hilary's case and tell me details I have no rights to know, this can only mean he wants to ask me more questions. That's not terribly surprising. I found her body. But I'm still incredibly nervous for some reason. It's like I can feel dread in the air.
"So then why are you here?" I ask. Might as well get straight to the point.
"I need for you to come downtown to answer some more questions," he says.
Just as I thought.
Wait!
"Downtown? Can't we just talk here? No one is going to come in and interrupt us." Unfortunately.
He shakes his head. "No, it needs to be at the precinct, and you need to come with me. Now."
Panic swirls in my chest. Oh, this feels worse than dread.
I bite my lower lip. "Am I under arrest?"
CHAPTER TWENTY
I'm seated on a hard metal chair, sans cushion, at a small table in a light blue room with a single door and window that has blinds, which are shut. No two-way mirror, no people observing our conversation. Oh, except for the camera mounted in the top left corner where the wall and ceiling meet.
Back at Julian's, Sanchez waited while I forwarded the office line to my cell, gathered my things, and then locked up. His car was parked directly out front, and I hoped Ma and Pop had not been watching. I don't want to worry them. I'm worried enough for the entire tri-state area. Sanchez was silent the whole ride over. At least I got to sit in his dark blue sedan and not in the back seat of a squad car.
When we arrived, I kept my head down as I followed him into the detective unit, past the front desk and anyone else we met along the way. I didn't want to look at any of the officers eye-to-eye. There was a level of humiliation I'd never experienced before, and I'm not sure why. I'm not guilty of anything. I'm not in cuffs, and I wasn't being dragged in, but I felt…no, feel like I failed somewhere. Maybe it's because I haven't been trying to figure out who killed Hilary all of this time. At least not consciously. Maybe it's because I've been believing Kevin. I'm not sure, but the last thing I want is to run into Enzo and see the look of surprise or disappointment on his face.
Sanchez has been his usual polite self. He offered me coffee or soda when he directed me to this interrogation room. I declined a beverage and told him I wasn't speaking without a lawyer.
And here we are.
Sitting across from Sanchez, saying nothing, watching dust collect on the table. In hindsight, maybe asking for a lawyer wasn't the best move. I mean, I'm all for protecting and using my rights, but I know the mention of lawyers makes a person look guilty when they should only make you look smart. I don't even know why I'm here. So when he handed me his phone, even though mine is in my purse, I called Julian and left a voicemail saying, "I'm at the police station, brought in for questioning. Can you send Mr. Hamilton?"
It's not like Julian's boss is my attorney. I don't technically have one, but he's helped in the past, so maybe Julian can convince him to do it again.
I hope.
Otherwise, I imagine I'll be sitting here all day.
"Am I being detained?" I ask. 'Cause what if it is all day? This chair will become torture after a while. Maybe that's why they have them, so people confess just to get off them.
Sanchez clears his throat. "I only want to ask a few questions."
"You could've done that at my office."
He taps the table. "I like it better here."
That sounds like a thing the old jerk Kevin would say. Gosh, I hope he hasn't rubbed off on Sanchez.
I fold my arms across my chest, realize that position may make me look guarded or defensive, and unfold them, laying my hands on my legs. "Well, I think it's best if we wait for my lawyer."
"That's fine," he says and finally gives me a quick smile.
There's the detective I know and like. But now I'm irked that he thinks I'm guilty of something. It has to be that, right? Otherwise, he'd just ask his questions at the office. In the street. Anywhere.
I scoff. "I can't believe you think I did something wrong."
"I didn't say that."
"Well, I wouldn't be here if you didn't."
He doesn't respond.
My nervous energy seeps into my legs, and I bounce my right foot on its tippy toes, causing my leg to move as well.
I scoff again, but this time louder. "You think I killed Hilary, don't you? I mean, what else can it be? I'm hurt and surprised you'd think that of me."
His eyebrows lift, and I realize he may think nothing of me and I'm treating us as if we're friends.
"It's not about what I think but what the evidence says."
Evidence?
"What evidence? There can't be any because I didn't do anything. It must be planted."
I immediately think of my arch nemesis. The one who's still alive.
"Kevin planted it," I say and stab the top of the table with my finger.
Sanchez's brows inch up even higher. "Do you have proof he's done something?"
Darn proof.
"No."
"I thought the two of you were getting along."
"We are, but…" I can't finish my sentence because I don't know what to say.
There's a knock on the door, and it opens to Mr. Hamilton.
I've never been so happy to see another living being before. He gets my full-on smile.
He shuts the door quickly, but I think I see Julian in the hallway. My hero.
Sanchez stands up, and the two men exchange handshakes and greetings as if they're meeting for drinks and my future freedom isn't at stake. Okay, so maybe I get a wee bit dramatic when I'm stressed.
