What would I do if I were representing myself? It was time to do what needed to be done. “I have a phone call to make.” Turning away, I walked to the edge of the drive and dialed quickly.
“Anna? What the heck? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Clark asked sleepily.
My voice shook. “I have good news and bad news. The good news is that we have our first client.” Suddenly, I really needed to go to the bathroom. Now.
“What’s the bad news?” Clark asked wearily, the sound of bedclothes rustling as he no doubt got out of bed.
“I’m the client.”
It wasn’tmy first time sitting across from Detective Grant Pierce in a Timber City Police interrogation room, but it was the first time I was the one being questioned. Clark sat next to me, and it felt reassuring to have him there.
We’d waited about two hours until Pierce walked in and slapped a manila case file on the wooden table. He pulled out a chair across from us and sat. “Run me through your day. All day.”
Clark sat straighter. “I want it on the record that my client is here voluntarily to help.”
“It’s on the record,” Pierce said, his gaze remaining on me. “You’re not under arrest, Anna. The sooner we clear you, the better.”
It was reassuring that Pierce didn’t think I’d murdered anybody. The idea that I’d found Sasha on my porch kept chilling me throughout. Why couldn’t I get warm? “Okay. I woke up, went for a run, went home, showered and drank a lot of coffee.” I might’ve had too much wine the night before. Even after Aiden had left, I finished the bottle. It had been a good bottle. I should probably stop drinking for a little bit.
“Were you alone this morning?” Pierce asked.
“Yes and all night,” I said.
He made a notation on some paper. “Did you call anybody, get on a computer, or anything this morning?”
I shook my head. “No. I was unplugging and relaxing. What time did Sasha die?” She’d felt terribly cold, and when they’d moved her, it had been obvious that rigor mortis had set in. It usually set in within 2-4 hours of a death, which was a fact I’d unfortunately learned from real life and not television.
Pierce ignored the question. “Did anybody see you jogging?”
“I don’t know. I ran along the old lake road, and I don’t remember seeing anyone.” Plus, I’d had my earbuds in, and I had been trying to go internal and just relax and enjoy the day.
“Then what?” he asked.
My skin prickled, and I looked beyond him to the two-way mirror. Was somebody watching us? “Who’s in there?”
“Anna? What happened after you drank too much coffee?” Pierce remained calm but firm with his questioning.
“I, ah, sat out on the deck with a notepad making plans for the law firm. Then I made lunch, and afterward, I got dressed for the opening and ran a bunch of errands around town before heading to the firm to get ready for the party.” I tried to remember every minute of the day, but it all blurred together.
“What time did you leave your cottage?” Pierce asked, still making notes.
“I don’t know. Around two this afternoon?” I hadn’t really looked at the clock since I had so much time before our party, which had started at six. I winced. That put me near the murder scene around the time of death. Maybe I should stop talking, but since I didn’t kill Sasha, I wanted Pierce to have all of the information.
He looked up, meeting my gaze. “Tell me about the potato gun.”
“It wasn’t mine,” I hastened to say.
His eyes darkened to the color of mature pine. “Have you seen it before?”
Numbly, I nodded.
“Like I said, tell me about the potato gun,” he repeated evenly.
Clark leaned forward at this point. “She already told you about the potato gun. She does not own the gun.” He stared at Pierce. “What is a potato gun, by the way?”
“Anna knows,” Pierce said. “Right?”
I shrugged. “Most kids growing up in Idaho know about potato guns and how to make one. Was the one you found on my property the murder weapon?”
