Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,8
Hi, officer.” Shea used the lighter version of her usually mellow voice, making certain to sound surprised. “Sorry it took me a minute to answer. I had to put on some clothes.”
“Deputy Brody,” he clarified. He didn’t stick out his hand. He also didn’t apologize for having interrupted her bath. He was younger than Shea, and shorter, and naturally blond in a way that flirted with red. The muscle on his square jaw was pronounced and it flexed as he gnawed fiercely on what smelled like minty gum. Deputy Brody seemed a little intense.
Looking even more intense than the deputy himself was the dog who sat, obedient and alert, at the deputy’s side. She resembled a German Shepherd, only there was something different in her face and something lighter in her coat. Shea never passed up a petting opportunity if a dog looked sweet and the owner looked nice enough to ask. Today, neither of those seemed to be the case.
“You weren’t here the last few times I’ve been by,” the deputy continued in an all-business tone. “Been wantin’ to see how you’re getting along up here.”
"You’ve been up here before?” Shea blinked, not having expected this.
Brody gnawed on his gum for a few beats.
“Standard procedure,” he explained. “For the sake of community safety. We perform weekly welfare checks on anyone we believe to be living alone."
He looked past her then, craning his neck to see into the house at the same time he hooked his fingers into his belt loops.
"You living alone here, Miss Summers?”
"Well, it's not my house—it's my friend's house. But he doesn't really live here. Most of the time, it'll just be me."
Shea managed not to stammer out the answer, but only barely.
"Word around town is, you’re here from New York. You ever lived in the mountains?”
Shea just shook her head. She’d mentally prepared herself to be interrogated with different kinds of questions—questions like, “Have you ever heard of a man named Keenan West?” And, “Where are you hiding the money?” but even this shook her. The difficulty in answering benign questions truthfully proved that Shea was not cut out for white-collar crime.
“I’d like to do a walk-through, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?” She blurted, finally finding her voice as the strongest wave of panic yet set in. The residual moisture from her shower was handy cover for the fact that she’d begun to sweat.
“Ma’am, we get quite a few calls from city folk when they find themselves in a pickle. Word has it, you’re staying a while. You should be prepared for the conditions. Thunderstorm season isn’t over yet. Winter’ll come quick on its heels. If no one’s checked your emergency supplies or shown you how to use the generator, someone should.”
“I don’t know…” Shea hedged, her hand reaching once again to clutch the top of her robe together. It was beginning to get awkward, him outside but obviously eager to come in.
“I’d rather get you settled now than have to come up and assist,” he pushed. “Making sure you don’t get into trouble in the first place is the best use of department resources.”
Deputy Brody didn't say it unkindly, but the implication was clear: city folk were dumber than a bag of rocks.
“I mean, I’m not even dressed…”
She looked down at herself for effect and was buoyed when he had the decency to look chagrined.
“…and once I got dressed, I was planning to head into town. I need to be back by noon for a phone call,” she lied. “Look. I appreciate the offer, but now just isn’t a good time. But my friend who owns the house is visiting soon. I’ll have him show me everything I need. I promise.”
The deputy looked reticent to agree and it took a long moment for him to respond. He took one last look into the house behind her, before looking back at her face. “Don’t wait too long,” he warned, then tipped his hat and issued a reluctant, “Have a good afternoon.”
Shea waited a respectable amount of time before she closed the front door, then made it all the way back into the master bedroom before collapsing against the wall. She’d been too sloppy about the money. So sloppy that, if he’d done said walk-through, she’d have been in deep shit. He’d have asked her for identification. Even if she’d given her birth certificate, legitimizing that she was, indeed, Shea Summers, name change and marriage records would lead him right to Elle West.