Free Sex, Murder and a Double Latte by Kyra Davis Page B

one last time—”
    “Why don’t you call them as you walk down there? I’ll meet you with the car after I’m done with the pictures.”
    Okay, there was something appealing about that. At least I wouldn’t have to get in the car. Of course the plan did have a few flaws. “That means I’d have to trust you with the keys to my car.”
    Anatoly grinned. “And I’ll have to trust you with my cell. Considering the condition of your car, I think I’m taking the greater risk.”
    No arguing with that one. “Okay, here’s the key. I’ll meet you at the station. Do you know where it is?”
    “I’ve passed it a few times. This will be good. Our first stop on my tour of San Francisco.”
    I shook my head and started downhill toward my destination. Having my car vandalized was a lot more than a minor annoyance, but my insurance would take care of it. What was really bothering me had little to do with my actual vehicle.
    What was really bothering me was that for the second time in three days I was reliving a scene from one of my books.
     
    The cop let out a low whistle as he considered the car. Anatoly, who had magically found a parking spot on the same block as the police station, was now standing aside as the officer, a big burly guy with a furry mustache going by the name of Gorman, studied the slash in the spare tire. He looked up from the damage and his eyes bore into me. “Do you have any history of drug use or dealing?”
    “No!” I tried to ignore Anatoly’s laughter.
    “Well, they were looking for something, ” Officer Gorman stated as he slammed the trunk closed.
    “Yeah, we’ve established that. I don’t own anything that would be worth hiding in my upholstery.”
    “Uh-huh,” Gorman said. He looked me over, then turned back to the car. “Anyone who might be after you?”
    Anatoly took a step closer to me. How much should I say? After all, most of my fears were based on nothing more than an overactive imagination, right? My fingers automatically began to fiddle with my necklace. “I can’t think of anyone offhand.”
    “Uh-huh.” Gorman eyed Anatoly. “Who are you again?”
    “I’m just a friend of Sophie’s.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    I bit my lip. If only the cop could say something useful. Hell, I’d settle for a completed sentence.
    “Come inside, we’ll finish the report.”
    That was probably as close as I was going to get. “Anatoly, will you wait out here for me?” I asked. “Make sure nobody else messes with it?”
    “There’s not much left to mess with.”
    “Just stay with the car, okay?”
    I followed Gorman inside to his desk. This was embarrassing enough without Anatoly standing over my shoulder. Gorman gestured for me to take a chair. I remained standing. “I thought we were done with the report.”
    “Just a couple more questions.”
    I hesitated for a moment before sitting across from him. I wasn’t relishing the idea of being interrogated in a police station, even if I didn’t have anything to hide.
    “Sure you’re not hiding anything?”
    Oh my God. I was being interrogated by the police department’s resident psychic. Maybe I could just visualize the events of the last week and I wouldn’t have to say anything at all.
    “Miss Katz, did you hear me?”
    Okay, so he wasn’t a very good psychic. “A little over five weeks ago I got a typed note in the mail. No return address. It just said, ‘You reap what you sow.’”
    “‘You reap what you sow’? Anything else?”
    “Nope, that was it.”
    “Know who might have sent it?”
    “No, like I said, no return address.”
    “Uh-huh.” Gorman made a note at the bottom of his report. “Do you still have the note?”
    “Well, here’s the thing. I wanted to have a fire that night and I didn’t really like the note, sooo…I burned it.”
    “You…you burned it?” Gorman shook his head. “Smart.”
    “Well, I didn’t know I would be needing it.” I scooted my chair forward. Gorman may not be Mr.