The Rogue Reviewer (Primrose, Minnesota Book 3) (8 page)

“I will, detective. Meanwhile, you boys find
out who did this and lock them up good and tight.”

“We’ll do our best, ma’am.”

Sunlight peeked through the living room
window of Marnie’s apartment, casting weird-shaped shadows over the
furniture – shadows that normally wouldn’t have bothered her until
she found a corpse in her own living room. Although she knew the
cylinder shape resting near the sofa was simply the exaggerated
outline of the vase on the coffee table, she still avoided it at
all costs. Funny how murder made one paranoid.

“It won’t bite, Dara.”

Startled, she spun around and narrowed her
gaze at her best friend. “Ha, ha.”

Marnie draped her arms across Dara’s
shoulders and squeezed. “I’m sorry. You’re already familiar with my
warped sense of humor.”

That made her grin. Thank God Marnie had an
uncanny knack for taking the worst and spinning it into humor.
“Yeah, I do.”

“So, what’s in store for us today?”

“We need to visit Georgette Swanson.”

Marnie groaned and mumbled something under
her breath.

“What?” Dara frowned. “I thought you liked
Georgette.”

“I do and her novels are awesome.”

“But?”

“She intimidates me.”

“Why?”

“Oh come on, Dara. She’s maybe a size two
with breasts tight as a drum. She never has a hair out of place and
her skin glows so brightly it’s noticeable through sunglasses.”

“True.” Dara giggled, silently agreeing
wholeheartedly with Marnie’s sentiment. “But she’s as good as
gold.”

“Do you think her review upset her enough to
commit murder?”

“No. Evelyn’s throat was slit and your
description proves that method is a little messy for Georgette.
Besides, she’s female.”

“Then why should we bother her?”

Dara shrugged. “She might tell us something
we don’t know about murder.”

“Maybe we should stop by the salon
first.”

“No time.” She pushed her friend back toward
the bedroom. “Don’t dawdle. Something tells me our two favorite
detectives share our intellect and we need to be absolutely sure we
get there first.”

“Fine,” Marnie groused, “but at least let me
throw on some make-up.”

Thirty minutes later, Dara breathed a sigh of
relief when Marnie parked her car in Georgette’s driveway, thankful
that the cement slab was unoccupied by a Primrose Police Department
vehicle.

She flipped down the visor in front of her
seat and took a quick glance into the lighted mirror.

“What are you doing?” Marnie asked from the
driver’s seat.

Dara gave her a cheeky grin. “Just
checking.”

“At least it’s not just me,” her friend
grumbled.

Dara tucked the visor back into place and
then opened the door. “C’mon, let’s go.”

As soon as the door opened, she pushed all
thoughts of appearance to the side, despite Georgette’s
perfectly-styled hair, French manicured fingernails and stylish
tank top and jeans. She could’ve sworn Marnie groaned under her
breath.

“Dara! Marnie!” Georgette pulled both of them
into a welcoming hug. “I’m so glad you called.”

Georgette swept them both inside the house,
closed the door, and then led them into the living room. “I made a
pot of tea, help yourselves.” She gestured at a silver tea service
on the coffee table then took a chair opposite the sofa.

Dara couldn’t miss the bright pink color of
her toenails. “Great color.”

Georgette giggled. “Roxanne just left.”

Dara mentally sighed. Of course her
cosmetologist made house calls.

“Are you guys okay?” Georgette’s brow
wrinkled, freshly-waxed no doubt.

“I’m good,” Marnie kicked off her sandals and
tucked her bare feet under her. “Dara’s still jittery.”

“Of course.” Georgette nodded. “I would’ve
had to be sedated.” Her bright blue eyes focused on Dara and then
widened. “You’re not staying there, are you?”

“No, Mace hasn’t released the crime
scene.”

“Mace?”

“Dara’s new squeeze,” Marnie drawled.

Dara shook her head. “
Detective
Turner
is supposed to let me know when I can return.”

“You know Dara, this is great incentive for
plotting.”

“So I’ve heard.” She bit her lip. “Do you
know any viable suspects?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Georgette shrugged.
“Evelyn has quite a reputation.”

