3
EMMIE
Even though the great room of the retirement community was warm, with a big fire in the oversize stone fireplace, I was shivering.
“I’m sorry, Gran,” I whispered as the police officers carted boxes of “evidence” out of Granny Edna’s flat. “I should never have moved in here. I should have moved in with Zoe.”
“Yeah.” Gran nodded. “She’s dating one of them Svensson brothers. They give money to the police. They would never have gotten their house searched. Hey! You get your hands off that dildo. That was a gift.” She raced after one horrified officer, who promptly dropped the box and ran, almost bowling over Cora, who sidestepped him, carrying a box of food for her daily visit with her grandmother.
Abbott from the newspaper snuck in behind Cora. I didn’t have the energy to chase away the reporter. I closed my eyes and leaned my throbbing head back against the couch armrest.
I was stuck in a nightmare.
I’d always secretly hoped Brooks would get what was coming to him—that karma would kick him in the teeth—but murder?
Maybe it was just an allergic reaction.
He was my husband—had been for years. He didn’t have any allergies.
Sometimes people can develop them late in life,I tried to assure myself.
I was so nauseous.
The only bright spot was Marius rescuing me out of that smelly, frigid jail cell.
Now he was talking with the police detective. I gazed at him.
The suit, the height, the brown hair with the crisp part—he was every part the big New York City lawyer.
Meanwhile, I was covered in cat hair and cupcake frosting.
“Oh, Emmie!”
Porcelain clattered as Cora set a steaming cup of tea down on the side table next to me.
“I brought cupcakes, but…” She looked anxiously over at the cops, who were finishing up their evidence collection.
“I need to wash all my clothes… vacuum.” The task weighed heavily on my chest. My shoulders ached.
“You should eat something first,” Cora fussed. “All the seniors are worried about you. I brought some perogies for the holiday snack table. You should have some.”
“Thank you, but I’m not even hungry. Who knew your worthless husband dropping dead in your café would kick-start that New Year’s diet?”
“They’re good, though!” Ava called from the snack table laden with holiday treats. She added a cupcake to her plate. Then her eyes widened. “Er… you didn’t make these, right, Emmie?”
I shook my pounding head. The room spun.
“Have some tea,” Cora murmured.
“Have a cold soda instead.” Abbott sat down on the couch next to me, jostling the teacup. He fanned himself. “Why do old people always need the room so hot?”
“Cora, I think your grandmother was looking for you!” Ava called. “Ida’s selling inflatable sex dolls, and she wants you to unlock her credit card so she can buy one.”
“Oh my God,” Cora muttered, hurrying away.
My stomach roiled when I saw the reporter had a wilting cupcake on a plate.
He took a messy bite.
