Dead as a Door Knocker by Diane Kelly

Author:Diane Kelly
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press

CHAPTER 27

I SPY

WHITNEY

My attorney had told my mother that Detective Flynn had planned to hold me in jail, so my mother had left the station. She’d be pleasantly surprised when I showed up at her house later, a free woman once again.

Given that my cell phone was now in evidence, I had to beg the receptionist at the front desk to let me use hers. “Pretty please with sugar on top?”

“Make it quick,” the stern woman barked as she plunked the phone on the counter and turned it my way.

Colette’s place was the closest to the station, so I phoned her.

“Any chance you can give me a ride to my car?” I asked when she answered.

“No problem. What’s going on?”

I gave her the rundown. Pulled over by police. Interrogated. Told I’d be held for three days, but eventually released. Car sitting at a church too far away for me to walk to.

“I’m on my way,” Colette said.

I pushed open the station’s front doors and stepped outside alone to wait for my friend. Even after the short time I’d spent in the dimly lit interrogation room, the autumn sun seemed extra bright, virtually dazzling. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, they took in several camera crews from the local television stations, as well as a notepad-sporting young woman who was likely a reporter for the local paper. I was headed toward them before I realized they’d come here for me.

“Roll the camera!” called a handsome man in a suit. I recognized him from the ten o’clock newscasts.

His cameraman activated his device and smoothly came toward me.

The reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Miss Whitaker, why did you kill Rick Dunaway?”

“I didn’t!”

“Were you and Mr. Dunaway having an affair?”

“No!” Gross!

“Are you sorry for what you did?”

“I didn’t do anything!” I pushed my way past him only to find a different mic at my face now, a different reporter screaming questions at me.

“Did you act alone? Or did your cousin help you kill Rick Dunaway?”

Now they’re dragging Buck into this? “I have no comment!” I hollered at the top of my lungs.

The reporters kept badgering me until I finally sat down on a bench, curled up in a sitting fetal position, and covered my head with my arms. “I said I have no comment! Go away!”

A couple of the more persistent reporters were still lobbing questions at me when a horn sounded nearby. Toot-toot!

I looked up to see Colette’s car at the curb. She reached over and threw the passenger door open. “Get in!”

“Who are you?” a reporter called to her.

“Beyoncé!” Colette called back.

I dashed over and all but dove into her car. She took off before my belt was even fastened.

Once we’d cleared the station’s parking lot, Colette reached out and gave my hand a squeeze, concern in her eyes. “You okay?”

“As okay as I can be under the circumstances, I guess.”

She offered a supportive smile, but it morphed into a grimace. “Whatever you do, don’t look at social media.

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