Page 19 of Bloody Quarter

“North Quarter Homeless Shelter.” His pen paused. “Yes, you heard me right. I’m a total screw-up. Now, I’m not answering any more questions until you tell me why I’m here and why I was just removed from my job, which I will be lucky to have now, thanks to your officers. Can I go on the record saying that you all know how to kick someone when they are down, and maybe you would get better results if you tried a different tactic?”

I blinked back the tears as the well of emotion I’d been suppressing rushed to the surface out of nowhere. How could my mother call the cops on me? Yes, I screwed up, and I had to live with that and the loss of my sister forever, but I also did my time and was trying hard to get my life on track.

“Just one more question.”

“No. Answer mine first, or I will get that lawyer. I don’t care who it is at this point. I’ve done nothing wrong, and this department has humiliated me and treated me like a criminal for no reason.”

Dominic leaned back in the chair and tapped his pen on the table. “Okay, fine, you’re right, you’ve been very cooperative. I am investigating the murder of David Fulgor.”

My brow knit together. “I don’t know who that is. Why would you think I had anything to do with not only a murder but of someone I don’t know?”

“So, you’ve never heard that name before?” I shook my head. “He is…was your mother’s boyfriend, but he was brutally murdered Thursday night.”

My hands went to my chest. “And my mother pointed the finger at me? Are you kidding me right now?” He didn’t say anything, nor did his expression change, and yet I knew I was right. “This is unbelievable. I knew she hated me, but this…murder? Wow.” I shook my head as the pain and disbelief mingled in my system like a potent and volatile cocktail of despair. “You know what? This is insane. If anything, you should be looking into the fact that I’ve been stalked, not that I’m a murderer.”

“You’ve been stalked? You were, and it’s stopped, or it’s still ongoing?”

“Still.”

“Okay, tell me about that.”

I licked my lips. “Okay, it started last Monday when I ran into him at the gym. I wasn’t in the gym. I was outside on the sidewalk. He came out, and I physically ran into him.”

“Okay, and what happened.”

“I told him to watch it and walked away, but he followed me and wanted to buy me a coffee.” Dominic stopped writing and looked at me. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but he had a dangerous vibe. I darted into a bakery, rushed out the back of the store, and hid. He followed me out to the alley.”

“And when was the next time you saw him?”

“At a bar. I had left work and was walking down the street when I saw him bartending through a window.” Dominic lifted a brow at me, and heat flushed my body. “He looked at me, and we locked eyes. It was…it’s hard to describe, but I ran away.”

“Did he follow you?”

“Not that I saw, but if he wasn’t working, I bet he would’ve. Then, the other night at my AA meeting, I swore someone was staring at me from out in the hall.”

“Did you see who it was?”

“No, one of the other members opened the door, and no one was there.” I bit my lip. This sounded so weak out loud, but how the hell did you describe a feeling, a knowing, an instinct? “Then earlier, when I finished work at Molisano’s, he was across the road sitting on a bench eating a burger. By the time I arrived at Harper’s Diner for my shift there, he was inside and ordering fries.”

“Alright. Did he say anything about following you or why he was there?”

I swallowed hard. “Miss Harper said he was looking to purchase the diner. I didn’t know she had it up for sale.”

Dominic leaned back in his chair, no longer writing anything down. “So let me make sure I get this right. You ran into him, but he tried to apologize and buy you a coffee. You then saw him at his work while you were looking through a window and then claimed that he was at your AA meeting, but no one saw him there. Then today, he showed up at your place of business but had a meeting arranged with your boss. Do I have that right?”

Wiggling in my seat, I looked around as I tried to figure out how to explain this better. “Yes, I guess that’s it, but I’m telling you this guy has a vibe.”

“A vibe?”

“Yeah, like he feels dangerous.”

“Miss Dubois, you do know what the definition of stalking is, right?”

“I’m telling you someone is following me, and it’s this Mr. Laurent guy,” I said, exasperated. No one believed me eight years ago, and no one would believe me now. Everyone wanted to assume the worst of me, my mother included.

“Mr. Laurent, as in Bourbon Boys Bar?” I nodded. “Greyson Laurent owns the bar you mentioned and is a model citizen in the community.” Great, the detective knew him and thought he was wonderful. This was not good.

I ran my hand through my hair. “Believe what you want, but I’m done, and I’m leaving. Can someone drive me to the shelter since it’s on the other side of town?”