Free Wound Up In Murder by Betty Hechtman Page A

about Diana’s lack of a pulse.
    Kevin St. John and another cop were conferring. “About tonight,” Dane said. “I’m sorry for the way things turned out. But I think we should give it another try.”
    â€œMaybe not,” I said. The expression drained from his face and his eyes grew dark. “It’s nothing about you,” I said quickly. “I like you—a lot. I just have a lot on my plate with all the baking and this retreat that starts tomorrow. I mean, today.” I glanced down and saw the hour on my watch.
    Dane’s usual cocky stance had gone south and he shifted his weight with displeasure as I continued. “It doesn’t mean anything has to change. I’ll still leave you desserts and you can still leave off plates of your delicious pasta dishes. No way do I want to give up the chance for your lasagna oozing with cheese or anything with your homemade tomato sauce.”
    I was a little surprised by his response. Basically he just ignored what I’d said. “You want to call it quits after onedinner? I’m sorry for my immature cop buddy and his stupid remark, but other than that and a few comments by other diners in the restaurant, I thought it went pretty well.” He looked at me directly. “If you want to avoid all the stares, we could just have dinner at my place.”
    â€œI don’t think so,” I said, feeling the pull of his presence even in this situation. “It was okay when we were just neighbors, but as a date—no way.”
    â€œWe could try going to the movies,” he offered and I rolled my eyes at his persistence.
    â€œI just don’t want to start something I’m not sure I can finish. And having the whole town watching is too much pressure.” I was avoiding looking at him, afraid my resolve would melt. “I’m doing you a favor. I’m a real heartbreaker. Just ask Dr. Sammy.”
    â€œHey, Mangano, over here,” his partner shouted. I followed behind Dane as he went along the narrow path into the brush, both of our flashlights illuminating the way. The other officer was standing at the edge of the small clearing where I’d found Diana, holding a roll of yellow tape. For a moment they discussed where to position the yellow tape that marked the crime scene. There was something on the ground. “Look what I found,” the other cop said as he pointed toward a long piece of brightly colored silk. I felt my breath stop. It was Sammy’s long streamer of silks.

8

    My mind was reeling over the appearance of the silks. Though no one had said the words, I was pretty sure they were the murder weapon. No one had said the word
murder
yet either, but they had said she appeared to have been strangled, and let’s face it, that’s not something she was likely to have done to herself or by accident. I didn’t get off just giving a statement to Dane and his partner. Instead, as more cops came and set up a tent over the area where Diana had been found, we adjourned to the Lodge.
    It felt strange to be in the large room in the middle of the night. Kevin St. John had somehow managed to change into something that looked more managerial. Maybe he kept a suit of clothes there. Someone had awakened Norman Rathman and he was sitting slumped on one of the leather sofas. He had hastily put on the suit he’d worn earlier. It appeared really strange now with the dress shirt hanging out. I recognized the elongated face of his assistant, Sally Winston,who was seated on the piano bench in another area. Had they been found together, or did she just follow wherever he went? I had been offered a chair next to my muffin container near the café. I eyed the CLOSED sign on the café door and wished I could get a cup of coffee.
    I was also beginning to feel a little panicky. In a few hours, I’d be back in this same room welcoming my retreat group. Visions of me nodding off at the