Dying for a Date Read Online Free Page B

over.” There was no point in worrying my daughter about my situation.
    "Oh, okay.” She smiled suddenly. “Too bad. One of them is a real hunk."
    Hunk? Despite her scholarly pursuits, Jenna wasn't totally oblivious to the opposite sex. It was probably one of the baby-faced deputies I noticed in front of Garrett's house today. I told her to tell the men I'd be down in a couple of minutes.
    I changed from my sweats to a denim skirt and white blouse. I swiped gloss over my gnawed lower lip and slapped on extra blush. Murder suspects probably look pale and wan. Hopefully my rosy cheeks would proclaim my innocence.
    My mind and heart raced as I trod down the stairs. Was it normal for the sheriff's department to appear on your doorstep without any warning? Did they consider me a suspect or was this a routine questioning? And despite the fact I heard the phrase repeatedly on TV, what the heck was a routine questioning?
    Lost in thought I tripped down the two stairs leading into our sunken living room, landing with my legs spread out in a position I hadn't been in since my divorce. The muscular arm that lifted me up made me feel as light as a marshmallow. A familiar pair of Godiva brown eyes gazed back into mine.
    "You?” It was the annoying guy from the soccer match today; the dad with the super-sized daughter.
    His eyes registered recognition and he responded with a tight-lipped smile. “Oh yeah. The shoeless soccer mom. Small world isn't it?"
    He held out his right hand. “Detective Hunter."
    "Hello, Detective Hunk, I mean Detective Hunter.” I floundered as his large capable hand engulfed my much smaller one.
    His face remained expressionless so he must have missed my faux pas. Evidently my daughter did not. Muffled laughter emanated from the stairs, followed by a growl originating from one of the mauve velour wing chairs in the corner of the living room. I turned and caught a fleeting glimpse of Jenna's shoes disappearing up the steps. I glanced at the wing chair. Who or what was growling?
    The creature in the corner unfurled his gangly legs and introduced himself as Detective Bradford. Tall and bald, with a bulbous nose and bags under his eyes the size of dinner plates. The steel gray eyes that gazed at me were as sharp as my steak knives.
    "Please sit down, Ms. McKay,” he said in a gravelly voice, as he lowered his oversized frame back into the chair. I tried not to wince as it creaked in response.
    I walked over to my outdated blue flowered sofa and perched on one corner. Detective Hunter looked at the remaining delicate wing chair and wisely decided to join me on the more comfortable couch. He settled into the cushions, uncapped a pen and pulled a small navy note pad from his sport coat pocket. “We have some questions about a friend of yours."
    "Of course, oh, before we start, would you like some coffee, brownies, fudge?"
    "Not now, perhaps later,” Hunter said.
    As I settled against the sofa cushions, my skirt slid up my thighs. Hunter's gaze briefly drifted to my bare legs then quickly returned to his notes.
    "We understand you dined with Garrett Lindstrom yesterday evening. Evidently you and he are members of a matchmaking agency called the, uh, Love Club.” A smile briefly flickered across his normally impassive face but he quickly stifled it behind his hand.
    I glared at the younger detective. “Garrett was my first encounter with someone from the Love Club. Our date didn't go that well."
    "Would you care to elaborate?” Hunter sat poised with his notebook and pen, probably waiting for some sizzling comments.
    I could talk all night about that evening, but that wasn't the point. Wasn't he going to inform me Garrett was murdered? Was Sunny not supposed to tell me? Was he trying to trip me up with trick questions?
    "Are you are aware Lindstrom was found dead in his car Saturday morning?” he asked.
    "Yes, I am.” I slumped against the cushions. “One of the Love Club staff told me when I stopped in