“No, the images are all stored on a small card about this big.” I pinch a few centimeters of air between thumb and index finger.
“Hmm. Seems to me a Polaroid would be more useful. At least you’d have physical evidence.”
“Agreed.” I laugh. “But the good news is they can make a copy. Then, I can pay my rent.”
Gray brows furrow and the lines around her mouth deepen. “That horrible Gabrielli boy. I told Caitlin not to marry him. I knew he was a cheater.”
“You know I can’t comment on my cases.” Chuckling, I sneak cheesy, gooey goodness from the guest plate.
As I pass by again, the dear old lady shouts over the hairdryer, “Pish, everyone knows he’s double dipping his dick.”
Rose bites her lower lip and her eyes water trying to hold back the laughter back but it’s no use. The whole salon heard and cackles contagiously.
All morning, I repeat my story, adding embellishments here and there. My business cards are depleted by lunchtime.
My two cousins stay busy, too, and even though the temperature is close to ninety, every Italian goes out with a dry head. Otherwise, she could die.
It’s true. Ask my Nonna.
“Bye Mia, bye Rose, bye Aunt Marion.” I hang up my apron, yawn, and wilt the second I walk out the door.
My hair, even pulled back in a ponytail, is in full frizz by the time I arrive at my loft-slash-business. At first, I don’t think anything of the police cruiser parked out front. They probably have more questions about last night.
“Ugh.” A fiery furnace of hotness blasts my face as I trudge up the stairs.
Cringing at the broken door frame on the top landing, I open my door and bless the man who invented air conditioning.
“What’s going on?” I squeeze past the cop from last night, hoping to enter my apartment but the rookie shoves a search warrant in my face.
“Stay back, miss.”
“Suds?”This can’t be happening.My heart sinks as I read through the legalese and grab my partner’s hand.
“Don’t say anything. Andy’s on the way.” Sebastian kisses my sweaty forehead.
Our lawyer is flying in from North Carolina?This cannot be good.
“It’s here.” A man grunts inside our bathroom, confirming my suspicions.
I can’t imagine what he thinks he found but it must be good because the rookie slaps cuffs on me. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Adam Biermann.”
My mouth drops open as he reads me my rights.
Oh my God. They think I did it?