“I didn’t know her personally. Do you think
maybe she was just misunderstood?”

“No.” Georgette’s eyes darkened and for half
a second, Dara thought she saw the devil dance on her eyeballs.

Marnie leaned forward. “Do tell.”

“You remember Tom,” Georgette continued.

Dara nodded. “Your ex-husband.”

“Yes. Evelyn knew him intimately.”

Marnie’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

Georgette nodded. “Thus, the divorce. I got
my review six weeks later.”

“It wasn’t pretty,” Dara mumbled.

“No,” Georgette agreed, “but it didn’t take
long for her to turn her attention to someone else, both
professionally and personally.”

Dara sighed. “Honestly Georgette, this murder
is harder to plot than any novel I’ve ever written.”

“Murder 101 – look for suspects with a
motive.” Georgette shrugged. “Problem is, there’s literally at
least one hundred people with motive. Including you and me.”

“Exactly,” Dara agreed, “except I have an
airtight alibi and I know for a fact you do too.”

Georgette smirked. “You’ve been surfing,
haven’t you?”

“I saw the invitation to your podcast in my
inbox. I’m sorry I missed it.”

“That’s the beauty of the Internet – it won’t
be live, but you can catch it until the end of the month.”

“Maybe she had something on ole Tom,” Marnie
suggested.

“That thought did cross my mind,” Georgette
admitted, “but it doesn’t make any sense to believe Tom would kill
her in Dara’s home.”

“Unless he meant to use the review to cast
suspicion on her and off himself.”

“I don’t think so. Research tells me that
whoever killed Evelyn probably knows Dara and her daily
habits.”

“That’s just creepy, Georgette,” Dara
mumbled.

“Sorry, but unless you’ve interacted with Tom
socially, how would he have known you weren’t home at the time of
the murder?”

“I’ve only dealt with Tom professionally.
Besides, Tom has a reputation to uphold and surely the editor of
the Primrose Daily Chronicle wouldn’t murder the woman who helped
sell newspapers. Obviously whoever murdered Evelyn knew me too, but
again, that could be scads of people.”

“We could narrow it down by those who knew
and interacted with both of you but the suspects would still be
numerous. The police have their work cut out for them.”

“I still can’t figure out how the killer
entered my townhouse.”

“Plot it out, Dara. How would your villain do
it?”

“The most suspenseful way would be to use a
key.”

“Okay, so who has access to a key to your
home?”

“Only Marnie and she was with me the whole
night.”

“What about maintenance?”

“No, I own my house. Only the HOA has a
spare.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“How accessible is the copy?”

“Not very. According to my housing contract,
the extra keys are locked in a secured vault.”

“You know this for a fact?”

“Yes. I’ve locked myself out several times
and once I had to wait three hours for Mrs. Bridgewater to return
from having her hair done. She’s the only person with access.”

“Wow!” Georgette tapped her nails against her
knee. “You’ve got amazing security. You’re exactly right when you
say this is a difficult crime to plot.”

“I suck at it,” Marnie mumbled.

“It takes practice.” Georgette grinned. “He
didn’t come through a window?”

“Nope. All locked.”

“Any fingerprints?”

“I have no idea. The detectives on the case
won’t share information.”

“Even the one you call
Mace
?”

“Not you too, Georgette,” Dara groaned.

“Sounds like you need to do a little crime
scene investigation on your own.”

Dara widened her eyes. “Yes, we do.”

“We?” Marnie squeaked.

“We.” She stood from the sofa. “Thank you,
Georgette, you’ve been quite helpful.”

“You’re welcome.” Georgette stood and led
Marnie and her to the front door. “Let me know what you find out,”
she said as she opened it.

Dara nudged Marnie out into the dusky
twilight and gave Georgette a grin over her shoulder. “You’ll be
the first person I call.”

After an amazingly quiet, five-minute drive
to her townhouse, Dara pulled into her parking space and glanced at
Marnie.

“You okay over there?”

“I’m fine.” Marnie released a hard sigh. “Are
you sure you want to do this?”

“Of course. Why not?”

Marnie bent her head and glanced out the
front window of the car. “It’s dark.”

“So? I have a key. We’ll go inside and turn
on the light.”

