“Me, too.” Her shoulders sagged and she looked exhausted enough to slide off her seat. I eased her stool closer to the bar so she could lean her elbows on the shiny surface.
I just didn’t want her to fall asleep. We had turned every light on full blast, so the room was illuminated as brightly as if the sun were blazing down on us. Derek had locked the front door in case any passersby got the idea that we were open for business.
I decided to try and keep Savannah talking. Maybe something would click and she would remember a detail that might help.
“Did you see anyone run out the back door?” I asked. The kitchen door leading to the back alley had been wide open when we arrived. The killer must’ve run out that door and disappeared down the alley. At least that was my best guess. If it was true, we might’ve missed him by only a few seconds. Maybe we’d even passed him on the sidewalk earlier. The thought gave me goose bumps.
“I don’t think so,” Savannah said for maybe the umpteenth time. Her tone was dull and her eyes were unfocused. I’d never seen her like this before, and while I understood that she was freaked-out, I didn’t have time for it.
“That answer’s not going to work for the police, Savannah,” I said quietly. “You either saw someone or you didn’t. I know you’re tired, but you need to remember everything that happened after we left you earlier tonight. You should talk it out. I can help you. We can go over it all before the police get here.”
She nodded but said nothing.
Derek stepped close, pressed his lips to my ear and murmured, “She’s in shock, love. Let her be for now.”
“But the cops are going to drag her off to jail. I can’t let that happen.”
He touched my hair lightly, smoothed one thick strand off my cheek. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”
Staring up at Derek’s face, I absently counted the few fine lines that branched out from the corners of his intelligent blue eyes. I knew he’d worked some dangerous jobs, been in a number of harrowing situations. Even if he hadn’t told me about them, his eyes would have given him away. They were constantly assessing, occasionally challenging, always compelling. I wondered which of his adventures had earned him the most wrinkles—not that he had many. Just enough to make him interesting. Some of them were from laughter, I knew, but most were hard-won. And all of them had gone into building the character of the man who stood by me tonight.
My heart swelled. What outstanding deed had I done to deserve his loyalty and love? It was stunning to know that he occasionally wondered the same thing about me.
“I’m so scared,” I whispered.
“I know.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me for a long moment.
I sniffled. “I’m going to lose all my friends.”
I heard him chuckle. “Probably.”
“Oh, thanks.” He was kidding, but it was a deep, dark worry of mine. Discovering murder victims was both aggravating and frightening, so much so that I’d finally gone to my parents’ spiritual advisor, Guru Bob, for advice and counsel. He had suggested that the gods may have decided that I was the Chosen One, so to speak, who’d been designated to obtain justice for these victims.
The Chosen One. Really? That’s what I got for seeking the advice of a guru.
Wasn’t it the job of law enforcement to obtain justice for crime victims? Of course it was. But it was also true that the police I’d dealt with could always use some extra guidance. So if tonight was any indication, it seemed I might be stuck with this role for a while. Because sure enough, here I was again, staring at another suspicious death.
It wasn’t fair. I had a day job. I didn’t want to be involved in another murder.
But this was no time to whine about it. Poor Baxter lay dead on the cold floor a few feet away, and I was making it all about me. Yes, Baxter had been an odious pest, but that didn’t mean he’d deserved to be murdered in cold blood in his own restaurant, for heaven’s sake.
“I didn’t kill him,” Savannah blurted. “Why should I go to jail?”
Derek and I turned and stared at her. The dullness was gone. She appeared irritated now. It was a much better look on her.
“You shouldn’t,” I said, moving toward her. “But they’ll want to talk to you because you were the one holding the knife that killed Baxter.”
“But I didn’t kill him,” she said again.
“I know. But how did you end up holding the knife?”
“It was sticking out of his…ugh.” She grimaced.
“Out of his stomach,” I coaxed.
She rubbed her own stomach. “I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you’re not.” I jumped closer and gripped her arms, holding her upright. “Come on. Deep breaths. Don’t lose it now.”
She took a couple of fast, deep breaths, then her head wobbled. “I feel faint.”