Page 62 of They Never Tell


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“Yep.” Another proxy, designed to get her to understand that it was none of her business.

“Where’s Bria?” she asked.

“Mock trial? No, model UN. One of those.”

Or so she said, Ladonna thought. She set about spooning leftover chicken parmesan onto her plate, trying to ignore the glaring silence. She could feel Marcus’ eyes on her, and she grew more nervous by the minute.Can he tell?she asked herself. No, of course not. It was a silly thought. Wasn’t it?

“So have you heard anything from Marshall lately?” she asked.

“I talked to him today.”

“And?”

“He said to tell you ‘hey.’”

She was sick of pulling teeth. “Did he say anything else?”

Marcus took a long sip and set his glass on the table so that it fit perfectly inside the wet ring it had left before. “Nope.”

“He didn’t say anything about the case?”

“Nothing to report, I guess.”

She turned to face him and studied his body language. She was no expert or anything, but his icy silence and dead-eyed stare were surely a sign that something was amiss.

“Is there something you’re not telling me? About the case?”

“Something like what?” He raised his eyebrows and waited.

“I don’t know. If I knew, I wouldn’t have to ask.”

He smirked. “You know everything I know, Lady. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It just feels like maybe you’re not telling me everything.”

Marcus chuckled. “Now why on earth would I hide anything from you, my beloved wife?” he said mockingly. “We don’t keep secrets from each other. Right?”

Ladonna’s heartbeat boomed in her ears, and she tried not to swallow. “Right.”

Of course, there was the small matter of their daughter lying about her whereabouts, but if she brought that up, her own lies were bound to be laid bare.

Marcus smiled and stared at her with hard, cold eyes. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

“Here’sthething,Mr.Branch. Can I call you Demetrius?” Webb asked.

The young man shrugged his thin shoulders. Odd, since he was short and husky. You don’t expect the short and husky to have dainty shoulders, but there they were, pointing their way to prominence in the wrinkled orange jail jumpsuit.

Demetrius sat there with boredom all over his face, and he seemed to be neither impressed nor intimidated by the detectives. But Webb wasn’t surprised given his rap sheet. This guy was no virgin.

“Demetrius, we need your help. The thing is, a young lady was murdered at a party where you were acting as a security guard. Instead of providing security at this party as was your job, you elected instead to provide drugs and alcohol to minors. You with me so far?”

Demetrius shrugged again.

“Good. Now, as I said, we need your help. But see, you need ours, too.”

Demetrius frowned and twisted his lips into a shape that, in Webb’s experience, translated to, “Negro, please.”

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