Chapter Seven

“Miss delaGarza?” An olive-skinned, balding man stepped forward. He was smaller and shorter than the other, but I sensed muscle beneath his baggy jacket.

“Yes?”

The other man, younger, with a buzz cut, moved toward me as well. He was tall and big shouldered with hard brown eyes that stabbed me like he could see right through me. “We’re with the Mira Loma Police Department. We understand you’re a friend of Rick Wells. We need to ask you a few questions.”

Reba made a face and lifted a shoulder. “I tried to tell them you couldn’t talk right now.”

Drawing a deep breath, I waved them forward. I might as well get this over with. “It’ll be better to talk before the media camps outside my door. I can see the story already. Video of you leaving with the reporter saying that I was questioned. It’s a good thing no one was around when your police chief was here.”

The men traded surprised glances.

“He came to tell me about Rick’s death. I take it this is more like questioning?” I rearranged myself on the sofa, sitting straight. I felt like my body was contained in a block of ice.

“Not really questioning,” Buzz Cut said. “Just a talk.”

I put down my coffee mug. No sense letting them catch a whiff of that and making them think I was half loaded at eight in the morning. The men introduced themselves as they settled on the stiff leather chairs facing me. The older man was Lt. Jose Torres, the younger Detective Steve Callahan. I hoped they were as uncomfortable on those tortuous chairs as I was on the hard sofa. Maybe I’d replace the set while Delia was out of town. I blinked, forcing my brain back to the scene at hand. How stupid to think of something so inane at such an important moment.

Focus! I summoned the anchor face I pulled on every night to begin the news. It was supposed to convey composure, calmness and an “everything is right with our world” attitude, according to my first talent coach.

“Would you like coffee?” I asked, ever the good hostess.

The men nodded and Reba stepped forward. “Got it covered, babe.”

“When was the last time you saw Rick Wells?” Torres asked, taking out a small notebook and pen.

These guys didn’t beat around the bush. I debated how to answer, but there was no reason to lie. My final visit had been innocent. “Last night, around midnight.”

Neither registered surprise. They’d already known that.

Callahan leaned toward me, gaze intent as though watching for something. “What time did you leave?”

“Around one. When I got into my car, the one o’clock news was starting on the radio. I usually listen to news on my way to and from work. I like to keep informed.”

“Did you notice anyone outside when you left?” Torres asked.

I strained to recall, but I’d been too upset. “No.”

“Why were you there so late?” he continued.

“I worked until 11:35 anchoring the news. I stopped on my way home.”

“Where did you park?” Torres showed little interest in my answers though he scribbled in his notebook.

My gaze bounced to Callahan. He watched me with unwavering eyes.

“I park in front. It’s well lit with no place for anyone to hide. What time...do you know when he was...killed?”

“We don’t have an exact time of death,” Callahan said.

“Well, I can tell you it had to be after one.”

“Really?” Callahan said.

My mouth went dry, and I licked my lips. Neither had registered any change in demeanor, but I suddenly sensed an electric charge in the atmosphere. I looked from one to the other. “I left at one. Don’t you think I might have noticed or called 9-1-1 if he’d been dead before then?”

Callahan didn’t flinch, voice hard. “Maybe, maybe not. Not if you wanted him dead.”

“Wanted him dead? What kind of a comment is that?” I started to protest but stopped. I’d been planning Rick’s demise last week. Did these guys know that? I forced myself to look calm, sat forward and picked up my mug. I took a long, deliberate gulp of coffee.

Reba stepped from the kitchen, carrying a tray of mugs. Concerned blue-green eyes focused on me as she set the tray on the coffee table. “Maybe you should call a lawyer before you say any more.”

“Why?”

“You’re probably one of the last people to see him alive. You could become a suspect.”

An alarm bell clanged in my head.

Hello?!

Me, a suspect?

I blinked, trying to clear my fuzzy head. What the hell had I been thinking? I whirled to the police officers, but their demeanor remained stoic.

“He was fine when I left him.”

“Did you argue with him?” Torres asked in a staccato voice.

“Argue? Well...” I bit my lip. What if someone had been passing and heard my tirade? “How was he killed? The chief said he was...beaten?”

“We’re waiting for an autopsy to determine cause of death,” Torres said.

A shiver ran through me as I recalled the stunned look on Hank’s face when I was ranting about the murder. “Was it the bat?”

The men shifted before exchanging a glance. A definite reaction. Damn! I should have kept my mouth shut.

“Did you see a baseball bat while you were there?” Torres asked, eyes never leaving his notebook.

“Um...yes...” Should I say more? What would clear me and what would get me in more hot water? Reba was right. I needed a lawyer.

“Something wrong?” Callahan inquired.

“I didn’t kill him.”

Neither man moved, their faces impassive.

I gestured at Torres and his notebook. “I want that written down. On the record.”

Callahan nodded, but Torres didn’t write anything down.

“If I heard this story in the newsroom, the first person I’d suspect is...well, me.” I tapped my finger against my chest. “I am his ex-girlfriend.”

