Free Liquid Lies by Lois Lavrisa

he asked.
    I turned the paper coffee cup in my hands. I didn’t think it mattered that we were best friends years ago, or together we killed a trucker. I figured I’d just provide current information. “I mean, I used to know her years ago. I wish I could help you more. Really I do. But I haven’t seen her in four years.”
    “But you knew her, from where?”
    How could I say enough without saying too much? “We went to Saint Francis from elementary through high school. But I have no idea what she’s been up to since graduation.”
    “Were you friends?” he asked
    “I guess you could say so,” I said.
    “Would you say that you were good friends?” He raised an eyebrow.
    “At one time, yes.” I said. And those times were the best of my life.
    The dock lights cast a ghostly glow on him as he continued, “Good enough friends to know her family? Boyfriends? Likes and dislikes?”
    For years we were merged as tightly as blood relatives, as twin sisters. We knew every freckle on each other. “Again, at one time yes. But I hardly know her now. Like I said, it’s been four years since I’ve seen her.”
    “So you hadn’t seen her at all in these past four years?” he asked and took notes.
    “Correct,” I said.
    “So, when did you last see Francesca alive?” he inquired.
    All right. Now I was feeling restless as my leg swung back and forth. I knew that officers were trained in body language. I steadied my leg, and sat up straight and still. “I ran into her at H&K’s tonight.”
    “Wait a minute,” he flipped though his notes. “You just told me that you had not seen her in four years. But now you say you saw her tonight.”
    “Well. Yes. Before I saw her tonight, I hadn’t seen her in four years,” I responded.
    He shook his head. “Let’s move on. When you saw her tonight at H&K’s, was she alone?”
    “As far as I could tell she was.” But she was meeting someone. Who was it, and did they kill her? My thoughts felt like an anchor stuck in mud.
    “Did it look like she was having any problems?” Detective Wurkowski asked.
    I shrugged my shoulders.
    “Did she seem upset?” he asked. “For example, did it look like something was bothering her?”
    She was scared shitless and pissed off. We had a blackmailer after us for a murder we committed. I answered, “No. She seemed okay I guess.”
    “I see.” Detective Wurkowski took a sip of coffee.
    I watched him jot down notes. I thought it best to keep quiet because I had a tendency to babble when I felt stressed or excited. This was not the time to babble.
    He cleared his throat. “When you saw her at H&K’s, did you talk to Francesca?”
    Talk? Well it was more like yell. “A little.”
    “What did you talk about?” He ran his thick long fingers through his military haircut.
    Murder, blackmail. “Nothing really,” I said.
    “Let me get this straight.” His eyes narrowed. “You hadn’t seen her in four years, you claim she was an old school friend, and you had nothing to talk about?”
    Oh we had a lot to talk about. Like where to drop the blackmailer’s money. “That’s right, pretty much nothing. We talked a little about where I planned to attend graduate school. We talked about Mark’s mortician job.”
    He pulled his shoulders back. “Do you remember what time you saw her at H&K’s?”
    “I’m not too sure,” I said.
    “When did you get there?” he asked.
    “After eight, I had dinner with a friend, Mark Stevens. Shortly after that, Francesca walked in. So, if I had to guess, I would say a little before nine.” I gave him Mark’s information.
    “So you saw her after you had dinner?” he asked.
    “Yes,” I said.
    “Do you have your dinner receipt?”
    “I don’t have it. Mark paid for dinner.” I let out a nervous chuckle. “Are you investigating what I ate?”
    Detective Wurkowski chortled, showing straight white teeth under his trimmed moustache. “No, but most receipts have the time on them. That will help