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“Whelan.”
“Why?”
“It’s Irish.”
His left brow moves up. “Is it?” He nods. “Make sense.”
“Yep. I think it means wolf.” I know it means wolf. It was my grandmother’s maiden name.
“Wolf?”
I wave my hand like it doesn’t matter. “It’s a good thing.” At least according to Grandma. She was proud as punch about the wolf thing.
“Is it?”
“Sure.” I smile. I don’t know why I’m smiling. I shouldn’t be. I should be crying, or at the very least frowning and wringing my hands, because I’m about to be booked for robbery. No. It was only attempted robbery since I was caught before I could actually steal anything. Besides, there’s no need to get this hunk of a man riled up. And boy he really is a hunk. He’s older than me. I’d guess his age to be in his midthirties due to the fact he’s got those crinkles around his eyes created by the smile he’s currently got on his face. His hair is a golden-brown color that reminds me of my own eye color. I squint to see what color his eyes are, but they’re obscured thanks to the dark-rimmed glasses he’s just put on. I suddenly have the urge to adjust my own red ones, the pair that matches my dress. I try to match my eyewear with my clothes at these events. It’s one of my foibles.
“Foibles,” I mutter aloud. Grandma, are you listening to this? I wish you were here to play Scrabble with me tonight. “I might actually win, for once.”
“Excuse me?” the hunky guy says with a frown. I liked the smile much better.
“Nothing.” I smile brightly. “Just talking to myself. I do that when I’m nervous.” And bored. And hungry. And I do it a lot when I’m busy with work. I keep that stuff to myself, though.
Detective Whelan reaches into his left breast pocket and pulls out one of those tiny spiral-bound notebooks and a stubby pencil. I mean––seriously? This guy couldn’t be any more like a television detective if he tried.
“State your name, please.”
At least he’s polite. “Lucy Locket.”
He blinks a few times. “I’ve heard that name before.”
And I know where. “It’s a nursery rhyme.”
He’s staring at me, so I go ahead and say it as fast as possible to get through it.
Lucy Locket lost her pocket,
Kitty Fisher found it;
Not a penny was there in it,
Only ribbon round it.
I sigh. “It was my mom’s idea of a joke or something.” Yeah, she thought it was a hoot since the girl in the rhyme was supposedly a lady of the evening and so was Kitty Fisher.
Hilarious, Mom. Not.
Funny story, I used to live down the street from a girl named Kitty Fisher. She wasn’t very nice, so we were never friends.
I look intently at the detective, who appears to be perplexed. “No. That’s not where I’ve heard that name before.” He shakes his head. “It’ll come to me.”
I know for a fact that Detective Whelan and I have never met. I’d remember. Believe me.
Just as he was about to ask me something else, the door swings open and Fred steps in, followed closely by his grandmother. The room suddenly feels tiny. “Well?” the grandmother snaps. “Are you going to arrest her?”
Detective Whelan slowly turns to face the pair. “If you’d be so kind as to step out of the room, Hazel. I’ll be with you shortly.”
Hazel? I snicker softly. She totally looks like a Hazel.
