Free Flourless to Stop Him by Nancy J. Parra Page B

over his chest, leaned his bum against the table, and calmly lifted his phone and took pictures of Officer Emry, head and elbows in the cabinet, pushing things around.
    “That door was not left open.” I pushed the door closed, basically shutting Officer Emry out of the cabinet. “I’m sorry, but my attorney tells me that your warrant does not allow for searches or seizure of goods behind closed doors.”
    “Unless I have suspicion of drug paraphernalia,” Officer Emry said, his giant Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. “I thought I saw a bong in there.”
    “A what?”
    “A glass apparatus for smoking,” Brad said as calmly as he could, but I noticed the corner of his eye twitched. “More commonly used to smoke illegal substances.”
    “There aren’t any illegal substances in this house, nor are there any glass pipes to smoke them with.” I crossed my arms over my chest. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. “I know what a bong is,” I stage-whispered to Brad.
    “As your lawyer, it’s my duty to clarify.” Brad chuckled at my discomfort.
    “The only things in the cupboard are Grandma Ruth’s collection of hand-blown art glass.” I put my hands on my hips. “You had better not have broken any. They are all one-of-a-kind pieces.”
    “I only rattled them.” Emry lifted his chin. “I’m tasked with doing a thorough investigation.”
    “Open search only,” Brad pointed out. “My clients do not authorize you to go any further than the warrant allows.”
    “Well, now, I opened kitchen cupboards in front of her and Toni didn’t have a problem with that.”
    “I didn’t know you weren’t allowed that kind of search,” I said. “I take back any implied permission to go through my things.”
    “Fine,” Officer Emry said. “It doesn’t mean we can’t go through your brother’s things.”
    “What are you looking for . . . exactly?”
    “Any evidence of drugs,” he said.
    “That’s what the warrant says,” Brad agreed. “Why?”
    “Telling you that would obstruct the investigation.”
    I rolled my eyes at his explanation. “Does this have anything to do with Harold’s death?”
    “I can’t answer that.” Officer Emry continued to walk through the room, lifting things that were in plain sight and looking under them as if I might have hidden a stash of drugs under my mother’s ceramic poodle.
    “So Harold died in a drug deal gone wrong,” I surmised.
    “I did not say that.” Officer Emry narrowed his eyes. “But the killer would know for sure. You were at the hotel yesterday, weren’t you? Why?”
    “I was visiting Tasha,” I said and raised my own chin. “You don’t have to be a killer to put two and two together on the drug search and the murder.”
    “Wait—you identified the dead guy?” Tim asked.
    I bit my lip. I’d forgotten that Tim had been sleeping and didn’t know about Harold.
    “Yes,” Brad said with concern in his gaze. “The victim was positively identified as Harold Petry.”
    “What?” Tim ran his hand through his hair, tugging at it. “No, no, I would have recognized Harold. That was not Harold.”
    “Dental records and fingerprints tell us it was Harold Petry,” Officer Emry said. “I understand you two had a falling-out a year or more ago. Gives you motive.”
    “What? No, that’s crazy. I have nothing to do with drugs or Harold’s murder. He was my best friend.” Tim pushed against the doorjamb. “He was my freakin’ best friend.”
    “Your name was on the room registry,” Emry stated. “A good investigator looks at the obvious first.”
    “It’s obvious I had nothing to do with it. I would not kill my best friend.” Tim closed his eyes in disbelief. “Someone is framing me, and when I find out, I’ll—”
    “You’ll what?” Emry narrowed his eyes and hitched his gun belt.
    “Let his lawyer know and cooperate with the police to bring the killer to justice.” Brad filled in the awkward silence. “Come on, Tim, let’s