CHAPTER ELEVEN
Something was buzzing in the room.
Harley shifted groggily, thinking some kind of large insect must have gotten trapped in the room—a cicada, maybe, or one of those stink bugs that sounded so much like a WWII bomber.
As she eased open her sleep-crusted eyes, however, she saw her phone glowing on her discarded pair of pants. She picked it up and swiped to the right to receive the call, clearing her throat as she did so.
The voice of Sheriff Santiago crackled in her ear.
“Morning, Harley. Sorry to call so early, but we have a situation on our hands.”
Harley scooted back and slipped her feet to the floor, forcing her mind to focus on the case. “Did you find another body?”
“No, thank God, it’s not that,” he answered, and Harley heard a papery rattle, like blinds being ben
