Free The Darkness Knows by Cheryl Honigford Page A

am.”
    â€œOh, I think you’re an immense flibbertigibbet,” Mr. Haverman said, pulling smoothly into an empty parking space in front of the Grayson-Cole Building. He put the Packard in park and turned to face her with a smile. “But it suits you,” he said. He held her gaze for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary.
    Vivian turned back to the window and exhaled through her nose. Suits her indeed, she thought, as if that were some kind of compliment.
    â€œThis is a real stroke of luck,” the detective said, opening his door. “There are never any spaces right out front.”
    He jogged around the back of the car and opened the passenger door with a flourish. He held out his hand to help her. “Miss Witchell…”
    She glared at him for a moment before taking his hand.
    â€œOh, enough with this Miss Witchell business,” she said, stepping from the car. “It’s driving me batty hearing that every other sentence. You can call me Vivian like everyone else.”
    â€œOkay, Vivian.”
    â€œActually, I prefer Viv,” she said, straightening her hat—a black, schoolgirl-style beret with a green velvet ribbon band.
    â€œOkay, Viv,” he said seriously. “And I’m just Charlie, please.”
    â€œNot Chick? Graham will be crushed.”
    â€œHe’ll get over it.”
    Vivian smoothed the skirt of her suit and turned to face the building. She groaned at the sight. At least a dozen reporters milled around the entrance, firing questions at anyone who approached. She watched them follow one unsuspecting man to the entrance, swarming around him like flies and dispersing when he escaped inside. Then they backed away to stand together in small groups, chatting among themselves until the next poor person moved toward the entrance where the whole scene would replay itself.
    â€œI can’t do this,” she said.
    â€œHaving second thoughts about going back to the station?”
    â€œNo, it’s not that,” Vivian said impatiently. She glared at the reporters. “I just don’t want to walk through all of those vultures.” Usually, the idea of photographers hanging around to take her picture would be a dream come true, but those reporters were here because of Marjorie, not her.
    â€œI’ll protect you.” Charlie moved to put his arm around her shoulders, but she sidestepped it.
    â€œActually, I have a much better idea,” she said. “Follow me.”
    Vivian led him in a long loop around the block to the alley directly behind the building. She smiled as the grungy, deserted back entrance came into view. Stepping over puddles of God knows what, she held her nose against the stench. At the entrance, Vivian pulled the handle, and the heavy metal door swung open with a screech.
    â€œI guess luck really is on our side today. I wasn’t sure the door would even be open. This staircase goes all the way up to the top floor,” she said, craning her neck to look up into the darkness. “But there’s also an entrance to the lobby through the door at the other end of this hall.”
    â€œSmart girl,” Charlie said.
    â€œI wasn’t born yesterday. The elevators went on the fritz once, and I had to climb down all twelve flights.”
    â€œYou weren’t wearing ridiculous heels like these, were you?” Charlie nodded toward Vivian’s formidable footwear.
    â€œI always wear ridiculous heels like this,” she said and smiled. “Come on.”
    She hadn’t walked but a few steps toward the stairs when she slipped, her feet flying out in front of her. Charlie caught her just before she landed on her bottom and set her back upright, holding on to her until he was sure she was steady.
    â€œMaybe you should rethink the heels.”
    â€œPfft,” she said, dismissing the idea. “I just slipped on something.” Vivian scanned the floor until she spotted the small