by Kayt Miller
A woman like Sophie is a relationship kind of girl. I couldn’t treat her like my usual hookups so that leads me to the conclusion that thinking of Sophie as anything other than a witness to a crime and my tuxedo sales person is a bad idea––a terrible idea. Then why can’t I get the feel of her little body against mine out of my fucking head? God, knock it off, Hank. Women are bad news.
“I’m heading back out to the crime scene. I’ve got to check things out. Please stay in the house. You’re safer in here.”
“I will,” she nods.
“Oh, one more thing, did William have any family nearby?”
“I only know of one sister but she lives in Seattle.”
“Can you get her address for me?”
“If I have it, it’ll be in my office,” she says as she leaves the kitchen.
Mesmerized by her round little ass, I follow her. I should stay put since I wasn’t invited to tag along, but I decide against reason.
“How old is your house?”
Sophie jumps, startled by my comment.
“Oh, sorry. I thought I’d follow you. Faster.”
“Of course. Right. Um, the house was built in 1939.” Sophie leads me through the long, narrow living room toward the front entrance. We cross a small hallway into an office about the size of one of my walk-in closets. “I should have his original rental application in here. My dad kept great records.”
She opens the top drawer of a tall filing cabinet. She can barely see over the top so I walk up behind her. I’m close enough to feel her heat. Her ass is barely touching the front of my legs; but its enough to make my dick twitch. This girl is making me crazy.
“Um, I can get it,” Sophie whispers.
I ignore her. “That’s late for a Victorian, isn’t it? What’s the file name?”
Sophie’s breathing is speeding up. Is she feeling the same heat? “It was late, yes. But, I understand my great-grandfather wanted it to fit in with the other houses in the area so he chose this style. And, the file should either have his name on it or something about a rental agreement.”
I reach above her head to run the fingers of my right hand along the hand-written tabs of the files. I’ve let my left hand rest on her hip––for balance––yeah, for balance. Sophie is standing stock still since I’ve got her caged in against the front of the file drawer.
“That makes sense. About the house that is. Ah, Ha! I’ve got it.” I pull the file out that says William Gibbons Rental Agreement. “You’re right. Your dad was very thorough.”
Without moving, because I’m a fucking pervert, I set the file down on top of the open drawer and flip it open. Moving in closer and hear a tiny squeak out of her. I look down and see she’s looking at the front of the file drawer––eyes closed.
Yeah, I know. I’m acting fucking unprofessional. But, I like being close to her, touching her. I want her to feel safe. Yeah, that’s it. Not to mention I met her before this murder occurred, which makes it feel like we’re already friends. So what if I feel a little protective of her? Sue me.
“You’re right. He has a sister. But, she lives in San Diego, not Seattle. This thing is old. What do you think the odds are that she still lives there?” I’m asking that aloud as more of a rhetorical question.
She’s squeezed out of her spot between the drawer and me and is standing a couple feet away from me now. “The odds aren’t in your favor. She lives in Seattle.”
“It says San Diego.”
“Well, she lives in Seattle now. He gets mail from her––you know cards for his birthday and holidays. I've received them by accident before. I’ve noticed the sender and the return address.”
“Ah, ok. When I get back to his place, I’ll look for some of that. Thanks, babe. Can I keep this file?”
“Sure. Anything else Detective Flynn?” she snaps. Wow, is she pissed? Her face is bright red.
“Please call me Henry,” I mean, I had her up against a filing cabinet. We should be on a first-name basis. “Are you angry with me?” I smirk.
“No. Oh, um, don’t you need to go investigate or something?”
She’s trying to get rid of me? That’s a first. “Yes. Yes, I do. I’ll be in touch, sweetheart.” I turn and walk out of her tiny office, through the living room, and out the back door. I stride down to the garage, er, I mean carriage house to start my work. When I walk in the door of the vic’s apartment, I see Kent is back. That’s good news. I want to get to bed sometime tonight. I slip on a new pair of shoe protectors, grab a pair of gloves, and meet him near the desk.
“The M.E. took the body,” Kent explains.
