Linda Howard - To Die For

“You don’t need an attorney,” he interrupted. “Please. Sit down.”

There was something in his tone, other than the flat tone of authority, that made me sit.

He pulled the guest chair around so it was facing me and sat down, so close that his legs were almost touching mine. I backed up just a little, in that automatic way people have when someone gets too close. He didn’t have the right to invade my personal space, not anymore.

He noticed my action, of course, and his mouth thinned. Whatever he thought about it, though, he was all business when he spoke. “Blair, are you in any trouble that we need to know about?”

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly coplike, and totally unexpected. I blinked at him. “You mean, other than thinking I was being shot at and instead finding out I witnessed a murder? Isn’t that enough?”

“You said in your statement that you’d had an incident with the victim earlier this afternoon when you told her that her membership wouldn’t be renewed, and that she’d become violent-”

“That’s right. And there were witnesses. I’ve already given their names to Detective MacInnes.”

“Yes, I know,” he said patiently. “Did she threaten you?”

“No. Well, she said she was going to sic her lawyer on me, but I wasn’t sweating that.”

“She didn’t make any threats to harm you physically?”

“No. I’ve already told all this to the detectives.”

“I know. Just be patient. If she didn’t make any threats, why, when you saw her car parked in the back lot, did you assume you were in physical danger from her?”

“Because she’s-she was -a psycho. She copied everything I did. She colored her hair to match mine; she started wearing clothes like mine; she got the same hairstyle, the same style earrings. She even bought a white convertible because I have one. She gave me the creeps.”

“So she admired you?”

“I don’t think so. I think she hated my guts. Several of the other members thought so, too.”

“Then why did she imitate you?”

“Who knows? Maybe she wasn’t able to put together a look on her own, so she just copied someone else. She wasn’t very bright. Cunning, but not bright.”

“I see. Has anyone else threatened you?”

“Not since my divorce.” Impatiently I checked my wristwatch. “Lieutenant, I’m exhausted. How much longer do I have to stay here?” Until all the cops had left the building, that was for certain, so I could lock up. They would be stringing yellow crime-scene tape all over the back lot, but surely they’d let me get my car out first-

That’s when it hit me that they would probably cordon off the entire building and two parking lots. I wouldn’t be able to open tomorrow, and maybe not the next day either. Or maybe not for a lot longer than that.

“Not much longer,” he said, drawing my attention back to him. When was your divorce?”

“Five years ago. Why are you asking?”

“Does your ex-husband cause you any trouble?”

“Jason? Goodness, no. I haven’t even seen him since the divorce.”

“But he threatened you then?”

“It was a divorce. He threatened to trash my car. He never did, of course.” Actually, he’d threatened to trash my car if I ever made certain information public. I had then threatened to make certain information public if he didn’t shut up and give me everything I asked for-or at least, Siana had threatened it. I didn’t think Wyatt needed to hear all of that, though. That comes under the heading of Too Much Information.

“Do you have any reason to think he might hold a grudge?”

Oh, I hoped so. That was why I still drove a Mercedes convertible. But I shook my head. “I don’t see why. He remarried a few years ago, and from what I hear he’s very happy.”

“And no one else has threatened you in any way?”

“No. Why are you asking me all these questions?”

His expression was unreadable. “The victim is dressed almost identically to you. She was in a white convertible. It occurred to me, when I saw you and realized the similarities, that it was possible you were the intended victim after all.”

I gaped at him in astonishment. “No way. I mean, I thought I was being shot at, but only because I knew Nicole was bananas. She’s the only person I’ve had any trouble with.”

“You haven’t had any confrontations that maybe you passed off as minor but someone else could have taken more seriously?”

“No. Not even a snippet of an argument.” Because I live alone, my life tends to be fairly peaceful.

“Could any of your employees be angry with you about something?”

“Not that I know of, and anyway, they all know me personally-and they know Nicole. There’s no way any of them could mistake her for me. Plus, they all know where I park, and it isn’t at the back of the lot. I don’t think I’m involved in this at all, other than just being there by an accident of timing. I can’t help you by pointing a finger at someone who might have it in for me. Besides, Nicole was the type of person who regularly pissed people off.”

“Do you know any of those people?”

“She annoyed every woman who belongs to Great Bods, but men tended to like her because she had this syrupy sex-kitten act. It was definitely a man who shot her, though, which seems wrong, but brings up the question of jealousy. Nicole is-was-the type who’d play the jealousy game.”

“Did you know any of her boyfriends, or was there one in particular?”

“No, I don’t know anything about her private life. We weren’t best buds; we never chatted about personal things.”

He hadn’t once taken his gaze off my face, which was beginning to make me nervous. See, his eyes are kind of pale, that shade of green that leaps out at you if the person’s hair and brows are dark, which his were. On a blond you wouldn’t notice eyes like that so much, unless he wore black mascara-never mind. Wyatt wasn’t the mascara type. The point is, his gaze was piercing. When he stared at me, I felt sort of pinned.

I didn’t like him this close. I functioned much better when he was at a distance. If we had been in a relationship, it would have been different, but we weren’t, and after my last experience with him I wasn’t willing to put myself on the emotional line with someone who blew so hot and cold. But he was so close I could feel the heat coming from his legs, so I moved back another inch or so. Better. Not perfect, but better.

Damn him, why couldn’t he have stayed outside in the rain? Detective MacInnes had things handled in here. If Wyatt had just stayed outside, I wouldn’t be having these very acute memories of how his skin smelled, how he tasted, the sounds he made when he was so turned on-

Nope. Don’t go down that path. Because when he’d been turned on, I had been turned on, too.

“Blair!” he said, a little forcefully.

I jumped and refocused, and hoped he hadn’t been able to tell where my thoughts had wandered. “What?”

“I asked if you got a good look at the man’s face.”

“No. I’ve already told all this to Detective MacInnes,” I repeated. How long was he going to keep asking me questions I’d already answered? “It was dark, it was raining. I could tell he was a man, but that was it. The car was a dark four-door, but I can’t tell you the make or the model. I’m sorry, but if he walked into this office right now, I wouldn’t be able to identify him.”

He watched me for a minute longer, then stood and said, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Why?” I asked in obvious bewilderment. He was a lieutenant. The detectives would be handling the case; he’d just be overseeing the big picture, distribution of manpower, okaying stuff, things like that.