Mr. Hamilton sits in the chair beside me and asks, "Is my client under arrest?"
Sanchez shakes his head. "No, I only want to question Miss Mancini about the night Hilary Burton died."
"You mean the night she was murdered."
I love how direct my attorney is. No wonder Julian likes working for him. He's to the point and doesn't waste time.
"Is she being detained?" he asks.
"I only want to go over what happened the night Mrs. Burton died."
"All of which you've already asked, correct?"
He doesn't wait for Sanchez to respond; he keeps talking. "But you felt the need to bring Miss Mancini here to what…intimidate her?"
See! That's what I'm saying!
While Mr. Hamilton goes in for the jugular, Sanchez doesn't appear to be ruffled at all. That's good 'cause I still like the guy. I know this is just his job. It does stink though.
"We received an anonymous call saying that Miss Mancini arrived at Mrs. Burton's apartment just minutes before the time of death."
Wait, what?
Someone else is saying that I killed Hilary?
I take a moment to wrap my head around this new information, and I don't pay sharp detail to what the men are saying. Then Sanchez begins his questioning. At first, they're no different than what he asked that night at Hilary's apartment. But then they take a very different turn.
"You and Mrs. Burton have history, correct? You were friends?" he asks.
I glance to Hamilton, who nods that it's okay for me to answer. "Yes, we grew up together and were friends."
"But you weren't at the time of her death?"
"No."
"Why is that?"
"We had a falling out when we were in high school. We never moved past it."
"And what was this falling out about?"
"Does what they argued about in high school still matter?" Hamilton asks.
"It might. I'd like to judge that for myself."
Hamilton nods at me again.
"Well, she kissed a boy I had a crush on. It was the ultimate betrayal." I realize this doesn't sound great, so I quickly add, "Back then."
"But you hadn't made up and moved past it in all of these years?" Sanchez asks.
"We saw little of each other after high school. We didn't go to the same college, no longer lived in the same town, and then I moved to Connecticut. I didn't see her again until last year."
"Tell me about that."
Ugh, these questions are ridiculous.
"She came into my parents' deli while I was working. She ordered some food and left."
It was the moment I learned she and Kevin had married, but Sanchez doesn't need to know that.
"If she came in, she may have wanted to clear the air between the two of you?"
I shrug. "I don't know what she was thinking."
"Did you want to clear the air?"
I glance to Hamilton, hoping he'd object, but he doesn't. Darn.
"No, I had no reason to."
"So you were still feeling betrayed?"
"Where are you going with this?" Hamilton asks.
Sanchez ignores him and glances down at his notebook. "Did you see Mrs. Burton the morning she died?"
How does he know that?
I feel myself frowning and try to smooth out my brow. "Um, yes."
"Where?"
"At the café around the corner." I can't even remember the name of the place that sells my favorite sandwich right now.
"What happened?" Sanchez asks.
"I was picking up lunch for me and my boss, and she came in."
"Did the two of you talk? What did you say?"
Hamilton holds up a hand, telling me to be quiet.
Thank goodness.
"What they discussed, if anything, isn't relevant."
"I talked with several people who were in the café that day, and they each say there was animosity between Miss Mancini and Mrs. Burton. I say it's very relevant."
Who did he talk to? The cashier? The guy in line ahead of me? Is Kevin one of these people? What's worse is that Sanchez has been prying into my motives and whereabouts, and I didn't even know it. Talk about feeling betrayed. It doesn't matter that he and I aren't friends or that he's a cop doing his job. It still feels creepy and wrong.
"Hilary was having an affair," I blurt out.
Both men stare at me with raised brows. I have a feeling that Hamilton's look is more about me shutting up than being surprised at my outburst.
"How do you know this?" Sanchez asks.
"I spoke with one of her neighbors Brenda Johnson and put two-and-two together."
"Stop talking," Hamilton whispers.
Why? This gives the cops another suspect.
"Why were you and Mrs. Johnson speaking? Do you know one another?" Sanchez asks.
I listen to my lawyer and keep quiet.
Sanchez already spoke to Brenda, so he has to know about the affair.
"Do you know who Mrs. Burton was having an affair with?" Sanchez asks.
I look to Hamilton.
He takes a moment and then nods at me.
"Michael Sheridan."
It feels like a knife twists in my gut. Now I've betrayed him. I seriously need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes.
Sanchez glances down at his notes. "The same Michael Sheridan that Mrs. Burton kissed when you were in high school? Your crush?"
Oh crap!
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Sanchez tells us I can go. Hamilton refused to let me answer anything else, so the detective had no choice.
"I'll be right out," Hamilton says.