“Thank God. I saw the empty bed and thought, Shit! Someone stole the body!” Jesus, these people are dead certain I’m a fucking idiot. “Come on. Let’s get started asshole.”
Coming soon… (Release date: April 15, 2017)
Sneak Peek of Thanks to Margie Dill by Kayt Miller
Chapter 1: Abby
Worst. Night. Ever.
Those three words keep skipping around in my brain over and over again. Prom is supposed to be a girls’ rite of passage––a chance to be a princess for a night. Even though my date for prom was my best friend’s twin brother, Max, who’s a thorn in my side, it was still supposed to be special. But that’s not how this thing panned out tonight. The fairytale turned into a nightmare.
Instead of dancing with my date under twinkling lights, I’m in a cab on my way home before the fun really started. Instead of laughing and hanging out with my best friend, I’m crying my eyes out. After overhearing my date and his brothers talk about me like I’m some hideous wildebeest. I am devastated. I thought they were my friends. Hell, I considered them brothers in a way. That couldn’t be further from the truth, though. Damn it, I can’t stop rehashing the entire scene in my head!
“Abby keeps dissing Lisa’s dress.”
Overhearing those words as I made my way to the ladies room I couldn’t fathom why my date was talking about me. Even though the potted plants and trees obscured him, I recognized his voice immediately. The plants created a secluded spot in the large ballroom for couples to relax and mingle amidst comfortable couches and chairs.
It made sense Max would make his way to this area since he told me several times tonight he had no intention of dancing. No doubt he had no intention of actually spending much time with me at the Prom in the first place. So, the little jungle area was a great place for him to hide.
When I peered through the leaves I could see Max standing next to his brothers Jake and Ben and one other guy. I couldn’t tell who the fourth person was because a huge Ficus tree blocked him.
“Well, she’s just jealous that Lisa is so hot. She’s got to know that no one wants to fuck her.”
Oh my god, that’s Ben talking.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’d fuck her––in the dark––from behind,” the unknown guy says.
The guys laugh at the disgusting comment.
“Max, how the fuck did you get stuck taking Flabby Abby to Prom anyway. Lose a bet? Or does Margie have something on you so you’d have to take her?”
That was Ben again but I wasn’t able to hear Max’s response.
“Yeah man, I heard Chesli Samson wanted you to ask her to Prom. What were you thinking? You could be nailing Chelsi up in a hotel room right this second instead of embarrassing yourself with the fat chick.”
Jake? Was that Jake Dill? I can’t believe what I just heard. I’ve known Margie’s brothers for almost ten years and that’s what they think of me? It doesn’t surprise me that Ben would say terrible things about me––he’s always hated me.
But Jake? His comment cracked my heart right in two. Jake has always been so sweet to me. Hell, I’ve been in love with him since I was nine years old. But, I guess I’m just a joke to them––to him. I’m their sister’s fat friend and that’s all I am. I had hoped they thought more of me than that.
I felt sick. I was dizzy and I was positive I was going to throw up. My first
instinct was to get away from them, to get away from the room, from Prom, from the hotel. I raced outside as fast as I could in my dress and heels and found a cab. The cab I’m in right now. I have $100 on me. I just hope it’s enough to get me home.
I told the driver where I needed to go and he pulled out onto the street. I’m glad he didn’t refuse the fare since it’s a forty-five minute drive. As soon as the taxi started moving, I began to sob in the backseat. Between sniffles, I asked the driver how much he thought the trip would cost me. I can tell I’m making him nervous because I’m really crying my eyes out.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure it out when get there,” says my taxi driver.
I thank him through the tears as I cry the entire ride to my house. My mind races with thoughts and memories. I should have just stayed home. No one wanted to take me to Prom in the first place because I’m the big girl in my high school class. Why did Max ask me to go? Well, I’m pretty sure Margie either bribed him or blackmailed him into asking me to be his date––just like Jake said.
I was fine with that because if he hadn’t asked, I’d be sitting home with my mom, dad, and my annoying brothers probably eating my weight in Peanut M&M’s. To be honest, the whole thing with Max was strange. I never expected Max to ask me to Prom but one day, about a month ago, my phone dinged with a text from him.
