Free Cropped to Death (Faith Hunter Scrap This Mystery) by Christina Freeburn Page B

bad?”
    The aloofness left his expression and softness replaced it. “Because you’re a sweetheart.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, brown gaze locked onto brown gaze.
    The expression in his eyes quaked my knees. I had fantasized about kissing Steve, wondered about it, but never gave him the impression I was interested in him. I fought against the instinct begging me to close my eyes and raise up on my toes. Self-preservation required I avoid a romantic relationship with the assistant county prosecutor.
    I stepped back and turned from him. I needed back on safer ground, my choice of defending Marilyn.
    “I know she didn’t do it. If the police believed Marilyn said she wanted Michael dead because I said it, why won’t they even reconsider when I say she wouldn’t actually do it?”
    “This isn’t about believing in someone or not. It’s all about evidence.” Steve opened the door.
    I rushed after him and then grabbed hold of his arm. “What evidence?”
    “I shouldn’t have said that. You worked in the legal field. You know the police wouldn’t unjustly bring charges against Marilyn.”
    Wrong. People lied. Police bought every made up word and innocent people suffered. I pushed down the brewing anger and the past. “Tell Roget I won’t talk to Annette anymore.”
    “If Marilyn needs help, she should hire a defense attorney. Or if she really wants a private detective, there are professionals out there.”
    “Are you saying I’m not capable of being a private detective?” I glared at him. “That I would mess up?”
    Steve gaped at me. “Do you seriously want to become an investigator?”
    I bit my lip. “Well, no. Not really.” Heck, I didn’t even think I was qualified to track down a murderer.
    “Then why are you mad at me?” He raised his arms in surrender. “I can’t believe you want to argue about this. Think about it, Faith. If you’re right, then the best people to confront a murderer are the police. Not you.”
    TEN

       
    After Steve left, I minded my own business as well as I could while still being a friendly representative for the store. I kept an interested look plastered on my face as customers swirled around me, gossiping about who killed Michael Kane.
    Half the customers believed a displeased client at Michael’s law firm killed him. Made sense. Even people who committed crimes didn’t like going to jail or forking out loads of money to the plaintiff. The other half sided with the police and felt Marilyn killed her husband. For those who believed Marilyn did it, seventy percent felt Michael deserved it.
    Keeping my opinions inside my mind was a tiring job. I feared my head would fall off my neck from all the bobbing up and down. A group of teenagers walked into the store and glanced around. I gave them my entire attention.
    “Can I help you find anything?” I asked.
    Four awe-struck gazes focused on me.
    “Is this where the killer works?” A girl with shiny blond hair asked. The other three, two boys and a girl, stood behind her and gawked.
    “Man, I wonder if she got her weapon here.” The tallest boy pointed to the rack with the remainder of our cutting tools. They headed toward that section of the store.
    “You’d think this would work?” One of the boys reached for a pair of decorative scissors.
    “You touch it. You buy it,” I said, in the tone I used when talking to the Hooligans, Sierra’s delightful children.
    After shooting me a look of disgust, the teenagers stomped out of the store complaining about the lady with no sense of fun. I knew fun. I liked fun. I didn’t appreciate Scrap This becoming a spot on the Criminals in Eden Tour. Other customers in the store redirected their focus to merchandise and the talk of Marilyn fizzled out.
    Linda rushed into the store twenty minutes late, and almost collided into a customer. No surprise. Since Linda started working at Scrap This three months ago, she’d never arrived on time. It was an ingrained