A Sheetcake Named Desire Read Online Free PDF Page B

dead.”
    My stomach lurched, and the hair on my neck grew damp. “But it is a coincidence. I didn’t have anything against Philippe. I just wanted him to sign the agreement so we could make the divorce official.”
    “And did he sign?”
    I shook my head. “The first time I saw him was when I found him in the garden . . . so no.”
    He pulled back and looked me over. “So now you’re technically his widow?”
    “No! I mean, maybe. Technically. But not really. We were separated.”
    “So you said.”
    “We were in the middle of a divorce,” I reminded him.
    “And your husband died before it became final. Now that he’s gone, what do you suppose will happen to his property?”
    I really didn’t like the direction he was going. “I don’t know. I suppose his mother will get everything as his next of kin.” My stomach gave a nervous flip. Was it possible that I would inherit? One glance at Sullivan told me that’s exactly what he was thinking. “Whoa! Wait just a minute! If the business is successful, I think that’s great. I’m happy for Philippe.” I flushed and wagged a hand in front of me as if I could erase what I’d just said. “He was an incredibly gifted cake artist, and he deserved success. He worked hard to be the best.” My voice caught and tears blurred my vision. “I never would have hurt him. Not to get Zydeco. Not for any reason.”
    Detective Sullivan shrugged. “Seems to me you had the most to gain.”
    “But I didn’t know that was even a possibility until you just told me. Maybe the killer wasn’t someone Philippe knew. Maybe the killer saw an opportunity and just took it.”
    “An opportunity to mess up a cake?” Sullivan shook his head. “That’s doubtful.”
    “Maybe the killer was after money.”
    Sullivan shook his head. “Both men had their wallets on them. They weren’t touched.”
    I took a calming breath. In. Out. It didn’t help. “Maybe the guy wanted the van. Or maybe he thought he could steal something valuable from Zydeco.”
    Sullivan leaned forward slightly, caught my gaze, and held it. “The perp didn’t take the van or make any attempt to gain access to the bakery.”
    “That you know of,” I pointed out.
    Sullivan rolled his eyes in exasperation. “We’re looking at homicide, Mrs. Renier. Probably premeditated.”
    “Rita,” I said automatically. Premeditated? That made it worse. A crime of passion was one thing, but premeditated meant that someone had watched and waited. Someone coldhearted and calculating.
    “It wasn’t me,” I said again. “And what if you’re wrong about Philippe’s property? What if he made a will and somebody else gets everything? Maybe somebody else had something to gain from his death. Have you even considered that?”
    Sullivan dipped his head, just once, without taking his eyes from my face. “I have. You’re not the only person of interest in the case.”
    I was a “person of interest”? Frightened tears filled my eyes and a wave of grief and self-pity washed over me. Philippe was dead. I hadn’t even had a chance to absorb that before the police started accusing me of murder. Maybe Philippe and I hadn’t been able to make our marriage work, but I’d still wished him the best. I’d spent two years convincing myself that I no longer felt anything for him, but that wasn’t true. My chest felt as if someone had reached inside and torn out my heart, leaving a huge, painful hollowness in its place. I’d thought losing him to divorce was painful, but this was a thousand times worse. Who could possibly have hated him enough to want him dead?
    Sullivan produced a couple of bottles of water from somewhere and put one on the table in front of me. “Are you all right, ma’am?”
    Now he wanted to play nice? “No, I’m not,” I snapped. “My ex-husband has been brutally murdered and you think I did it. I’m most definitely not all right.”
    Sullivan sat there, watching me, until I’d composed