Berg asked in a quiet voice, “Would you like me to call someone for you?”

I didn’t like how gentle he was being. So different from the sarcastic detective I knew and didn’t much like. “I’m okay.” Not really, but that sounded much better than telling him I felt numb.

He gave me another look, this one I clearly identified as suspicious.

“Wait. Do you think I killed him?” I goggled at the thought. “Me?” came out in a squeal.

“Did you?”

“No. Did I think him a jerk? Sure. But he’s been complaining about me for a year and a half. If I was going to kill him, I’d have done it a long time ago.” Oh man, did that really just come out of my mouth? I felt horrified. “Not that I would. Or did. I just meant…”

Berg looked like he was trying to cover a smile.

My face felt hot. My knees weak. “Why would I kill him?” I honestly had no motive.

“That’s what we need to find out.”

And that’s how I learned, firsthand, what it’s like to be considered a suspect by the police. On the bright side, I now had some killer research material for my secret book, a murder mystery based on real life.

With any luck, I’d get to write it without staring through the bars of a jail cell.

Happy reading!