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Zombies Prefer Carrot Juice
“That, Ms. Andrews, is my phone.” Cornelius Lemann, the man with the silvery death glare, gave me a look filled with amusement. The feeling of dread that had just about swallowed me up evaporated with a poof. After a very brief hesitation—one in which I was sure he savored my embarrassment—he reached into his desk and silenced his phone.
“Sure. I knew that.”
“Hm. As to how much trouble you’re in, Ms. Andrews, not so much as you might be if Star hadn’t made a convincing case for leniency. Mr. Snodgrass appears to be intimately intertwined with both the murder at the retirement community and Bradley’s case. I’ve determined that your assistance with both cases will be required.” He pinned me with those steely blue-gray eyes of his. “Free of charge. That will
