Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52447 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
He looks me up and down and then shoves my very own puke-yellow suit at me. “I’d prefer something in a sunshine yellow or a sky blue, please,” I say. “That way, if I throw up, I can find the mess to clean up.”
He deadpans me.
I really don’t understand why people don’t get my jokes. I’m funny, but whatever. “This better be a size small,” I murmur and walk behind a curtain and pull the suit on over my outfit. It fits as well as any of these things ever fit. And it’s a real fashion statement with my high heels, let me tell ya, but they’re staying on. Every inch between me and the crap I might step in when I get upstairs is a win. I’m just about to exit the curtain when my cellphone rings and I find my father’s number.
For once—and only because I’m going to enjoy this—I answer. “Yes, Father?”
“There’s another damn murder?”
“There is another damn murder,” I confirm.
“Obviously, you don’t have a grip on this situation. We need to meet tomorrow morning. I’m going to have to have another damn press conference.”
“You can have it on your own. And if I may suggest,” I say, all sticky sweet, and sugary, “Father—just a gentle suggestion of course, because you know what you are doing—obviously.” I shift to my normal smart-ass voice. “Perhaps you shouldn’t challenge the killer in a public forum and use me as your token tool. Because he just said a public ‘fuck you’ to you and me, and from what I’m being told, it’s a really nasty fuck you.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’ll let you know on the other side of the crime scene I’m about to walk in.” I disconnect and kick off my heels which are far from appropriate for what is obviously a messy crime scene. Once they’re off, there’s no place to put them, so I just leave them where they lie.
Ready to get this over with, I exit from behind the curtain to find the guy who’d handed me the jumpsuit standing there, staring at me.
“Do we have boots? I don’t want to walk the crime scene in high heels.”
He points to a big box and I hunt for the smallest pair I can find. When it’s all said and done, my heels are on a table and my feet are firmly on the ground, and this dude is still staring at me. I can only assume he admires my sense of style in and out of the jumpsuit so I say, “I left my shoes behind the curtain. Don’t try them on. Don’t let anyone else try them on. Don’t let anyone take them. They’re Jimmy Choos.”
“You’re that agent who’s the governor’s daughter.”
“He’s not the governor yet,” I say. “Details matter,” I add. “Details matter. Like chocolate and good shampoo. Try Biolage. It’s very moisturizing, though a basic Head and Shoulders can work wonders. It did for my brother.” With that, I walk out of the room and discover Jack the Ripper is waiting for me.
Chapter Eleven
Jack isn’t just waiting on me, he has in his possession a black leather bag hanging from his shoulder and another hard case in his hand. I have no idea from where he produced these items. I sure as heck don’t have my field bag. It’s at home, where it should be because tonight wasn’t supposed to end with me dressed up for a crime scene.
I walk right past Jack and he catches up with me in a few long strides.
“I know this isn’t a Scream killing,” he says, “but what if he’s telling us that’s what comes next?”
I cut him an irritated look. “I might have found out, had you not helped him get away.”
“Yes, sorry about that. I really thought I was helping. I had no idea what was going on.”
“Exactly, which is why you never pull that kind of bullshit in or around a crime scene.” We’re now at the elevator, and I punch the up button only to realize I have no idea what floor I’m going to. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“Ten,” he says. “The victim’s name is Sherman Lee. Lee is the last name, not a middle name. He’s forty-seven and a high-ranking VP at Mid-City Bank.”
The elevator opens and I walk inside, punching floor ten on the keypad. He’s right by my side, already talking again. “That’s all I know. I haven’t had time to research connections between the prior victims and the diner, but it’s interesting that this location is outside of the close proximity of the prior victims, don’t you think?”
I don’t answer him. I reach inside the jumpsuit and pull my phone from my purse, which is still at my hip. Once it’s in hand, I unlock my keyboard and shoot off a text to Tic Tac: There was another murder, and I didn’t commit it despite being with my father tonight. Sherman Lee. 47. VP Mid-City Bank. I’m walking into the crime scene now.