Wild Goose Chase Read Online Free PDF Page B

shock. Perhaps that’s what was going on with her. I pulled the towels off the rack and covered Myra’s hunched shoulders. She looked ridiculous, like she was at the beauty parlor about to get her color done, but I felt like I had contributed something. I hoped help would be here soon.
    Claire—what had happened to her since I last saw her? She’d left me a few hours ago. Then what? She came back here to do some work and cut herself with her rotary cutter while Myra was out getting her lunch. She must have hit an artery. By herself, she had no way to staunch the blood.
    Dying alone was the worst thing I could imagine.
    Finally, I heard loud voices in the hall, and firemen in black and yellow suits swarmed into the room. Two paramedics broke off from the others and came into the bathroom.
    I assured them I was okay, and, after they turned their attention to Myra, I moved into the hall. The air felt cool against my superheated skin. My stomach was still roiling and sore from the heaving I’d done earlier. I leaned against the wall across from Claire’s room. I slid down and sat on the floor, the industrial carpet scratchy and rough. A draft from an air-conditioning vent overhead sent cold air down my neck, but I was unable to move away. I closed my eyes, but I could see only Claire.
    “Miss?”
    I opened my eyes to see a man hunched down in front of me, his graceful hands resting on his knees. His head hung low as he peered into my face. His pants broke on his shiny, tasseled loafers at the perfect length. He was a small man, and I thought about the expense he must incur to have his pants hemmed.
    I pushed my back against the wall to get some leverage to stand up, but he stopped me, laying his hand on my shoulder. I sat back down, grateful I didn’t have to move.
    “Stay put,” he said.
    I nodded.
    “You the one who found her? How did you get in?” he said.
    “Myra had a key.”
    “Myra?”
    I indicated the room inside.
    “That her in the bathroom? Who’s the woman in the other room?”
    “Claire Armstrong. She’s pretty famous. Just Claire.”
    I felt myself babbling, trying to spill out everything I knew.
    “Come with me.” He pulled me to my feet. My legs didn’t hold up, and he frowned as I collapsed. He let go of me, and I hit the floor hard.
    “Who are you?” I said, angrily.
    “Sergeant Roy Sanchez, San Jose Police Department. Homicide.” He flipped his badge open for me to see. “I need you to follow me into the conference room down the hall.” He offered his hand a second time but I waved him off. I didn’t want to risk getting dumped again.
    My cell banged against my hip bone as I stood. I heard Myra crying, her bleating voice echoing off the tiles. I was glad to move into the quiet of the conference room.
    It smelled like bagels and coffee, although the sideboard along the wall to my left was empty. A small refrigerator was tucked underneath. Straight ahead, in front of the windows, was a large mahogany conference table with a dozen chairs around it. I sank into the nearest seat.
    “We’re going to need your clothes,” he said.
    “Excuse me?”
    “All evidence must be preserved.”
    “Evidence?” What was he talking about? “Why are you treating me like a criminal? I found a woman dead.”
    “Yes, and until we find out what happened …”
    “She cut herself.”
    “Were you a witness to that?” he asked, making notes on his pad.
    “No, that’s not what I meant. Look, I’ve never found a dead body before. I don’t know the procedure.”
    “Exactly. So please listen to me.” His tone hardened. “Do you have a change of clothes?”
    “I have a gym bag in my car,” I allowed. I always carry workout clothes, in the never-ending battle to find enough time to exercise. I tried to remember what was in the bag. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day in a holey tank top and bike shorts.
    “Give me your car keys. I’ll send someone to get your things and you can clean