“Police!” The Harrogate PD blasts into the living room of the tiny carriage house, guns drawn. “Hands up!”
“Are you serious? You’re arresting me again?” I shriek.
“Oh, uh, I don’t think so?” Winston lowers his gun, confused.
The police chief sighs. “Hughes, you’re under arrest for the murder of Taylor Grace Glass.”
26
HUGHES
Ipace around the cell, rubbing my wrists where the handcuffs were, while out in the police precinct, Nana, Willow, and Beryl argue with the police chief.
“It was his gun that killed Taylor Grace.”
“How can they know? How can they possibly know?” Willow cries. “The coroner has people dressed up as Wednesday Addams sleeping in the morgue.”
“He pulled the bullet out and compared it to Hughes’s gun.” The chief is firm.
“That’s nonsense!” Nana rails. “Hughes, you have your gun on you at all times.”
“I didn’t have it when I wasn’t wearing my trench coat,” I admit, “since that sort of covers it.”
“You see,” Nana says firmly, “someone stole his gun and is trying to frame him.”
“The real murderer is who stole it,” Willow says hotly.
“We also have video of him dumping Taylor Grace’s cell phone in the Christmas market.” The chief sighs, rubs his forehead, and winces when he touches his sunburn.
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.” Nana sniffs.
I curse inwardly. I wish I’d spent a little less time having sex and more time reviewing the files I’d copied.
“Check Taylor Grace’s phone messages,” I tell them.
“We can’t break into her phone,” the chief admits. “We’re trying to get a warrant so we can have a computer firm do it.”
For a second, I debate sharing that I have the data then decide against it.
“So, it sounds like all you have is circumstantial evidence,” Beryl hollers.
“No, I have evidence evidence.” The chief is about to lose it.
“What if we offer you a blow job in exchange for his release?” Nana starts unbuttoning her top.
“Absolutely not.” The chief sounds disgusted. “You used to babysit me, Ms. Mary Lou.”
“How about Willow?” Berly shoves her forward. “They had sex, and she might be pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant?” several people in the lobby scream and rush toward Willow.
“I, uh, don’t think so?”
“But they’re working on it,” Nana tells him. “I need to be a great-grandmother. You have to let him out of jail. I don’t want my great-grandbaby to be made from sperm produced in a jail cell—”
“Not to mention—” the chief says over them.
“I’m not giving you any more of my special chocolate muffins!” Beryl yells at him.
