Chapter 6
Tom lifted his chin, set my face in his gaze, and stepped into the kitchen. When he closed the door behind him, I thought, Uh-oh.
“Goldy, what do you think you were doing?”
“You mean, what was I doing? Trying to help Patricia.”
“Sit down.”
Hell. The buzzer went off, so I put the mashed potatoes into the oven next to the chicken, then tried to arrange a small plate of crackers for us to have while we chatted. But Tom, who was right behind me, said, “Don’t.”
So I didn’t. I sat and studiously avoided his eyes. I knew what he was thinking: that the wife of the county’s lead investigator should not be yelling at a suspect—make that a suspect in custody—that she should duck all the questions law enforcement would throw at her. The department people would say, What side does that
