Free Fatal Reaction by Belinda Frisch

but subtle: cooperate, or I’ll haul her in.
    Pool balls clicked together on the table a few feet behind them, and the bar was otherwise silent. Mike hadn’t realized how loudly they’d been speaking, but the men who had been going about their business had stopped to listen.
    Anthony looked over his broad shoulder and sighed. “Nestor.” He patted the bar in front of him. Two shots, please. The usual.”
    Nestor grabbed a bottle of rye, two shot glasses, and turned up the radio loud enough that everyone went back to what they were doing. He set the glasses in front of Anthony and filled them to the rim.
    Anthony slid one to Mike and lifted his glass. “To life events.”
    Mike pounded his shot, unsure of what, exactly, they were toasting.
    Anthony wiped the rye from his lips and held the glass up for a refill. “What you’re asking for is an alibi, and we both have one. Butch called me down to the diner after the fight. He had Misty in the back room with an ice pack on her face. Trish was long gone. Misty was crying when I got there, and not ‘lost my job’ tears, something much worse. She must’ve told Butch before she told me what was wrong, or he wouldn’t have been catering to her the way he was. She started spotting. You know what I mean?” Mike shrugged. “Bleeding?” Anthony said, as if that made his point clearer. Mike still had no idea. “We spent the night in the County Memorial emergency room. Mike, Misty’s pregnant. With the fight, she was afraid the bleeding meant she was having a miscarriage. We were at the hospital from the time I picked her up at the diner until three the next morning. You can verify with the hospital. I never left her room.”
    If Anthony was telling the truth, and Mike’s instinct said he was, there was no way either he or Misty could’ve had anything to do with Sydney’s murder.
    Mike didn’t know what to say, and he let Anthony fill the void with his apologetic rambling.
    “I’m sick over what happened, Mike. Sydney and I were fighting, but it’s what people do during a divorce. They hurt each other.” Anthony eyes glossed over. “I never meant a single threat. I’m just so stuck . I’ve got Misty all over me about the baby, and Sydney, you know how headstrong she is. She wouldn’t give an inch.”
    “Was,” Mike corrected. “How headstrong Sydney was . And the pregnancy?”
    “The baby’s fine.” Anthony said.
    “And I guess that’s a blessing, but it’s not what I mean. Did Sydney know about the baby?”
    “Oh God. No. It would kill her.”
    Mike could see Anthony regretted his choice of words as soon as he said them, and he held up his hand to avoid another awkward apology. “I know what you meant.” He laid a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “Nestor, we’re all set here. Can you call Anthony a cab for me?”
    “Will do.”
    Anthony kept his head down, sulking over his beer.
    “You’ve got quite a mess to clean up.” Mike patted him on the shoulder. “I can’t say I envy you.” He fished his keys out of his pocket, and grumbled all the way out the door.
    The news, shocking as it was, put him in the worst possible situation. Not only did he lose the single lead in Sydney’s case; he now had to break the news of Misty’s pregnancy to Ana.

CHAPTER 16
    The snow crunched under the tires of Dorian’s Land Rover, the color of which—Baltic Blue it was called—appeared black except in sunlight. He pulled into the empty driveway of his Oakland Street office, exhausted, achy, and annoyed that his overpriced plow service hadn’t yet done its job.
    Twelve hours of surgery, the news about Sydney’s death, and avoiding the repercussions of Stephanie Martin’s complications had him run ragged. He’d had too many close calls, evading both Riley, Stephanie’s husband, and Mitchell Altman, who was, no doubt, more concerned about potential legal action than Stephanie’s well-being.
    Dorian unlocked the side door and went up the back stairs that