Free Desperate to the Max by Jasmine Haynes Page A

half was a drawer, this one stacked with spoons of varying sizes, soup, tea, and serving, and, oddly, several folded sheets of paper.
    After putting the box back, she took the dog-eared pages to the front window. The lights appeared to be out next door, the house as dark as a tomb, much like Bethany’s. Keeping her body out of sight, Max held the pages up to the light of the moon.
    Operator: Do you have a fantasy?
    Client: Yes.
    Operator: Do you want to tell me about it?
    Client: Yes. First tell me what you’re wearing.
    Operator: Black thong panties and a black lace bra.
    Client: Does it open in the front?
    Operator: Yes. Do you want me to take it off for you?
    It was a script. For phone sex. She flipped through the pages. Different variations. Suggested fantasies. If he says this, operator says that to draw him out. It was a goddamned training manual for phone sex operators and their clients . She’d thought of those men as horny, depraved, sick, and disgusting, but never as clients .
    “Why not try the word lonely?”
    “Give me a break, they’re pathetic.”
    “Since when did you become so judgmental, Max?”
    “Since one of them killed Bethany.”
    “You don’t know that yet. Open your mind. They’re human beings. You can’t find the wolf in sheep’s clothing unless you differentiate.”
    “What am I supposed to do with this stuff?” She shook the papers. “Lay them on the table for the police to discover?”
    “You’re going to need that script when you get your first call.”
    “What?” she almost shrieked, then caught herself in time. “I have to say this?”
    “You want to figure out who killed her, don’t you?”
    She didn’t have to think about that very long. “If it’ll get her out of my head for good, yes.”
    “Have some compassion. Think of it as laying her to rest.”
    “But do I have to say this ?” She waved a hand across the paper, and, with a sinking feeling, knew the answer was yes.
    The phone rang.
     

Chapter Nine
     
     
    “Hello?” Shit, that wasn’t what she was supposed to say. Something more erotic, seductive, even downright dirty. She was failing Phone Sex 101 miserably.
    “Helen?”
    Helen? Yes, that was the name Bethany had used. Did she sound like her? Could she fake it? “Yes.” Max’s voice cracked. She shouldn’t have been nervous. She’d talked pretty darn sexy with men before, though not on the phone. Her jumpy nerves had more to do with the fact that a lot was riding on identifying Bethany’s killer. Yeah, like getting the woman’s spirit the hell out of Max’s body.
    She’d answered in the kitchen, then pulled the cord out through the swinging door to plop down in a patch of moonlight so she could read. Only she’d dropped the first page. Her hands shook, and her palms were sweating inside the leather gloves. She daren’t take them off. Couldn’t risk leaving fingerprints.
    She cleared her throat. “Do you have a fantasy?”
    “You know my fantasy.”
    She did? She was so damn nervous, she couldn’t concentrate on the voice. Was it the same as the one last night, Bethany’s last caller? Was it this low, this deep?
    Well, honesty was the best policy. Sometimes. She plowed ahead. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember.” She licked her dry lips. “Give me a hint.” Hmm. There. That was better. A tad seductive, the tiniest bit like Bethany’s voice.
    Bethany. The dead woman stretched inside her and purred, as if she’d just woken from a luxurious nap. Oh God. Trouble.
    The man started to talk. Max hung on every word. “I’m Mr. Mustard in the library with the candlestick. And you’re Miss Scarlett, and you’ve been very bad.”
    Mr. Mustard? Miss Scarlett? S&M? “I need another clue.”
    He chuckled. Good humored. She’d be willing to bet he wasn’t her suspect. “Clever girl. Now what about that candlestick? What are we going to do with that, Miss Scarlett?”
    Oh my God. She wanted to laugh. “I like the candle better.”
    “Oh