Ditching David by Jenna Bennett

Author:Jenna Bennett [Bennett, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Magpie Ink

Chapter 12

YOU COULD HAVE heard a canapé drop.

In fact, one did. Gwendolyn Oliver was holding a shrimp puff, and it hit the floor with a sound halfway between a splat and a soggy thump. The hand that had held the puff flew to cover her mouth, and she stared at me over it, her eyes round.

Everyone else was staring, too.

“Of course, Detective,” I said calmly. “Just let me get my coat.”

Mendoza glanced around the room. “We’re just going to the garage.”

Ah. “In that case, I think I’ll probably be all right without it.” I turned to Rachel. “Will you keep an eye on things here?”

She nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Kelly.”

I turned to Mendoza. “Lead the way, Detective.”

“After you, Mrs. Kelly.” He stepped aside and bowed politely as I brushed past him into the hallway and from there over to the interior door from the house to the garage.

“What’s going on?” I asked him when we were inside the garage with the door closed between us and the teeming crowd in the house. I had no doubt that some of them had gravitated to the door and were now doing everything short of pressing their ears to the wood to try to hear what we were saying.

“I need a witness,” Mendoza told me, looking around at the dim interior of the two-car space, “and it is your garage. Is there a light in here?”

“Of course.” Next to the kitchen door. I reached out and flipped the switch. A couple of hundred-watt bulbs came on, bathing the convertible and the empty space next to it—the one that used to be occupied by David’s Porsche—in brilliance. At the same time, it probably enhanced every wrinkle and enlarged pore on my face.

I took a step back. No sense drawing attention to those parts of myself. It had been a long day, and I hadn’t had time to refresh my makeup. “Would you like to tell me what we’re doing here?”

“Looking for something,” Mendoza said, still looking around instead of at me. I should be grateful, although I admit it made me feel a little unimportant.

“Looking for what?”

“A pair of grease-stained overalls and a knife.”

I opened my mouth, but found I couldn’t speak. When I didn’t say anything, Mendoza turned to watch me, interestedly. “Cat got your tongue?”

I closed my mouth, opened it, and tried again. “What makes you think there’s a pair of grease-stained overalls and a knife in my garage?”

“Anonymous tip,” Mendoza said, going back to surveying the room.

“Someone called to tell you there’s a pair of overalls and a knife in my garage?”

He nodded.

“Who?”

“We don’t know,” Mendoza said. “That’s why it’s called an anonymous tip.”

Well, duh. “Don’t you have caller ID?”

“Of course we do,” Mendoza said. “The call came from here.”

“Here?”

“Your house. Your landline.”

My landline.

I swallowed. “So anyone in the house could have called.”

“Including you.”

“Why would I call you to tell you there’s a pair of overalls and a knife in my garage? If there’s a pair of overalls and a knife here, you’re the last person I’d want to know about it.

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