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“Lawyer.” My index finger shoots to my husband’s lips, and I zap laser-like warnings into his eyes.
Once I’m certain my point hit home, I focus all my attention onSpecial Agent Stick-Up-His-Ass, resting against the gray wall.
“How aboutI talk, and you listen?”
“Cliché much?”Leaning back in my chair, I cross my arms and close my eyes. “Go ahead.”
“How about I start with this? Two private investigators are about to be arrested for obstruction of justice.”
At his lame declaration I snort and to my right, Sebastianchuckles. “Excellent try, but you’re reaching, dude.”
“Not at all. You stole evidence from my crime scene.” He points at my husband now raising his brows.
“Moi?” As his fucking lashes flutter like a pro, I shrug my shoulders.
“He can’t mean me.”
The sneering Fed loosens his tie and raises his voice. “You think this is funny? I could take your kid away and make your life a living hell.”
Fists clenched, Suds starts to rise until I place my hand on his knee. “Shush. Winter is coming.”
TheGame of Thronesreference is lost on the Fed, but my husband understands and says no more. Paybacks are a bitch.
Soon,thesomething bad about to happenwalks into our interrogation room. Luckily, Ms. Ursula Brownsberry is on our side. The thirtyish Mary Poppins wears an expensive black suit, totes a Gucci leather bag in her left arm, and an umbrella under her right.
As she sits with impeccable posture, we brief her on the case, and when we’re finished, she shares a tight smile. “If I rap my fingers on the table, you will stop talking. The chief and I madea small bet which I expect to win. When I do, it will be deducted from my bill.”
Ready to beat his world’s record, my addict salivates. “How long should I talk for?”
“I bet that Griner will give up and send you home in less than an hour.” The lawyer’s perfectly shaped brows arch up.
While my hubby’s balloon may be busted. I, for one, am happy not to spend the entire night in interrogation.
As I give the woman two thumbs up, my disappointedramblin’ manshakes his head, sighs heavily, and juts out his chin. “Never let it be said Sebastian Sutcliff backed down from a challenge.”
“Excellent.” Rising, her stiletto heels click on the linoleum and at the door, she shouts out, “We’re ready to cooperate.”
“About time.” Griner enters, shoots us a superior look, and as he turns on the recorder, Suds prepares for battle by making sad, puppy-dog eyes.
Ignoring my husband, the interrogator scoots forward. “Let’s start with an easy question. Why kill Mr. Stanley Vaporella?”
Mr. StanleySteamer?At the ridiculous fake Italian surname, I turn my head toward the wall, and snicker through my nose.
Hand to his mouth, my husband tamps down his smile and takes a deep breath. “Wahl, it sort of depends on what you mean by kill. Certainly, Ididn’t shoot nobody and neither did Sam but are we responsible? Not directly, but what about indirectly? What I mean is, if we hadn’t’ve bought a Christmas tree, would poor Vapes still be alive? That there, is the question we need to address. Now, you’re about to interrupt me, but let me continue if you would. Here’s how it all went down. My wife, me, and our son went for a walk and bought our first real Christmas tree as a family, Now, we had no idea where those fancy firs came from, but judging from the prices, I’m guessin’ they might’ve been stolen. In that there is no proof, you can’t arrest us. We had no specific knowledge of the trees’ origins. Later, we learned they were likely cut down in a National State Forest near Poughkeepsie, which is a federal crime but not ours, mind you.”
“We’ve veeredway off topic, Sutcliff.” As Griner wipes sweat from his brow, my husband takes his kicked-dog look up a notch.
“No sir, I have not, since you haven’t given me time to get to the point. Where was I? Goddamn it, I lost my place. Now I’m gonna need to start all over.”
“I believe you were talking about your damn tree.” For an FBI field operative, the man has zero patience.
“Right. Did I mention we found a detached human finger in it? The whole pine tree stunk somethin’ awful which is why my wife is so adamant about gettin’ our money back. This was why we were at the warehouse when somebody shot at us. Now, imagine my surprise when I’m looking for the man who sold us a shrubbery and someone tries to do us in, which pisses me off majorly, let me tell you. It’s bad enough, our holiday decoration is perfumed by dead flesh, but when someone attempts murder, well, that ain’t one bit neighbor-”
“Shut up, and just tell me Sutcliff, how did you end up at Vaporella’s home in Newark?”
“Damn, youare one impatient sonofabitch.” My rambler glances down at our lawyer’s knuckles tapping on the table.
Eyes back on Griner’s fuming face, he frowns. “Huh, I need to confer with my counselor for a moment. Alone, and no listenin’ or it will be inadmissible in court.”
