“Out here?”
“My neighbors keep to themselves.”
“Katrina Stone.”
“Who?”
“You look guilty when you play dumb. We know you know her. You were following her on behalf of her husband.”
“I was?”
“You were and if you were following her last night, you’d know someone strangled her and left her on the beach.”
“Are you saying I strangled this woman?”
“I’m saying you were involved.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“Not right this minute.”
“Then I’m going to shut the door.”
“You’re playing this wrong. The way it stands it looks like Stone paid you to kill his wife after you found out she was cheating on him—or more likely, you subcontracted the job to Mal Raines. If you tell me differently right now maybe I’ll believe Raines and Stone arranged this without you.”
Margot shut the door.
She made a few calls and didn’t reach anybody. She did leave a message with a lawyer she did some business with. She hoped he got the message since Detective Ames knocked on the door again an hour later. This time he was standing there with a pair of handcuffs hanging from his index finger.
“Margot Harris, you’re under arrest for conspiracy to murder Katrina Stone. You have…”
“I know my rights. Are you going to put on the bracelets or can we act like adults?”
“You have a history of violence, Marge. I think we’re going to need the cuffs.”
“Call me Marge again and I break your nose.”
“This is what I’m talking about.”
Chapter 2
Yesterday[SC1]…
“Do you always meet your clients in a bar?” Dean Stone said as he pulled up a stool and took a seat opposite Margot. Since it was mid-afternoon they were the only customers at Lefty’s Beach Bar and Grill
“I like to think of it as a restaurant that serves drinks,” Margot said to the tanned slab of muscle and tattoos sitting across from her.
She knew Dean Stone looked more like a dive bar bouncer or an ex-con than a successful businessman, but his looks were deceiving. She also knew his commercial fishing business wasn’t where he made most of his money. Stone specialized in moving contraband over the border. He was good enough at it to still be a free man at an age when most in his business are either behind bars or dead. Other than a few nights in the drunk tank when he was younger, Dean Stone had never spent the night jail.
“Are we drinking?” Stone asked looking at the glass of water in front of Margot.
“I’m not. I’m working. Lefty would like it if you did.”
“You can’t afford an office?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re not making a strong case for me to hire you.”