“Yeah,” Brittany echoes. “What happened to her?”
The room begins to buzz again. Everyone starts peppering Rusty with questions.
He puts a hand up to stop them. “I can’t discuss anything with y’all. That’s confidential police information.” He glances around the room. “I’m looking for Lucille McGuffin. Is she here?”
Lucille McGuffin? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Rusty call me by my full name before.
“I’m right here, Rusty.”
He spots me and nods. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.”
“What for?” My heart starts to pound. “Wait. Is everything okay? Are my parents all right?”
“Your parents—oh, yeah, Lucy, everyone’s okay. No worries. But I still need you to come with me.” He puffs out his chest. “Like I said, this is official business. You’re wanted down at the police station for questioning in the death of Tara Bell. If you want a lawyer, then I suggest you call one now.”
Chapter Ten
I’ve been sitting in the interrogation room for a full ten minutes before Travis walks in, which is about nine and half minutes too long for me to be in any kind of forgiving mood. He’s holding a file in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. “Want some?” he asks.
“It’s about time you showed up. Do you know how embarrassing it was to be dragged out of a meeting and brought down to the police station? By now half the town probably thinks I killed Tara!”
“I’ll take that as a no on the coffee.” He takes a seat across from me. “I’m sorry I had to get you down here, but like Zeke said, we have to run this strictly by the book. Just because you and I are in a relationship—”
“In a fake relationship, you mean.”
“By the way, your mother called. She wants to make sure I don’t miss dinner next Sunday.”
“She did not.” Although it sounds exactly like something Mom would do.
He shrugs playfully. “Okay, so she didn’t call. She came over with brownies.”
“Here? To the police station?”
He nods. “The whole department was really grateful.”
I moan. “See what you’ve started?”
“The brownies were awesome. Now I know where you get your baking skills.”
“You do know that you accepted those brownies under false pretenses.” He grins like he’s finding the whole thing funny. “Never mind. What did you have me dragged down here for?”
He goes into cop mode. “Before we start, I have to ask: Do want a lawyer?”
“Do I need one?”
“The cop in me says yes, always have a lawyer present when you’re being officially questioned.”
“What about the non-cop?”
His eyes go dark. “No, you don’t need a lawyer, because I don’t believe you did anything wrong. But that’s strictly off the record.”
“Fine, then I
don’t want a lawyer.”
He opens the file and lays it down on the table between us. “The initial autopsy report shows that Tara died of a seizure most likely related to systemic poisoning, but it’ll take about a month to get the official toxicology report.”
“Is it … do you think it’s cyanide?”