The Single Undead Moms(94)
“Just tell me where you were last night,” Lane spat.
“I was here, at home, with my son.”
“And I’m assuming that there’s no one who would be able to corroborate this?” He sneered. “That seems convenient.”
“I don’t know if it’s occurred to you, officer, but innocent people don’t need alibis. However, Wade Tucker and his son were here until about midnight, if that helps.”
Jane smirked and waggled her brows at Dick. He scowled and handed her a twenty-dollar bill.
“That still leaves you two hours to drive to the Cellar, kill your father-in-law, and get back to your house before the sun came up,” Lane insisted.
“Assuming, of course, that I would leave my son alone in the house, which I would not do. Ask Kerrianne. Ask anyone at Danny’s school. I don’t put my son’s safety at risk.”
“Oh, trust me, I’ve already talked to people at Danny’s school. And they had some very interesting things to say about your change in attitude since you were turned. You’re more aggressive, less patient, mean-spirited.”
“I see you’ve been talking to Chelsea Harbaker,” I muttered.
“No, a Mrs. McGee.”
“Figures,” I huffed.
“Do you have any evidence that Libby had anything to do with Les Stratton’s death, other than ‘I can’t think of anyone else’?”
“Not at the moment, but I’m sure we’ll find something,” Lane said.
“Well, until you do, you will leave Mrs. Stratton alone. You will not contact her or question her without myself or Mr. Cheney present. And you will not approach Danny Stratton, ever. If I find out that you have been harassing either of the Strattons, I will be on your supervisor’s front step faster than you can say ‘mall security.’ ”
“Fine,” Sergeant Lane said, shutting his little notebook with a snap. “Don’t leave town, Mrs. Stratton. I will be coming to see you soon.”
“Good evening, Sergeant Lane.”
As the patrol car pulled out of my driveway, all of my bravado melted, and I practically sagged against the front door. My hands were shaking, and I thought I was going to throw up what little I had in my stomach. I felt Jane’s hand on my back and heard some distant murmuring in the kitchen.
Dick was holding a mug full of synthetic blood in front of my face. I let him put it to my lips and drained the entire thing in one gulp. How was I going to explain this? How was I going to prove my innocence to the people who could keep me out of jail? Sure, Dick and Jane were supporting me in the face of law enforcement now, but what if there was some circumstantial piece of evidence that linked me to Les’s death? What would happen when supporting me was no longer in the best interest of the vampire community?
“Jane,” I said, wheezing, “I know this is going to sound cliché, but I didn’t do it.”
“I believe you,” Jane said, nodding.
I straightened, my shoulders slowly relaxing. “Really?”
“I’ve been accused of murder . . . how many times now?” Jane asked.
“Two or three times,” Dick estimated, flopping down on the couch.
“Right. And every time, I didn’t do it.”
“There was that one time,” Dick said.
“That was in self-defense, and technically, all I did was Taser her.”
Dick snorted. “While she was soaked in lamp oil.”
“My point is that it would be stupid of you to spend all of this time in mediation, battling your father-in-law, only to murder him. It would bring the police right to you. And you are not a stupid person. You would not risk your custody of Danny. So now you have to lie low and say nothing. We have to do some damage control and try to find out who, besides you, wanted to see your father-in-law dead.”
I shrugged. “Me, most of the U of L fans in town, the people who had heard his ‘caught a ten-pound bass on a kid’s Snoopy reel’ story more than once . . .”
“That’s a long list,” Jane said.
“Well, we’ll look into it. You just sit tight, and don’t do anything else to draw attention to yourself. No arrests for public intoxication. No shoplifting undies from Walmart,” Dick told me. “No swimmin’ naked with Wade in the memorial fountain.”
“Have you been talking to Mrs. McGee?”
“Now, before we start our Scooby-Doo routine, is there anything we should know about?” Jane asked. “For instance, why did you send me a maddeningly vague text right before bedtime about an ‘incident’ at the Pumpkin Patch Party and the paperwork it would require?”