Page 18 of Bloody Quarter

“I’m sorry, Miss Harper, but we’re really not supposed to say,” the officer on the left said, his tone much softer. But that didn’t stop the second officer from walking over and telling me to put my arms behind my back. My pulse was pounding so hard that I could hardly hear anything other than the panicked thump in my head.

“Steven Douglas Reed, don’t you dare. I used to change your diapers. You don’t get to come into my establishment and take one of my employees without telling me why. Especially since Alora has been under my care for the last three years, now you tell me right now what is going on, or I swear my next call will be to your mama.”

Officer Reed looked sheepish as his cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat. “All I can say is that it has to do with an ongoing homicide investigation.”

For the second time, my mouth fell open. “Homicide? I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer said, but the rest of what he said became background noise as I tried to make sense of this. I hadn’t even seen a dead body. The closest I got was the cemetery. My mind was swirling, but worse, it was trying to spiral, and the stress was causing my deeper-rooted demons to surface. I licked my lips as a sheen of sweat broke out on my body.

“Miss Harper, please believe me. I didn’t hurt anyone,” I said as they led me out of the diner to the back of a cruiser. I glanced at Mr. Laurent as he stood quietly, his face unreadable and his arms crossed over his chest. What the hell was happening, and why did I have this feeling that he had something to do with it?

As the car door shut, I finally let the tears fall. I couldn’t go back to prison. I just couldn’t.

Alora

The last time I was in a police station, I ended up thrown in prison, and this wasn’t looking much better as they led me to a small interrogation room. Was I in a movie? This just couldn’t be real.

The cuffs were removed, and I rubbed at my wrists, still able to feel the cool metal against my skin. The officer pointed to the seat as the door was closed, and I slowly sat down, all too aware of the blinking light in the corner.

“Am I being charged with something,” I asked.

“Not at this time. The detective will be in shortly to speak with you.”

“If I’m not being charged, then why did you put me in cuffs? Do I even have to stay here, or can I walk out right now?”

The cop, who I now knew as Officer Reed, shook his head. “You were considered possibly dangerous. It’s just protocol. As for leaving, I wouldn’t advise it, as we will just get a warrant to arrest you, and then this conversation becomes a lot less friendly.”

“This is your friendly?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I want a lawyer.”

“We can call a public defender if you’d like?”

The door opened, and a man in a suit walked in. “That won’t be necessary. This is a very informal conversation. If you don’t like a question at any time, you are free to leave,” the new arrival said. He held out his hand. “Sorry for the cuffs. My name is Dominic or Detective Williams, whichever you prefer.”

I looked at his hand and then up into his steady gaze. He reminded me of every good cop character I’d ever seen. He was a good-looking man in that fatherly kind of way. Not that I knew much about that when my father took off when I was nine. Just went to work and never came home. I pegged Dominic to be in his forties, with striking black hair and a suit that brought out the hazel in his eyes. No matter what vibe he was giving off, I wasn’t shaking his hand. He nodded, taking the hint, and sat down.

“Will you please tell me why I am here?”

“Did you go to Janette Dubois’s home last Monday?”

I tilted my head as I looked at him. “That’s what this is about? My mother had you arrest me because I dared knock on her door?”

“So, you don’t deny being there?”

“No, I don’t deny it. I hadn’t seen my mother since I went to prison, and I thought maybe if she saw me, we could…I don’t…she’s my mother. I just thought we might be able to reconnect and talk…but she didn’t want to. She made that clear.”

Dominic scribbled down what I was saying. “And what happened?”

I shrugged. “About what you’d expect. She yelled at me, told me to go to hell, and said she never wanted to see me again. She slapped me and slammed the door in my face.”

“How did that make you feel?”

I snorted. “How do you think it made me feel? I was hurt and devastated. I’ve been sober for just over six months, and I almost broke my sobriety. I would say I was upset.”

“Were you angry?”

“No, I wanted to cry. I wanted to slip into a hole and never crawl out. I went to a late AA meeting and then went home.”

“And where do you live? I couldn’t find an address on record,” he said, looking up at me from his notepad.