Chapter Five
Sunday, 7:52 a.m.
“Everything OK?” Detective Sharp asked as I walked into the kitchen a few minutes later. He gave me a look of concern that made me wonder if he thought I had run off to throw up or something.
“Yup,” I said with a weak smile. “All good.” (I had made sure to flush the toilet and run the sink to help cover my groans as I had tried to ease the fierce itching that came from the angry, raised bumps on my legs.)
My hat and mitts were currently stuffed into the pockets of my parka, which I had unzipped in my frenzy to reach my hives, but I had made sure my snow pants weren’t askew before coming out of the powder room. The detective was crouched near Barry’s body—as close as he could get without actually touching anything. The smell of beer and blood assaulted my
