Buzz Off - By Hannah Reed Page 0,26

death. “Let’s talk about the night before,” he said. “And you can tell me what you were doing out on the bank of the river behind your house with Faye Tilley?”

I felt a chill. That question had come out of nowhere. “What?” I managed to croak out.

“Someone saw you two, said it sounded like you were arguing.”

My gasp of shocked indignation sounded good even to my terrified ears. “Who would say such a horrible thing?” Well, who would? This was crazy.

I saw it in his eyes. Johnny Jay thought I had killed her.

“Are you trying to tell me it isn’t true?” he demanded.

“Absolutely not. I mean, er, yes!”

“Which is it, yes or no?”

“I wasn’t arguing with Faye. I didn’t even see her. Someone’s lying big-time.”

“So is the answer yes or no?”

That’s one of Johnny Jay’s tricks to trip people up. He asks questions that will sink you no matter which response you give. Whether you say yes or no, he comes at you.

I went on. “Where did that lie come from?”

Johnny Jay had his head tilted back and he was watching me down his nose. “A tip.”

“Well, I demand to know who this ridiculous tip came from.”

“You don’t get to make demands, not even for a lawyer. Unless I decide to arrest you.”

“And are you arresting me?” I really expected him to say yes once I thought about it—a body in my kayak and not just any body, my ex-husband’s girlfriend’s body. And a tip. Big-time incrimination evidence. So I was surprised when he said, “Not yet. Too bad the tip was anonymous. Once we find the witness, I’ll be paying you another visit.”

“Then I’m out of here.” I jumped up.

“Missy Fischer,” he said, getting in the last word. “I’ll be watching you. Closely. We aren’t finished with this.”

On the way out I stopped in dispatch. Sally Maylor, one of my steady customers and a good person, was working the airwaves.

“Hey, Sally,” I said.

“He let you go,” she said, smiling. “Good for you. I was worried.”

“So was I. So Faye Tilley was murdered?”

“I can’t say until the chief makes a public statement,” Sally nodded, giving me the answer anyway.

“Why is he after me?” I asked. “Sure, it was my kayak, but that can’t be enough.”

“He sure doesn’t cut you any slack, that’s for sure. Maybe the police chief knows how to hold a grudge.”

“About what?”

“Now, do you regret turning him down for prom?”

“That was more than fifteen years ago! You’re kidding, right? Is that really why he gives me such a hard time?”

“That’s the talk.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Somebody called in a tip,” I said. “Saying they saw me with Faye.”

“I heard about that.”

“Who called?”

“We don’t know.”

“With all the technology around here”—I gestured at all the gadgets and blinking lights—“surely you can trace a phone call.”

“It came from a computer—e-mail.”

“Well, trace it!”

“We did. It came from one of the library’s public computers, we know that, but the account used to send the e-mail was untraceable.”

Damn. That meant it could be anyone.

Ten

I couldn’t sleep that night, considering that my friend and mentor Manny Chapman was dead and gone, and my ex’s latest girlfriend, Faye Tilley, had been found dead in my kayak. Not to mention the fact that someone was trying to frame me for Faye’s murder and doing a bang-up job of it.

Worse yet, the most obvious suspect in Faye’s death was the man I’d married and divorced: Clay Lane. He could have argued with Faye. I froze, suddenly recalling the loud voices I’d heard in the night. I remembered the scream that I’d chalked up to a bad dream. Only instead of a nightmare, it must’ve been Faye.

Could Clay have killed his girlfriend?

But even if the pieces fit together regarding means and opportunity, I couldn’t come up with a motive strong enough. Why would Clay go to all the trouble? Sure, he messed around on me and on every other woman, too, but when his flings ended, he didn’t really care. He was all passionate and lovey-dovey at the beginning, cold and impersonal at the end.

If anyone should be dead, it should be Clay. Some woman should have killed him by now.

Which led me to wonder at the possibility of one of his other women committing the crime. There are all kinds of nutcases in the world; maybe some crazy woman was picking off her competition? Even if, in my opinion, she’d have to be totally insane to go to those drastic measures for someone as superficial