“Mind if we look around?” Callahan's gaze shifted around the room.

“Like a search?” Reba’s voice was sharp. “Don’t you need a warrant?”

“Not if she gives us permission,” Torres replied.

I had nothing to hide, but as I rose on shaky knees, I knew I was in over my head. “Let me get in touch with my lawyer. Then I’ll be happy to answer any other questions. You can tell the press I’ve agreed to be questioned.”

Both men rose. Torres nodded at Callahan who pulled a phone from his pocket. “This shouldn’t take long.”

They were going after a warrant. What did they hope to find? Reba had taken my home phone downstairs, so I excused myself and headed down to make my call in private. This was a bad joke, but how far would they take it? At the bottom of the stairs, I tripped over my shoes again. I started to pick them up and toss them in the closet, but Callahan’s bark froze me. He’d been watching from above.

“Don’t move anything.”

I stared at the shoes in dismay. Small red flecks stood out against the pale pink satin. It was wine, wasn’t it? Or could it be blood?

Oh, hell. It could be either.

I recalled Hank’s surprised look when he saw the shoes before we went upstairs. Was that why he left so quickly? Hell, was that why these guys had shown up, ready to search the place?

“We’ll need to get into your garage and the keys to your car.” Callahan hurried down the stairs as though he didn’t want to let me out of his sight.

“Rick wasn’t in my car.”

His dark granite eyes bored into me. “It could hold evidence.”

Oh, shit! The romantic comedy that was my life’s movie was taking a sinister twist. It was becoming a police drama, and I had no script prepared.

****

Saturday, noon

“This sucks!” I squirmed and tried to straighten my leg that cramped from its unnatural curled up position. Huddling under a wool blanket that smelled of dust and rubber in the luggage compartment of an SUV was not my idea of a good time.

“Did you say something?” Reba called from the front seat.

“Let me out. Any longer under this blanket and I’ll suffocate.”

Three hours had passed since police showed up at my door. It hadn’t taken much time to get a search warrant and for crime tech types to swarm my house and transform it into a CSI episode. From the moment I watched an officer bag my stained pumps, I knew I couldn’t watch. The thought of someone touching my belongings was bad enough. But total strangers?

Even worse, the media horde arrived en masse, led by my old nemesis, Paula Gardner.

“When was the last time you saw Rick Wells?” she shouted as I peeked from an upper window. I withdrew like a turtle into its shell. I didn’t know which was worse—the plague of media locusts swarming outside or the mass of crime tech bees buzzing inside.

“I have to get out of here,” I pleaded to Reba.

The ever-resourceful EP lifted a red-tipped index finger. “Lindy’s on her way in a station van to oversee the search. I’ll have her drive into your garage and we’ll stash you in the back. I did that once to get a crew into a restricted area.”

It sounded like a good idea, but now I’d had enough. I was no female action star in a black leather jump suit. I was the Queen in cashmere!

The vehicle jerked to a stop and Reba lifted the cover. I unwound my stiff body and blinked like I hadn’t seen sunlight in days.

“What did your lawyer say?” she asked as I buckled myself into the front seat.

“Adrienne’s firm doesn’t handle criminal cases, so she’s finding someone. Her advice was to funnel interview requests to my agent and stay out of sight.”

“Evan Flynn, right? I’ll tell the station. Got a game plan?”

I chewed on my lower lip. “No. I wish Delia was here. Her father was a criminal lawyer.”

“You can’t call him?”

“Mr. Burnett has been dead for years.” The deaths of our fathers our freshman year had bonded us. We shared every good and bad event in our lives until now.

“Damn, this story will lead every newscast tonight.” Nervous tension vibrated in Reba’s voice. “Murder among the rich and famous is a big draw.”

“Rick wasn’t rich or famous.”

“You’re well known, and we looked up the engagement announcement. His fiancée’s family is big money. What about going to your mom’s?”

I’d called her while we waited for the search warrant, but she had seen the news.

“Poor man. He could be so nice sometimes.” Her lukewarm reaction was no surprise. She’d labeled Rick self-centered and fake from the first. “Como them Ken dolls, pretty but plastic.”

I shook my head. “I’d rather not put her in the line of media fire. She’d invite them in for cookies.”

“And the rest of your family?”

“My brother has a house full of kids and my sister and I have never been on good terms.” Nancy would think I deserved any bad thing that came my way. We’d been competitors from the moment her first boyfriend flirted with me.

“So where to?” Reba asked.

“Rodeo Drive. Those cops didn’t let me take anything but the clothes on my back and my wallet. I need makeup and clothes. I have no idea when I can get into my house or if I want to, given those TV trucks lined up outside. I refuse to be smuggled in and out.”

“Unfortunately, I have to get to work.”

“Then take me to the Four Seasons Hotel in Beverly Hills. I can stay there, and they’ll get me a rental car.”

Reba threw me a startled glance, but I met it squarely.

“If I’m going to end up in the Big House, I’m living it up in the meantime.”