Free Liver Let Die by Liz Lipperman Page B

motioning for the older woman to sit next to him.
    Ignoring him, Rosie squeezed her body into the tiny space on the other side of Jordan, taking her from Michael. “Shh. Shh,” she whispered, pushing the hair from Jordan’s eyes and wiping the tears now sliding down her cheeks. “You’re safe now, baby,” she cooed.
    “Ray isn’t back from the movies yet?” Victor asked.
    When Michael shook his head, Victor wandered over to the doorway leading into Jordan’s bedroom. “Oh my, somebody was seriously looking for something.”
    Fifteen minutes later, Jordan was still staring in disbelief at the mess, unable to stop her lower lip from quivering. “Who would do this to me?”
    “Don’t touch anything,” a voice from the opened front door shouted fifteen minutes later. Everyone keep your hands where we can see them.”
    The two familiar faces entered the apartment cautiously. “Looks like someone didn’t like your story, Ms. McAllister,” Paul Rutherford said, unable to disguise the smirk on his face.
    “You think someone did this because of her duck story?” Rosie’s voice elevated, and she glared at the police officer who had ticked her off the last time he’d been there. “Someone from the restaurant?”
    By now, Jordan had stopped shivering, and she shook her head. “I was a guest of the owner at the restaurant tonight. I don’t think this is about my story.” She groaned when she glanced around her living room.
    “What other reason would someone have?” Officer Calhoun said, sitting down in the chair opposite her despite the stuffing protruding through a long slit down the center.
    “I don’t have a clue,” Jordan admitted. She had nothing of value unless you counted the autographed picture of Troy Aikman hanging over the couch. She whirled around, expecting to see an empty wall behind her.
    Following her eyes to the picture still hanging there, Calhoun said, “Have you had a chance to see if anything’s missing?”
    Jordan shook her head. “That’s the only thing I have worth stealing, and it’s only of value to a Cowboys’ fan.”
    Rutherford walked over to the picture. “I loved Aikman. Where’d you get this?”
    “A present.” It was one of the few things she’d kept from Brett after they broke up.
    “No jewelry or expensive silverware?” Calhoun continued.
    At the mention of silverware, Jordan’s eyes moved to the kitchen counter before she remembered Ray had taken the knife rack away. The counter was empty except for Maggie, swimming mindlessly around the fishbowl like she hadn’t noticed all the people invading her space.
    “Did your story in the newspaper make anyone mad enough to do this?” Rutherford asked, finally tearing his gaze from the NFL Hall of Famer’s picture.
    “I . . . I don’t think so,” Jordan stammered. “The only one who might be upset over it is the owner of Longhorn Prime Rib.” She paused, distracted when Calhoun flipped a page in his notebook.
    “That would be Roger Mason?”
    “Yes. But I had dinner at his restaurant again tonight, and he actually thanked me for bringing the story to his attention.”
    Officer Calhoun slammed the notebook shut just as Ray and Lola barged into the room. With a nod to the retired cop and his lady, the policemen headed for the door. “The crime scene guys are on their way to check for prints, but I seriously doubt we’ll get anything.”
    “What’s going on, Davey?” Ray asked. “Who did—”
    “We’ll fill you in after the policemen leave, Ray,” Rosie interrupted, clearly anxious for the officers to go.
    Before closing the door behind them, Calhoun turned to the group all huddled around Jordan. “I don’t know what’s going on here yet, but I promise I’m gonna find out. I doubt this was a random B and E. In the meantime, I’d suggest you ask your landlord to install a security camera until we figure it out.” He left, pulling the door shut behind him.
    When they were sure the police car had