Free Forsaken by R.M. Gilmore Page B

room was on, but the rest of the house was dark. The detective stood in the center of the room, nearly taking up the space with his girth. A rotund belly pushed against the single button on his tan blazer. His dark skin didn’t look a day over forty, but I wondered if that was accurate. Spots of graying, curly hair cropped close around his ears helped solidify that suspicion.
    “I’m sorry I scared you. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. I was told the vi-" He stopped and pinched his thick lips between his teeth. “Miss Price lived alone.”
    I nodded and shoved the word ‘victim’ from my head. “She does. I just…” I sighed. “I just needed to be near her again.” It was true, but the tone I held pulled me that much further from the ring of usual suspects. He nodded and I continued, “I am having a hard time with…her passing.”
    “I understand.” He jotted something down on a little notebook, which looked just like the ones Mike always carried around. The look on his face made me think maybe he got the wrong idea about the relationship Tatum and I had.
    “She was the closest thing I had to a sister,” I added.
    “She had no other family.” He made it a statement rather than a question.
    “Her parents were killed in a plane crash when we were in high school. My mom took her in until she graduated and she bought herself this house.” I used my hands to show off the proceeds of her parents’ death.
    His eyes looked everywhere but at me. “You will be controlling her estate? I just need to know where to send her remains when the investigation subsides.” His words came slow, a drawl, but more a distracted conversation.
    “I guess I’m it,” I said surprised. My voice cracked and sadness burned the back of my throat. I hadn’t even considered any sort of estate. Hell, I’d only just gotten around to thinking about having to plan a funeral.
    Detective Colorado shuffled along the dusty hardwood floor, eyeing everything. He didn’t say anything for a few long minutes. “Why are you here?” I asked finally.
    “Mm.” He turned his attention back to me. “I came to place this on the door.” He held up a crime scene warning, a lovely adhesive paper cautioning looky-loos to stay the fuck out. “I understand you have an appointment to speak with my colleague tomorrow morning. I was able to get an earlier flight so we can speak in person.”
    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . “Sir, if you don’t mind…” I let the waterworks take over. “Could we meet over coffee tomorrow? I’ve had a very long day, and I’m not sure I can…” The sobs began. In his eyes, I was a girl who’d left her best friend in an unfamiliar city to get butchered. It was more than enough guilt to cause such a breakdown.
    “That’d be fine.” He nodded and his double chin squished against his chest.
    “Thank you.” Using my brain for once in far too long, I offered, “If you wouldn’t mind, I can give you my address and phone number where—" I stopped before I almost added, ‘I’m staying’; he didn’t need to know anything about my sharp-shooter incident. “You can reach me any time.”
    I reached for his pad and pen and he handed it over willingly. I wrote my information and he watched. I tried to hide my tears, like any girl worth her salt would do, and it only furthered his belief in my innocence. Patting me on the shoulder kindly, he took back his pad and pen.
    “I’ll get a hold of you tomorrow morning. And you can contact Mr. Petersen?”
    “Detective. It’s Detective Petersen.” I smiled a bit through tears as though I was wholly proud of that. If I was going to get away with anything, Mike had to be my pride and joy. Fuck . In my desperation to save his life, or at the very least his soul, I’d been a complete cunt. I tried to hide the fear rolling up the back of my throat.
    “Yes. Right.” He smiled back and took one last glance around the room before making his way to the door.
    I stopped in the