“Inside. Where we found a corpse.”

Dara paused to swallow her own uncertainty.
Something told her poking around a crime scene was a whole lot more
fun when one wrote it.

She put on a brave smile for her friend and
opened the driver’s door. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

Marnie mumbled something she couldn’t quite
understand but then again, she knew she probably didn’t want to
know what was said.

When they finally stood at the front door,
Marnie suddenly had a whole lot to say.

“Dara, it’s really creepy around here now.
Are you sure you want to move back?”

She slid her key into the lock and jiggled it
first to one side and then the other. “Who knows?” She frowned and
turned the key again. “Maybe this whole bizarre situation will
inspire a bestseller.”

Marnie released a heavy sigh. “We were
kidding
! Just open the door so we can get the heck out of
here.”

“I can’t.”

“What? There’s another corpse blocking the
door?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Let me try.” Marnie twisted the key with the
same result. “It’s probably bent from all the tugging. I’ve got
mine.”

Dara watched her best friend jab the second
key into the lock and fight a similar battle.

“If I didn’t know better,” she said while
Marnie still struggled, “I’d say someone changed the lock.”

She froze at Marnie’s quick intake of breath
in the still night and then felt the low, husky voice behind her
before she heard it.

“Someone did.”

Very slowly, she turned in the darkness.
Marnie, however, released an obnoxiously-ear piercing scream and
spun around with the key still in her grasp, pointed at the
stranger’s neck like a weapon.

Only, the stranger wasn’t strange.

“Dammit, Mace!” Dara lunged forward and beat
both fists against his incredibly hard chest. “You scared us half
to death!”

His fingers closed around her wrists as he
stopped her attack. She stood silently stunned for several seconds
trying to digest the reality that she beat a cop rather than a
lunatic murderer. His thumbs drew circles on her skin before he
moved his hands to her elbows and set her back from him, apparently
unphased by her assault. Her heart beat ninety to nothing, from
fear or arousal she couldn’t tell. Warmth from his strong yet
gentle touch seeped under her skin to tease her nerve endings and
send her blood racing.

“Okay?”

She nodded, somewhat hypnotized by his deep,
calming tone.

He moved his gaze to Marnie, the dim porch
light showcasing the very sexy five-o’clock shadow across his jaw.
“Marnie?”

“Yes,” the other woman squeaked.

When he narrowed that sexy gaze back on her,
Dara suddenly wasn’t so sure she escaped danger after all.

“Explain,” he said.

“I forgot something?”

“You tell me.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Toothpaste?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Detective, I wouldn’t
come back for toothpaste.”

“What did you forget?”

Marnie nudged her with an elbow. “Your
manuscript, Dara, remember?”

Dara swallowed hard. “Yes, I left my
manuscript behind.”

A grin moved his lips and he folded his arms
over his chest. “The same manuscript I’m willing to bet is saved to
the hard drive on your computer?”

“Good grief!” Dara dismissed him with a wave
of one hand. “It doesn’t matter now. I can’t get inside
anyway.”

“You’re absolutely right.” He reached behind
his back and then produced a pair of shiny silver handcuffs.
“Except now you’ve got more to worry about than your
manuscript.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I do,” Marnie groaned. “He’s going to arrest
us.”

“No, he’s not.”

He spun the cuffs on his index finger. “Yes,
I am. You attempted to illegally breach a crime scene.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve only got one
set of restraints.”

“Marnie won’t fight.” He shrugged. “Besides,
Detective Stewart is waiting in the car.”

“You’d really handcuff me?”

“Depends. How badly do you want me to?”

She stood deathly still, careful not to
budge.
You have absolutely no idea
.

Another cocky chuckle filled the silence as
he grasped her elbow and gestured to the sidewalk. “Maybe next
time. Give me your cell phone.”

“Why?”

“You’re not allowed to have it in the squad
car.”

She tilted her head to one side. “I need my
cell phone to call Alex.”

“You’ll have one call from the jail.”

She glanced at the black and white car parked
at the curb, red and blue lights flashing
hello
to her
neighbors. Jackson waved from the passenger side.

“Are you
kidding
me?” Surely this was
a hallucination. “Where’s your ugly green sedan?”