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“Just getting the facts down now in case we need to revisit them later.”

“But what do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Ever heard the phrase presumed innocent until proven guilty?”

I nodded.

“Well, in this case, our stiff is presumed murdered until proven dead by natural causes. We can’t just assume there’s no foul play involved here, because by the time we get the coroner’s report, we’ll have already lost the opportunity to investigate the crime scene.”

My head spun. There was no way Harold had been murdered. And yet…

“Wait,” I mumbled, a horrifying thought settling into my brain. “You don’t think I had somet

hing to do with this. Do you?”

Officer Dash smirked. “From what the dispatcher told us, you were having a heated exchange with the deceased right before he keeled over.”

“Yes, but you couldn’t possibly—”

“And were these fights a regular thing?”

“Yes, but I didn’t—”

“Well, Gracie Springs. You better hope that Harold died of a heart attack or an aneurysm or some other kind of commonplace medical tragedy. Otherwise you are definitely at the very top of my suspect list.”

3

I returned home physically exhausted and emotionally wrung out. Everything happened so fast after Harold collapsed. The severity of Officer Dash’s implication didn’t fully sink in until I finally escaped the coffeehouse and began my quiet drive home. Now that I had a moment to think, a few very important questions crowded into my mind. Why was she so sure that he had been murdered? And even more puzzling, why did she believe I’d done it?

True, lots of people disliked Harold, but nobody had a reason to kill him—least of all me. I mean, why would I when I could have just quit my job and never seen him another day in my life?

The whole thing made me sick… and terrified. All I wanted to do was wake up from this horrible nightmare and go back to my normal, if a tad unexciting, life.

So I changed into my favorite matching flannel pajama set even though it was still the afternoon and the outside temperature was well over eighty degrees. Sometimes I missed my hometown in Northern Michigan where it was chilly more often than not, and my jammies—along with the added help of an overworked tabletop fan—helped allay the occasional bout of homesickness.

Right now, I wanted my mama. It didn’t matter that I was an independent twenty-something. I’d been hurt, and I was scared. And just because I’d grown up didn’t mean I couldn’t turn to my mother in times of great need…

The fact that she didn’t answer the phone when I called, however, meant precisely that. I hung up instead of leaving a voicemail, then fired off a quick text asking her to call me back whenever she got the chance.

Fluffy meowed and jumped up on the couch beside me. His whiskers twitched as he tried to discern whether I had anything worth eating. When he didn’t find any food, he sunk his teeth into the edge of my sleeve and growled softly.

“Good idea,” I said. “Today definitely calls for some ice cream.”

I scooped up some of our favorite flavor—plain vanilla bean—into one of my lesser used breakfast bowls, grabbed a spoon and the remainder of the gallon, and settled myself back on the couch. The bowl was for Fluffy. I needed the entire container.

As we ate together, I began to share the events of my day with my feline companion. “That cop was so mean,” I whined. “I mean, why would she just automatically assume I killed my boss? It was terrible. Just awful. To see the life leave his eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

Fluffy sat up straight and cocked his head to the side. Sometimes, in moments like this, it felt like he could actually understand me.

“Mew?” my Maine Coon asked.

“Oh, yeah. I guess I should start at the beginning, huh? Well, my boss at the coffee shop, Harold. He died today.”

“Harold is an awful name,” Fluffy rasped.

“I know. I never thought anyone in the—” I stopped suddenly and closed my mouth up tight, then just stared at Fluffy for a long moment. Was I really so worked up that I was now hearing things?

I laughed at myself. “Silly me,” I said with a deep breath out. “Thinking you’re talking to me, Fluffy.”


Tags: Molly Fitz Merlin the Magical Fluff Fantasy