Band Room Bash Read Online Free Page A

have good. . .sources. You hear things. Now, why don’t you sit down?” He pulled a chair out from under a table.
    I opened my mouth to ask what he was talking about, but he avoided my gaze again.
    “I’m going to get you a bottle of water,” he said. “We can’t have you fainting or something.”
    That was sweet of him. He probably recalled the time months ago when I nearly fell at his feet after being threatened by Jim Bob’s murderer. But I also thought it was a handy opportunity for him to prevent me from asking questions. What wasn’t he telling me?
    “I need to call Max.”
    “You do that. I’ll be right back.”
    I pulled out my cell phone and reluctantly speed-dialed Max’s cell. He was overly protective on a good day, but with me being pregnant. . .
    I braced myself for a lecture, but Max didn’t pick up. Perversely, I felt annoyed with him, and I left a message that probably let him know how I felt.
    After I snapped my phone closed, Corporal Fletcher’s words ran through my mind. He’d implied that I might know something by way of gossip. Too antsy to sit, I began pacing the library. What did he mean? Had I missed something important?
    I was sorely tempted to make notes. During the investigation into Jim Bob’s murder, I’d discovered I liked making mystery lists and solving crimes. Afterward, I bought a stack of steno pads, just in case— they were small enough to tuck into my purse but large enough to keep decent notes.
    The mental debate began. Should I or shouldn’t I? Georgia’s death intrigued me as much as it chilled me, and somehow, being that interested didn’t seem quite proper.
    By the time Corporal Fletcher returned and gave me a bottle of water and package of crackers, intrigue had won over propriety. I was jotting down my thoughts on an old grocery receipt I found in my purse. I told myself that my motives were noble. I knew Detective Scott would want to know in detail what I had observed, so this would serve to jog my memory.
    I thanked the corporal for the crackers and ripped them open. I hate packaged crackers, but I ate them because Corporal Fletcher had been nice enough to buy them. Besides, they would stave off my hunger pains. He disappeared again, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
    As I swallowed the last dry crumbs, Detective Scott burst into the room, followed closely by the corporal. “I’m going to interview Tommy,” the detective said when I looked up. “I need your permission since he’s a minor.”
    “That’s fine.”
    “Fletcher, send someone to find my daughter. Then get Tommy. The medical examiner said that. . .” His voice trailed off as he glanced at me, then he motioned toward the hallway with his head. Corporal Fletcher followed him out the door. Well, that was a pointed and not very nice way to let me know I wasn’t in the loop.
    When he walked back into the library, I glanced up. “We didn’t move the body on purpose.”
    “I know that,” he said.
    “So I’m not in trouble?”
    “Not as far as I can tell right now.” He yanked a chair from under a table and dragged it in front of me.
    Since trouble and Trish are synonymous, that wouldn’t last. I stared back down at my list.
    “What are you writing?” he asked me irritably.
    “Notes.” I chewed on the pen.
    “I knew it.” Detective Scott sat down hard on the chair with an exaggerated sigh. “Trish.”
    I looked up at him. “Yes?”
    “Why are you making notes?” His expression hadn’t changed from earlier in the band room.
    “Well, it helps me remember everything, and then I can help you better.” Unfortunately, he knew about my mystery lists. Me and my big mouth. I’d told him during the investigation into Jim Bob’s murder.
    “Listen to me,” he said. “I just need your statement. I don’t need your help.”
    “There’s a difference?” I asked.
    “You know exactly what I mean, you’re just being obtuse.” His right eye twitched. “I don’t want to have to