I'll gladly wait in the hallway. I open the door, and Julian is pacing. I was right about seeing him here when Hamilton arrived.
He looks over, and worry lines fill his forehead. He turns to me, and I nearly burst out crying as I fly into his arms. I'm only able to hold back the tears because I finally feel safe.
"Are you okay?" Julian asks against the top of my head.
I nod 'cause I don't trust my emotions. I'll likely open my mouth to say yes and have sobs erupt instead.
We continue to stand like that until the door opens again, and Hamilton and Sanchez come out. Hamilton leads the way as we walk through the station, out the front doors, and into the parking lot to where the two men parked.
When we reach Julian's SUV and Hamilton's four-door, black hybrid Lexus, Julian asks, "What happened?"
Hamilton fills him in on the anonymous call.
"But I arrived at the apartment after Hilary was already dead," I remind everyone. Just in case they forgot.
Hamilton nods. "I understand, but there's no way to prove that unless they can find traffic cams of you driving there beforehand, but even then, that may not prove you didn't do it."
No, this can't be happening.
"On the plus side, they have no physical evidence inside the apartment or on the body."
Yay, I guess, but I'm still scared.
"Do they have any idea who made the call?" Julian asks.
"If they do, he didn't say." Hamilton says.
"Sanchez isn't the type to be unprofessional and leak information about an ongoing case," I say. It's like pulling teeth to get my own brother to do that.
Hamilton looks to me. "Oh, I wouldn't count on that."
"What do you mean?" Julian asks, looking as eager for an answer as I suddenly feel.
"He slipped…" Hamilton uses his fingers to make air quotes. "And said that the caller was female."
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Julian can't hang out. He and Hamilton sped out of their meeting and postponed an appointment for me. I am super grateful. So Hamilton goes back to his office, and Julian is going to drop me off before joining his boss. I don't want to go home and sulk, so I have him take me to Ma's.
"I will call you as soon as I'm free," he says and leans toward me for a kiss.
I happily oblige and wish he didn't have to go. I don't say anything though. He has a job to do, and based on the cars parked in the driveway and out front, Ma, Pop, and Izzie are here. Almost a full house, and I've a feeling it's because of me. Enzo had to have heard about my non-arrest and called the others. He's on duty, so it's no surprise he can't be here. They're either gathered for me or something else is wrong. Please let it only be me. I don't think I can handle anything else today.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Julian asks as I unfasten my seat belt.
"Not really, but I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. Do whatever you have to do, and I'll see you later."
"Yes, you will."
I get out, and he waits until I open the front door before driving off. I step inside, and Pop jumps up from the couch.
"She's here," Pop shouts.
Ma and Alice come running in from the kitchen. Izzie waddles in behind them.
I shut the door and meet them in the livi
ng room. Once again, I'm trying really hard not to cry.
They can probably see it on my face because Pop squeezes my shoulder and says, "It's going to be alright."
I nod but say nothing. I'm still trying to maintain my composure. This time it has nothing to do with being in a public police station and wanting to appear strong. It's because I'm scared and don't want to admit how much, not to my family and especially not to myself.
So instead, I ask Pop, "Why are you home? Who's at the deli?"
His frown is quick, and then his expression is filled with kindness and love. "No one. I closed up when I learned my youngest daughter is in trouble."
And just like that, I burst into tears.
Pop pulls me into a hug, and Ma rubs my back as if I'm a fussy baby. I don't mind. I can use all the comfort I can get.
When I'm done blubbering, Alice hands me two tissues. "Thanks, sweetie."
She smiles but looks a bit alarmed. I don't think she's seen me break down before. There goes my super aunt status.
"What's going on?" Ma asks and glances at her granddaughter, as if wondering how much I should say in front of Alice.
I stare at Izzie and wonder the same.
Either Ma and I have neon question marks above our heads with arrows pointing to my niece or Izzie's become psychic in her third trimester because she says, "She already overheard me yelling at Enzo when he called. She can listen."
Well then, maybe it's time she learned the truth about my ghost seeing ability too. Not today, of course. I don't think I can handle that.
"Come on. Let's have some coffee," Pop says. "You like my coffee."
I actually laugh and agree. He's right. I love it.
We all go into the kitchen. Izzie, Alice, and I sit at the table while Ma and Pop huddle by the counter, making their special brew and pulling out a package of Stella D'oro cookies from the back of a cupboard. You know it's serious when Ma pulls out something from her hidden stash. She sets them on the table, and I slightly grimace. They are the anisette ones, which I seriously dislike. Nothing like black licorice-tasting blech.
She smirks and goes back to the cupboard and pulls out another package. This time they are fudge-covered Nutter Butters, one of my favorites, and she gets a full smile and all of my love.
Diamonds, Pies & Dead Guys Page 19