The Detective

“He just started. Heck, I’m even helping him. On the way out of the house this morning I met one of the neighbors walking his dog. He stopped me. Being nosy, I guess. Anyway, I asked him if he saw anything the night of the murder.”

“And?”

She dumped two teaspoons of sugar into her coffee, poured milk in and took a gulp. “Nada. Of course, I don’t know what I expected. I just want this thing wrapped up so I can get to work.”

Candace set her cup on the island and leaned on her elbows. “I’ve been following this story for work. It’s amazing that in such a tight community they have no leads. Someone had to have seen something.”

“You’d think. Maybe talking to the police scares them.”

“What does your hunky detective think?”

“He thinks there’s evidence in the laundry room and won’t let me rip it up. We had a blowout about it this morning.”

Candace tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in that determined-reporter way of hers. “You like this guy.”

Unfortunately, yes. “You haven’t seen him. There’s plenty to like. Setting aside that whole pushy-alpha-male thing. Honestly, he’s a little annoying.”

“And, yet, you like him. Which, correct me if I’m wrong, is a big step for you. You haven’t been interested in a man since—”

Lexi’s arms shot up. “Whoa, girlfriend. I know exactly how long it’s been. We don’t need to discuss it.”

Candace waved her off. “What are you doing about this blowout with the detective? Come on, Lex, I can tell you like this guy. It sounds like he’s just trying to do his job—even if it is a volunteer assignment.” She leaned in, gave Lexi a wicked smile. “How often do hunky detectives come into your life?”