Outwitting Trolls Read Online Free Page A

breath. “It was a…a date. A rendezvous. I was meeting my ex-husband in his hotel room. I was excited and nervous. Keyed up, like a high school kid with a hot date. It was silly—but exciting. Did he mention it to you last night? That we were, ah, getting together?”
    I shook my head. “No. He said nothing about it. He was discreet.”
    She nodded. “I’m glad.” She hesitated. “Did he mention me at all?”
    â€œNot really. We talked about golf mostly. Nothing very personal. Guy talk.”
    I glanced at my watch. It was a little after ten thirty. Sharon had been here with Ken—Ken’s dead body—for about an hour and a half.
    â€œHe doesn’t look like he just came from a banquet,” I said. “Silk robe, no jacket or tie. No shirt, even.”
    She shrugged. “I suppose he changed. He said he was going to order a bottle of champagne from room service. It was a celebration. Maybe that’s how you dress for a celebration.” She cocked her head and looked at me, as if she expected me to challenge her.
    â€œA celebration,” I said.
    She nodded.
    â€œOf what?”
    â€œFinding each other again after all these years, I guess.” She shrugged. “It was Ken’s word. When we decided to get together, he said it would be a celebration. I liked that, you know?”
    I looked at Sharon. I wondered if she’d killed Ken. Means, motive, and opportunity. She had them all. Well, I didn’t know about her motive yet, but she no doubt had one. All spouses—and especially ex-spouses—have motives for murder. That’s why they make ideal suspects.
    At this point, at least, Sharon was the only suspect, although I remembered the bearded guy who’d pointed his finger at Ken in the lobby last night. Also, he’d had several calls on his cell phone that he didn’t answer while I was there, but that had caused him to frown and glance around the room.
    Still, Horowitz would focus on Sharon. She was the obvious suspect. As Horowitz liked to say, The commonest things most commonly happen. Spouses kill spouses on a regular and predictable basis, and there’s no need for an investigator to complicate it. Occam’s razor.
    Sharon was looking at me with her eyebrows arched, and I had the feeling she knew what I was thinking. “So what happens next?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s not unlike what you see on TV,” I said. “Lots of people. Confusion. State cops and local cops and forensics techs and maybe a county sheriff and a DA or two. They’ll want to ask you a lot of questions. I’ll be with you. I’ll decide whether you should answer their questions or not, and if so, which ones. You’ll do what I say. Okay?”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t I answer their questions?”
    â€œYou know the answer to that,” I said. “It’s why you called me in the first place.”
    â€œBecause it looks like I might have done it.”
    I shrugged. “They’ll want to know why you came here tonight, how you happened to be the one who found Ken’s body, and why you called your lawyer instead of the police.”
    â€œDo you mean you want to know?” she asked.
    â€œI need to know everything,” I said.
    â€œOf course you do.” She looked at me and smiled. “Ken and I might’ve been getting back together after all these years. He sent me a birthday card in the fall. It came out of nowhere. I mean, we hadn’t talked, hadn’t communicated, for, I don’t know, years and years. Then I get this warm and friendly card, and on it he wrote something about how nice it would be to see me again. I didn’t think too much about it. You know, it’s like when you say, ‘How are you?’ You’re not really asking after anybody’s health. You don’t really expect an answer. You don’t necessarily even care. It’s just something you