“How do you know what I think?” I sat upright, yanked the sheet loose and covered myself before jumping to the floor.
Trish sat up and ran her fingers through her curly hair.
I saw she was fully clothed. “Why am I naked?”
“Relax. Nothing happened,” she said. “You had too much to drink …”
I blocked out what she said next, wondering how I could over-imbibe. I was not a drinker. A glass of wine sometimes at dinner, a gin and tonic, perhaps or an occasional beer was the most I ever drank. As I was trying to recall what all happened last night, someone pounded on the door.
Trish looked at me. “Expecting anyone?”
I shook my head and walked from the bedroom into the hallway. At the archway leading to the kitchen, I peeked around the corner and ducked back, surprised by the uniformed officers of the Freedom PD who stood on the stoop. The police at anyone’s door at any time of the day was never good news. The one and only other time I’d answered my door to the police, I was informed my parents’ car had been highjacked and they, murdered. My last remaining relative was presently in the hospital, recuperating from a car accident, so I knew they weren’t paying me a personal visit to deliver that bad news. Maybe they were here to discuss Amy’s car accident, which didn’t make sense. Maybe they were at the wrong address. How often did the police knock on the wrong door?
“Who is it?” Trish asked, walking toward me.
“The police.”
“Don’t answer the door,” she said.
Puzzled by her response, I studied her, noticing her perfect facial features had turned ugly. “Why not?”
“Cops are always bad news. The harbingers of death and chaos. Exploiters of the truth. Manipulators of the law.” She shook her head. “Don’t open the door.”
I was sure there was a good story behind her proclamation, but the question would have to wait.
“I didn’t do anything wrong. Besides, it can’t be about me. Only a few people know where I’m staying.” Lou knew, as did Amy and her landlady Marie. Trish knew, of course, since she’d driven me here Friday night. Jackson knew. “They probably assume Amy’s been released from the hospital and want to question her about the car accident. They should have gotten their facts straight, though.” I was a fine one to talk.
Trish let out a deep breath.
I looked at the sheet covering my nakedness, hoping Trish might offer to answer the door. She didn’t move, which I more or less expected given her opinion of the police.
A fist pounded the door again.
“Impatient buggers,” Trish muttered.
“Hold your horses,” I yelled into the kitchen. “I’ll be there in a minute.” I used one hand to hold the sheet firmly around me and the other to hold the hem in the air while I sped to the bathroom.
Thirty seconds later, I answered the door wearing Amy’s silk cranberry-colored dressing gown. “What can I do for you, officers?” I asked.
“Josie Fox?”
I looked at the fuzz-faced uniformed cop and frowned. “Yes,” I said, surprised they didn’t ask for Amy. What could they want with me? I didn’t drive last night or break any laws.
“We’re here to escort you to the station.”
“Why?”
“Detective Vail will explain why.”
My brain was still fuzzy, but I recalled the cop’s name from a sensational case he solved about six months ago. “Nathaniel Vail, the homicide detective?”
“Yes, ma’am. Now if you would come with us.”
“I’ll get dressed.” I backed away from the door, and then thought to ask, “Who was murdered?”
Jackson Carlisle’s handsome face flashed in my mind.