Max: Yo. Abby.
Me: What?
Oh, jeez, what the hell is Max doing texting me? Margie. Grrrr. I’m going to kill her!
Max: Wanna go to Prom with me. You know, as friends?
Me: Why would I go to Prom with thine enemy?
Max: Ha ha, funny, Abby. Go to Prom with me because I don’t have a date and you don’t have a date…
Me: What did you do now?
Max: What do you mean?
Me: I mean, what did you do that gave Margie ammo to blackmail you into asking me to Prom?
Max: I didn’t do anything.
Me: Yeah, right.
Max: Come on, Abby. It’ll be fun.
Me: Why don’t I believe you?
Max: I don’t know. But, I want to go but I don’t want it to be some girly shit. I just want to hang as friends.
Me: You and I aren’t friends, Max.
Max: Sure we are. Well, think about it, Abs. If you want to go, let me know the color of your dress. Margie told me that I’m supposed to wear some shit that matches the girl’s dress.
Abs? What the hell?
Me: I’ll think about it after I do some sleuthing about your real motives.
Max: Nothing to hide here, I swear.
As soon as I read his last text, I called Margie. According to her, Max approached her; asking her if I had a date yet. Yeah, like he didn’t know. Everyone at school knew who had a date and who didn’t. She said he didn’t want the stress of going on a real date and I was the perfect choice.
It sounds really suspicious to me but I decided to accept his offer anyway because it gave me the chance to do something that the normal, pretty girls get to do like shopping for the perfect dress and getting our hair done. And boy did I want to feel normal, for once.
The preparation for Prom is more fun than the actual event, if you ask me. I found my perfect dress at a local bridal shop that, luckily, sold plus sized dresses. The dress is cornflower blue and it has some tiny dots of shimmer all over it. The blue makes the color of my eyes stand out. At least that’s what the sales lady said. It has capped sleeves that hide some of my arm issues, a scoop neck, and an empire waist. It’s rather flattering for my body and it made me feel pretty. It hid the areas that I was self-conscious about and highlighted the areas that are pretty good.
The best part of my outfit, though, would be my shoes. They’re like Cinderella’s slippers. No, they aren’t made of glass but they’re silver and glittery. The heels aren’t super tall since I don’t think I’d last five minutes in four-inch stilettos like the other girls wear. No, these are closer to a kitten heel. They’re the prettiest shoes I’ve ever seen and I got them on sale! It was meant to be.
Not only that but I took the time to get my hair professionally styled for tonight. My hair is in an up-do with curly tendrils of hair coming down around my face. I did my own make up. It’s soft and simple but I put some extra color on my lips. Not too much but enough to draw attention up to my pretty face, something my mom and dad always like to point out.
Max and I decided to go with Margie and Tim in the same car. Margie Dill is my best friend and I adore her. She’s the Ying to my Yang, the peanut to my butter. Tim is Margie’s boyfriend. I think she’s in love with him but she hasn’t come out and admitted that to me yet.
Tim Johnson was my friend before they started dating, having met him in one of my advanced science classes my freshman year. After getting assigned as lab partners, I discovered that he was really sweet and funny. His personality was a perfect match for Margie’s. It didn't hurt that he thought Margie was gorgeous. So, I set them up. That’s me, Abby Finnegan, matchmaker. The rest is history. They’ve been together for six months now and I think they are the real deal.
Margie was stunning tonight in her light pink dress and her long, dark hair flowing down to the middle of her back. It’s shiny and naturally wavy. Her blue eyes are her best feature but she also has an amazing figure. She’s five foot seven now and most of that is I her long legs. She has porcelain skin and a few freckles on her pert little nose left over from our youth. Any guy would love to date her. Actually a lot of guys in our class wanted to date her but she only had eyes for Tim. Margie was beautiful as Tim smiled proudly with her by his side.
Before we drove to the city for our Prom, we had our pictures taken at Margie’s house. That included Jake and his date Lisa Jensen as well as Ben and his flavor of the week, err, I mean date. It was so surreal standing next to Jake in my formal dress. Being this close to him in our Prom attire helped me imagine that I was his date instead of Lisa. Jake even told me I looked nice. Of course, Jake looked fantastic in his black tuxedo with blue bow tie and cummerbund. Jake looks good in everything.
