Peril and a Peppermint Pig by Wendy Meadows

Author:Wendy Meadows [Meadows, Wendy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Majestic Owl Publishing LLC

Chapter Twelve

Dawson stands beside me like a solemn, silent sentry. I have the sneaking suspicion he's got orders from Brogan to watch me and make sure I don't keel over or something.

I must look more pitiful than I imagine because Brogan doesn't argue when I insist on being present at Rose's questioning. I half expected the big bear of a man to try to wrap me in cotton and stuff me away in a closet somewhere for safekeeping, not to emerge again until this investigation is over. It is gratifying to know that he's taking his promise seriously. By allowing me to be here, he's showing that he trusts me not to do something stupid. Again.

I stare through the pane of glass that looks in on the interrogation room. Even though Rose is safely cuffed to a chair and can't hurt me, I'm still twitchy. In all my years, I've never come so close to actually being hurt or killed. It's a sobering experience—one I don't plan to tell Mary about for some time. She'll already be frantic because I've ignored her last three voicemails. No need to add the case of near-lethal battery to her long list of worries.

"Do you need a coat?" Dawson asks in an undertone.

"Huh?"

"Do you need a coat?" he repeats. "You're still shaking a little."

Ah. So I am. It's nothing like the shakes I had at the house, but they're still there. I try to get a handle on myself. I've discovered two bodies in the last month and a half. I've been bowled over by massive dogs, chased thieving teens, and incapacitated a mailbox. It's just another thing on the laundry list of unfortunate happenings in Tinsel Pine. So I should calm myself down.

My focus shifts back to the task at hand when Brogan's voice filters through the crackling PA system on this side of the glass. I can only see his profile as he stares down Rose Fletcher, but it's still a sight to behold. I don't think I've seen him look this stony in the entire time I've known him. He practically radiates righteous indignation.

"Start talking, Fletcher," he says, tone taut with dislike. "Or I'm going to throw the book at you. What you did could be construed as attempted murder. There's a serious penalty for that. So if you want to avoid spending the rest of your life rotting in a jail cell, you better start cooperating, and you do it fast."

Rose has had time to arrange her mahogany hair to something more presentable since arriving. The hostility has drained from her face, leaving only blank apathy in its place.

"I wasn't trying to kill her," she says shortly. "I was trying to scare her. I wanted her gone."

It hadn't felt like that to me. The answer doesn't seem to please Brogan, either.

"Excuse me for saying it, Miss Fletcher, but that's complete and utter bull. You were in that house for a reason, and I believe you were willing to kill to cover it up.

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