Scandal Sheet by Gemma Halliday

Author:Gemma Halliday
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: fiction
Publisher: Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

Since our condo had officially become a crime scene, Cal insisted that Aunt Sue and I come stay at his place for the night. For once, I didn’t protest. As soon as the officers let me, I slipped into my bedroom, carefully avoiding looking at the black tarp-covered mound on my living room floor that used to be my neighbor. I changed out of my cold, wet bikini and packed a few necessities in a bag. I crossed the hall and did the same for Aunt Sue before meeting them back outside.

Cal, Aunt Sue, Aunt Millie, and I hopped into his Hummer and rode through the dark streets in silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. We dropped Millie home at the Sunset Palms retirement village in Glendale, then hopped on the freeway, where the steady rhythm of the wheels turning beneath me suddenly caused the physical toll of the day to catch up to me. Big time. So much so that by the time we pulled up to Cal’s place in West L.A., I was half asleep and Aunt Sue was snoring in the backseat.

Cal cut the engine, the silence settling over our trio as I stared up at the one-story craftsman in front of us.

“You okay?” Cal asked, turning to me.

His face was guarded, shadowed by the light from the streetlamp outside.

I nodded. “I will be.” Which was more than I could say for poor Mrs. C.

“The police are going to want to talk to you tomorrow.”

“I know.

“Do me a favor and don’t lie to them, okay?”

I nodded again.

“I mean it.” He paused. “You can do that, right?”

I shot him a look. “Yes.”

“Good. Tell them everything. They need to know about the calls, the break-in. Everything.”

Full disclosure was not exactly in my nature. However, in this instance, I had to agree with Cal. Someone was dead. And it was all my fault.

I nodded in the darkness once more.

“Good.”

He got out of the car. I roused Aunt Sue, and we followed him up the walkway to a dark porch where he fumbled with the keys for a second before letting us inside.

As soon as he switched on the lights, I fell in love with the little house. It was small even by L.A. standards, a tiny living room in front, a kitchen/dining area to the left and hallway visible in the back. But the low beamed ceilings and dark, hardwood floors gave it a cozy feel instead of being cramped.

A red leather sofa hugged the back wall, chrome legs curling under it like claws. Beside it, black, lacquered end tables squatted, one of them holding a lamp with a hula girl painted on it. Two Jetsons-looking white, futuristic chairs flanked the fireplace, and the sign over the mantel read, “Eat at Joe’s” in bright neon lettering. The floor was covered in a zebra-striped rug, and, to the right, the kitchen was tiled in black and white checkers, an old, turquoise fifties-style stove sitting in the corner.

Despite the day I’d had, I felt the corners of my mouth tilting upward.

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