As for Max… he looked nice too, I guess. He had on a black tuxedo too. His tie and vet were light blue to match my dress. Margie must have told him what I was wearing because we’ve barely spoken since I agreed to do this. He also bought me a pretty corsage to wear on my wrist. I’m sure his mom or Margie picked that out. It’s not Max’s style to do anything nice for me.
Max was not into this whole Prom date ting. He seemed completely bored tonight. He just stood there looking off into space while the other guys had their arms around their dates during the pictures. The fact that he didn’t touch me during our pictures was no big deal. Actually, he didn’t make any kind of physical contact with me the entire night. He stood next to me and smiled, sort of.
It’s blatantly obvious he really didn’t want to do this. The same was true when we had professional pictures taken at the Prom. We stood next to each other but almost a foot apart. He didn’t smile. He was just stiff and awkward. I smiled, though. I mean, why not? When in Rome…
Max didn’t want to dance either. I was fine with that because I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. Margie and Tim danced a lot, leaving Max and I to sit and comment on people’s clothes, their dancing skills or lack there of, and so on. Max was pretty funny, though. He liked to make fun of the people dancing while I talked about everyone’s dresses. I was especially critical of Lisa Jensen’s dress and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was Jake’s date, I swear! You should have seen it. It was pretty trampy looking. It was one of those cut out dresses, except hers was cut out all over the place––the stomach, sides, hips, and the shoulders, you name it. There were more cut outs and more skin showing than there was of the dress. I’m sure all of the guys liked it, though.
The thing is; I can’t figure out why Jake would take Lisa Jensen. Sure, she has a rather unsavory reputation. I guess that’s why. She’s a sure thing. I guess guys like to know they’re go
ing to have sex ahead of time because Ben Dill drove all the way home from Iowa State to take one of his flings to Prom. Ben and Jake both reserved rooms at the hotel for after Prom. I’m sure there are a lot of students who did that. Margie and Tim have a room. Max and I didn’t. Our plan was to head home right afterwards.
Max rolled his eyes whenever I brought up Lisa’s dress. I’m sure he knows about my crush on Jake. No doubt every one of the Dill’s knows about my massive crush. It’s okay. I’m over it now. After overhearing Max tell them about my caddy comments regarding Lisa’s dress and after what Jake, Ben, and the unknown guy said about me it’s obvious I’m nothing to them.
That’s fine because after this, I feel nothing for any of them either. I take that back… I feel sad––very, very sad because I honestly thought that Jake Dill would, one day, realize that the love of his life had been standing right in front of him his whole life.
God, I love… I mean I loved Jake Dill with his thick, sun-kissed blonde hair and his piercing blue eyes. As a senior, he’s at least six foot three inches tall. His shoulders are broad and he’s got those abs like you see on the romance book covers. I’ve gotten a glimpse of his shirtless body from time to time and he is yummy. He’s in perfect shape too since he plays baseball, football, and basketball. He also likes to lift weights and run.
What am I doing? I need to forget about how pretty Jake Dill is and remember the cruel stuff he said tonight. Damn, it hurts. I was so certain he felt something for me even if it was just brotherly affection. When I look back at all of the times Jake called on me to help him with school papers and projects. Hell, I’ve written most of his research papers the last couple of years. I even built a paper-mache model of the Taj Mahal for his World History: Seven Wonders project last year. Do you know how complex the Taj Mahal is? It’s super-duper complicated.
He received an A for that model and won first place for that stupid thing. Plus, it has been on display in the glass case by the administration office for six months. There’s even a photo of him holding his model while clutching his first place trophy. The label next to it reads, “Jake Dill and his Award Winning World History: Seven Wonders project”. He’s grinning from ear to ear in the picture like he was just cured cancer. He never even thanked me for that. He gave me twenty bucks for my trouble even though the materials to make the thing cost me over forty. I would have done it for free, though. That’s what you do for the people you love––loved.