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Rez laughed at my mental slip-up. You will need a larger bed and a larger home. But that is to be expected, My Queen.
I made a mental note to get an explanation of why it was ‘expected,’ but then turned my focus to the matter at hand and the two officers eyeing me. Rez, you two need to stay in there until they leave.
As you wish. But if they threaten you, I cannot agree to remain here.
“We’d like to come in and talk to you for a few minutes, if you don’t mind. Would you prefer to change into something first?” Detective Oliver questioned.
I pressed my fingers to my temple and swayed a little, careful not to go overboard with my acting. The last thing I wanted was for an ambulance to be called.
Detective Oliver stepped forward, his hand cupping my elbow. “Ms. Char—Arizona, are you okay?”
I nodded, trying to ignore the heat seeping from his rough palm and into my bare skin. “I think I should sit down,” I suggested weakly, hoping they would offer to come back later.
“Jack, help her to a chair.” Detective Billings motioned for Jack to lead me to my tiny dining room set. Addressing me, he added, “We only have a few questions, and then we will be out of your hair.”
I swallowed a groan, and relaxed into the worn wooden chair, careful not to lean back too far as the chair had a tendency to rock unsteadily.
Detective Billings wasted no time, quickly jumping into his questions. “You were working at the museum yesterday, correct?”
“I—yes. Did I?” I purposely stumbled over my words.
“That’s what I am asking you, Miss. Did you work at the museum yesterday afternoon and evening?”
I rubbed my forehead, taking my time to answer. “Y-yes. I remember going to work, but—” I trailed off.
“But what?” Detective Billings prodded.
“But I don’t remember clocking out or coming home.” I turned wide, panicked eyes on the detectives. “Was I drugged? What happened?”
“So you don’t remember what happened?” Detective Billings narrowed his eyes on my face, searching for any sign of a lie.
“No!” I cried, clutching the sheet tighter around my body and pitching my voice higher. “Why can’t I remember?”
“Hey, calm down. It will be okay.” Detective Oliver patted my hand where it rested on the table, his voice low and soothing. I tried to ignore the tingle that shot through my hand at his touch.
It was clear who was the good cop and who was playing the bad cop. Much as I would have liked to believe Detective Oliver cared about my emotional wellbeing, he was here to do his job, which was to investigate the happenings at the museum and find out how I was involved.
“Did something happen at the museum?” I rubbed at my forehead again as though struggling to remember.
Detective Billings sat back in his chair while clearly taking note of my every movement. “Yeah, the entire storeroom was destroyed, along with parts of the ceiling, hallway, and rear door. Right now, we believe there was a bombing.”
“A bombing? Why would someone want to do that?” I asked, letting a slight wobble into my voice.
“That’s what we are trying to figure out. And right now, you are the only witness to what happened. Pete said you were still there cleaning when he left for the evening. According to the security feeds, it was shortly after that when the first explosion took place.” Detective Billings’s eyes locked onto my face, watching my reaction.
“I don’t remember seeing a bomb.” Deciding it was best to stick with the truth as much as possible, I continued, “I remember cleaning. I’d finished with one of the long shelves and decided to be finished for the day. As I was putting away my cleaning supplies, I leaned over because something caught my eye. And then, nothing.” I dropped my head into my hands. “Why can’t I remember?”
“That is what the security footage showed as well. What did you reach down to get?” Detective Billings shifted toward me.
I hesitated. “I’m not sure? Everything was covered in dust, but I think something glinted and caught my eye. Could that have been the bomb?” My hands trembled, not from fear of a bomb as they likely thought, but from fear of how close to the truth I was dancing.
The men looked at each other, silently communicating how much they should disclose to me. Oliver must have won the silent debate, because Billings sat back heavily in his chair, causing it to creak in protest. Turning to me, Oliver’s green eyes softened.
“Possibly, but there is no way you could have survived a direct hit so close to a bomb. We also found blood, quite a lot of it. Inside the wrecked storeroom, trailing down the hallway, and on the sidewalk outside the museum. We had assumed that you had died, and the bombers took your body, so it was a surprise to find you here. Are you injured? Or was there someone else in the museum with you after Pete left?” My skin heated as Oliver’s eyes traveled down my body, as if he were trying to see through the sheet to check for injuries.
There was no use lying. A blood test would match the blood to me. “I have a few cuts along my body that I don’t remember getting, although nothing too serious. I also get pretty bad nosebleeds, so maybe that was the cause?” Even I knew how lame my suggestion sounded. I’d nearly bled out on that sidewalk. There was literally zero logical explanation for that.
“I don’t think you understand the amount of blood we are talking about, Miss. Whoever it belongs to is either dead or in a hospital. You are neither, so it must belong to someone else. Who was with you last night?” Billings’s tone had shifted slightly, a hard edge sneaking in. I was quickly moving from victim to possible criminal in his mind.
