ELEVEN
Then I remembered the drug dust on my dresser top. I ran into my bathroom, grabbed a wet washcloth, then wiped down the dresser, rinsed off the cloth and hung it in my bathroom.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I told myself. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
My clothes! If I was going to pretend this had just been a business meeting—which is what I was going to do—I probably shouldn’t be dressed in party clothes.
I quickly stripped off my dress, threw it into the closet, then pulled on jeans and a shirt. I wiped off the little bit of make-up I had on and then looked in the mirror. I was white as a sheet. A white sheet. I pinched my cheeks.
I went back into the living room and glanced around. Everything looked normal. Except for the dead guy.
Heard sirens. Suddenly I flashed righ
