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KATE FIXED ME WITH one of her intense emerald stares. “Half a cheesecake? By yourself? That’s not good—what’s going on?”
I have to admit by that time I was pretty much of a basket case, so without sticking to how I’d planned to tell her about the day’s events, I blurted out, “I think they’re looking at me as a suspect in Cunningham’s murder!”
“No way. Why you practically take insects out so you don’t have to kill them. You would never—“
“Of course, I wouldn’t. But a homicide detective named McCrary is coming over about five-thirty to interview me. What does that sound like? Frankly, I’m really nervous about where it could go.”
You know how sometimes even silence sounds loud? Well, that’s what the room was like for a few moments while Kate digested what I’d said. Kim didn’t say a word either. It was as though everyone was waiting for the others to say something. I had turned on the ceiling fan in my living room earlier. Now, the only thing breaking that awful silence was the gentle whoosh of the blades.
Finally Kim, the voice of reason, said, “I need to tell both of you what I learned about the money laundering investigation today, but”—she glanced at her watch—“considering the homicide detective will be here shortly, let’s deal with Cami’s problem instead. First of all, we’re really not sure they think Cami is a suspect, so we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Let’s think this through. Here are the negatives. You had the confrontation with Jonathan Reid in the coffee shop and shouted what could be construed as a death threat in front of witnesses.”
I had to clarify. “It was more a figure of speech saying the best place for them would be dead. I didn’t—“
Kate interrupted. “Of course you didn’t mean it literally, or at least I can’t imagine that you did, but unfortunately most of those witnesses don’t know you. So, if any of them are questioned in the event you become a suspect, they will say what they heard.”
It was hard being forced to review what the past few weeks had been like. I tried to step outside the picture and view my actions as someone who didn’t know me. I didn’t like what I saw.
Kim continued. “There was the time Cunningham forced his way into your office and destroyed part of your Forever Young presentation. Then the argument at his office and other signs of the hostility between you two, so those are the most damning things. We need to come up with reasonable explanations for each of them. Cami, is that something we can do?”
To tell the truth, I really wasn’t sure. How could I expect a homicide detective with a gruff voice to understand the hurt and humiliation I’d felt when I’d been fired by voicemail with no notice some years before? I put everything I had into building their business for years, and that was how they thanked me. How could he understand my determination to make them pay after I opened my own agency? Would the very explanations make him doubt my innocence in the whole matter? It was a real mess.
Kate was used to setting the stage for things. We agreed that my best option would be to tell the truth. But she also felt I shouldn’t look too slick. In other words, play down the savvy businesswoman if I could, and that began with my appearance. She was good at issuing instructions and managing things.
“Go up and wash your face. Tone down the makeup, wear something like simple jeans and a white shirt. We want to make you look as non-threatening as possible.”
She was right. My makeup was always perfect and glamorous, and that day I wore one of my favorite outfits—AG designer cropped cheetah-print pants, stilettos and a sexy knit top. When I came back down I looked fresh-faced and had traded the animal print pants for some faded Levis and one of Milt’s white shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Instead of the stilettos I wore flats. I’d brushed my hair so it looked a little messed up. I definitely looked very innocent. Blondes can do that, I’ve discovered.
Kim said, “Perfect. Even though I have time to fill both of you in on my day, I suggest we just chill. Cami, I want your mind as clear as possible when he gets here. There’s plenty of time for me to tell you about my day after he leaves.”
I tried to be lighthearted. “Preferably he does not leave with me in handcuffs.”
Thank goodness for the two of them. Kate simply said, “Not funny. You are not going to be arrested. You have to go into this with a positive mind.”
Of course she was right. Attitude means everything, so I did my best to relax while I waited for the Columbo-clone to arrive.
He appeared at my door promptly at five-thirty. I find it very interesting that we draw images of what we imagine a person will be like from things like a name or a voice on the phone. Detective McCrary was as different from Columbo as Woody Allen is from Brad Pitt. The man at my door stood about six-foot-two, give or take an inch or so. I could see that he was well-built beneath his dark gray suit and want to add it was nothing like the rumpled suit and decrepit trench coat I’d expected. No, this was a very attractive man who appeared to be around late thirties or early forties, hazel eyes, slightly long brown hair with sun streaks. He wore an engaging smile.
“Miss Harsen? I’m Detective McCrary. May I come in?”
That gruff voice was still there and definitely did not match the man. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, I’m just getting over laryngitis. Could I bother you for a glass of water?”
I know it sounds dumb, but at that very moment I felt tongue-tied. Where was the person I’d prepared myself for?
“Of course. Come in. Have a seat.” I indicated one of the comfortable chairs. Before sitting, he pulled out his official wallet and shield.
“Thanks. By the way, you should ask to see credentials. You know, just to be sure the person is who they say they are.”
Kate gave him an appraising look, and I saw a little more interest than sizing up a detective. She said, “Stay put, Cami. I’ll get Detective McCrary a glass of water. Lemon, Detective?”
He thanked her but said plain water would be fine and settled into the chair.
“Let me tell you why I’m here, Miss Harsen. As I’m sure you know by now, your former boss Mr. Cunningham was found murdered this morning. I would like to ask you about some confrontations between you, Mr. Cunningham and his partner Mr. Reid. As I mentioned on the phone, you originally came to our attention because your name was on the after-hours log and we are questioning everyone on last night’s log. What I didn’t say was Mr. Cunningham’s associate, Mr. Reid, emphatically insisted we talk to you. He alluded to a feud between you and his partner and his suspicions about you.”
There it was—what I’d been afraid of. Reid had pointed the finger at me.