“So,” the reporter said, chewing noisily, frosting dropping onto his wrinkled sports coat. “How much money did you make off of killing your husband?”
“Make money?” I screeched.
Abbott flinched, smearing the cupcake frosting on his mouth.
“You think I made money?” The tears were back. “You know, when he left me, he cleaned out the accounts. Everything. I lost everything. He kicked me out of my own house. I didn’t make any money off of Brooks because he didn’t have any money.”
“Ah, so you killed him because you wanted to get even.”
More frosting smeared as Abbott scribbled on the notepad.
“No, that’s not—”
“Cross that out. That’s not on the record. My client is not speaking with the press.”
Abbott jumped with a squeak.
A shadow fell over us.
“Do, ah, do you have a statement?” the reporter asked.
“No comment.”
Marius didn’t step back. He just stood there, crowding me and Abbott, until the reporter got the hint and slid sideways off the couch and around the taller man. With a “Bye, Marius,” he raced to the front door, grabbing another cupcake on the way out.
Marius leaned over me, resting one hand on the back of the couch. “What the hell are you doing, talking to the press? Maybe I should have just left you in jail.”
“No, thank you.” My chin quivered. I had sworn, after Brooks left me, that I wasn’t crying over him or any man ever again, yet here I was.
“Really? Because I cannot think of another way to impress upon you the gravity of your situation. There are police crawling all over your grandmother’s apartment, the town is calling for your head. All the circumstantial evidence and five thousand years of human history shows that you’re the one who killed Brooks,” he snarled, his deep voice a low rumble so only I could hear it. “Yet here you are, drinking tea and running your mouth to reporters. If you cannot cooperate, I’m going to leave you out to hang.”
I gulped, trying to avoid his hazel eyes.
“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry, I’m just—”
“Don’t apologize to me.” He stood up, smoothing his tie. “It’s your life you’re ruining.”
“And all my cats’ lives.” The waterworks started again.
Marius gave a long-suffering sigh.
“She’s not bringing all those cats here, is she, Edna?” Cora’s grandmother demanded.
“Lord, no,” Granny Edna said, fanning herself.
“Can we turn up the heat in here, Edna?” The old woman scowled.
“If you did more than watch HGTV all day, maybe you’d handle the cold a little better, crotchety old hag.”
“I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Zoe, my best friend since we were kids, rushed over to me through the lobby crowded with a house party of seniors watching my life fall apart. “Girl Meets Fig was crazy. Come on!” Zoe tugged me up. “Wash your face off. You can’t just sit around here. It’s not healthy.”
“I guess I should go feed the cats.”
“You need to stay away from the crime scene,” Marius warned.
“Areyougoing to feed the cats?” Zoe pinned him with a withering glare. With Zoe’s punk rock style and green hair for the holiday season, no one messed with her.
My friend adjusted her glasses. “Didn’t think so. Let’s go.”
