Page 12 of Hitched

“I figured all the years we’ve been friends that something would have rubbed off on you.”

She sighs. I sigh. We giggle a bit. “You’ve got to find out what’s going on with this murder investigation, Laney. God, I hate to admit it, but without Kurt and all his drama, I kind of miss it all.”

“What do you want me to do? Go down to the police station and ask him?”

She pauses.

“You’re not fucking serious. Why would I do that? Caleb will think I’m insane. And it is…insane. Especially after I just ate him for breakfast not twelve hours ago. God, my head still hurts from last night.”

“Tell me you’re not dying to go over there. At least to rub it in.” She snaps her fingers together. “Hey, that could be your alibi. Your reason for being there. To torture him.”

“Do you honestly think that they’ll even let me in to see him? What for?”

“Laney, he’s only being held for questioning. He’s not under arrest. You read that for yourself. You could go down there and play your ‘friend’ card to get in. Say you’re there for moral support.”

Another sigh, this time an indignant one. “Brandy, do you honestly think that I have that kind of time? I have a meeting with my da at ten o’clock, and it’s already eight-thirty.”

“Which leaves you plenty of time.” She points out.

“You’re not serious. Come on. This is borderline obsessive. It’s also going to give Caleb the wrong impression.”

“Not if you come off like a total bitch. I know you can handle that. You did a fantastic job last night.”

She knows how to soften me up. Push my buttons. I hate that. “Fine. I’ll send one of my suits down to grill him.”

“Why a suit? They won’t get in for sure, Laney. Plus, do you think Caleb will see them? I doubt it. That boy is going to have his back up for everything and everybody. Hell, his suits will be working overtime, watching every being that enters or leaves during his stay.”

“Brandy, seriously. He’s just there for questioning. With my luck he’ll be gone by the time I get there. I mean, how long does it take to question a guy on murder charges?”

“One of the articles I read said that they’re holding both Caleb and Chas because of some sort of evidence.” She pauses, and hisses. “Hey, find out what that is, too!”

“God, I’m done talking now, Brandy. I’ll go down there and talk to him, but I’m not a fucking suspect, and the way that you want me sniffing around, I might as well be.” As I’m about to hang up on her, she says quickly, getting the comment in there fast. “Fuck him in the interrogation room.”

I roll my eyes as I disconnect. Down the hatch the rest of my hangover remedy goes, as I walk to the shower, step in, and proceed to drink more water than I wash with. I manage a healthy pee with a good stream before leaving, thinking that if I’m dehydrated, I may faint, rather than pull off the attitude that I want to pull off. As the voice inside my head continually screams for me not to do this, I mentally slap myself for listening to Brandy. But it’s tough not to, since if this turns out to be a stupid move, thanks to my best friend, it would be a first. Da’s inside my head, shaking his head, trying to figure out how I can be so dumb by all but caving to what can only be described as a dare. Nonetheless, I dress in my power suit, complete with a blouse underneath a double-breasted jacket, that reveals only a respectable amount of cleavage.

And I’m off. Not sure if I’m still half-drunk from last night or if I’m just drunk on the power vested in me sheerly by what I do for a living. The inherent confidence usually serves me well, but sometimes it’s questionable. Once I arrive at the police station, I go straight to reception and ask to see Caleb Harris, and surprisingly, the woman lets me go see him. I’m thinking that with the power suit and the business card, which she clearly didn’t pay much mind to, that she thinks I’m either a lawyer or a psychologist. Either that or Caleb paid her off so that he can see any visitor. Anything is possible.

He’s sitting in a room alone, drinking a coffee, stupidly, and I have to scoff as I enter, as he sits in the same clothes he was wearing the last time I saw him at the bar. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a lawyer.”

His face says that he’s not in the mood. “Why? You want to represent me? Or perhaps recommend one that’ll defend me so well I get put behind bars?” He pauses, scraping a hand down his face. “What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”

“I heard you were here.”

“So? Why the fuck do you care? You’ve made it clear that you’d spit on the ground I walk on.”

“Maybe so, but I have a curious friend who wants me to get the dirt on you.”

“And you figured I’d cave and tell you? Why would I do that?”

I ignore him. “So, did you kill her?”

He gives me a look I can’t decipher. “Laney, I can walk out of here of my free will, and I’ve been patient for the last eight hours. Don’t make me walk out of here on account of your stinking presence.”

“That’s bullshit. If you could walk out of here, why wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not under arrest, counsellor. I’m staying here in good faith, while they run fingerprints on the murder weapon.”

“Don’t you have an alibi? When was this slut killed, exactly?”

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