For Love of Money Read Online Free Page B

going to the police station without a lawyer,” Alex said.
    “You can leave.”
    Wow. She really hadn’t thought the day could get any worse. “Guys. Break.” She jammed her fingers into a time-out “T.”
    “Maybe I should call Phil Brewer.” Alex folded his arms across his chest in the universal male posturing position.
    She rejected his choice with, “Phil does corporate work.”
    Alex glared at the detective. “He’d still know how to make this guy quit harassing you.”
    JC didn’t say a word, but behind his stiff face he seemed to be enjoying stirring the pot.
    “Stop. He isn’t harassing me.” Weirding her out, yes. Harassing, no. She knew what that felt like. Right now, JC might be doing the über-cop routine, but if the tension got any hotter, they could roast marshmallows. And nobody was going to sing “Kumbaya.”
    “Alex.” She touched his arm, finally moving his attention off the detective. “I’m tired. I’d rather get this over with. Go on to the restaurant. I’ll be okay.”
    For one long moment, she was afraid he was going to push the issue.
    With a sharp snort of irritation, he turned, strode across the room, and grabbed his jacket. Thrusting his arms into the sleeves, he headed for the door. He made a move like he intended to kiss her.
    She froze. The oh-God-not-in-front-of-my-mother cringe warred with the in-your-face-JC snub.
    And from the half-smile on JC’s face, he’d caught her hesitation, even if Alex didn’t seem to notice.
    “I’ll call you in a little while.” To make sure JC’s gone , bristled from his scowl. Alex brushed his lips across hers and vanished through the front door.
    Alrighty.
    JC Dimitrak.
    She drew in a deep breath. “What do you want to know?”
    The detective crossed the foyer. His hard soles rapped against the bare subfloor. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”
    Silently counting to ten, she decided to interpret the comment as a compliment, although he clearly hadn’t intended it that way. “I’m working on it. The guy who used to own the house opened up the interior. I don’t know what they were thinking back in the 70s, but the original house completely ignored the view, which is, of course, its best feature. It had those narrow, clerestory windows that kinda remind me of bunker openings.”
    She stared at the living room’s new, oversized panes and forced her mouth to close. Babbling wasn’t going to keep them from talking about Marcy.
    Talking about Marcy’s dead body would make her murder so much more real.
    “What’d he do? Get in over his head?”
    Holly turned around. “The guy who owned it? Yeah. The bank foreclosed.”
    JC gestured at the buckets and supplies. “Painting?”
    She wasn’t sure what to make of his tone or the question. Was he jumping to conclusions? Assuming she was a cold-hearted bitch for planning to paint today , the day she’d found a friend’s body?
    Well, she already knew where he stood on the bitch-meter, but he could’ve at least asked when she set out the paint instead of figuring she was going to break out the roller today . “The carpet installer’s scheduled for next week. He recommended I paint before he replaces the rug.”
    They both glanced at the hideous shag carpet.
    “Good idea.” A grin tugged at JC’s mouth.
    She bit her lip to keep from smiling—the shag was truly awful—but the tension in the room dropped by ten degrees anyway.
    He looked at her, studying her expression. “Actually, I’m impressed you took on the project.”
    She raised an eyebrow.
    “I thought you said you’d never live in Richland again.”
    “You heard what you wanted to hear.” One of the reasons they’d broken up was he’d wanted a stay-at-home wife, stuck behind a picket fence. She’d had no interest in playing the Stepford Wife role. Any chance they’d had of creating any kind of home crashed and burned when she came home from college after one of their arguments—about her being in