Glossy blond hair that’s on the warm, golden side, but worn in a sleek bob that sits above her shoulders and is parted on the side. Her eyes are a light brown and framed with dark lashes, which appear to be unadorned with makeup of any kind. In fact, I don’t see any eyeshadow or blush. Just a clear face with remarkably soft-looking skin, a slight smattering of freckles across her nose, and that’s it.
Beautiful… in a wholesome kind of way. Clearly buttoned up and looks to be wound tight. I bet it would take a crowbar to wrench those legs apart.
“Mr. Scott,” she says, and she can’t hide the soft, southern twang of a North Carolina girl. I know this because I have the counterpart accent, having been born and raised in this state as well. “I’m Emma Peterson and I’m from Knight & Payne.”
She walks boldly into the room, shutting the door behind her, before leaning over and sticking her hand out for me to shake. I notice her hand is delicate with slender fingers. She wears a thin gold ring on her middle right finger with an amethyst stone, but that’s the only jewelry other than tiny gold studs in her ears. All very sedate and in line with the way a traditional lawyer would look, which is not typical of a Knight & Payne attorney. In fact, I know no attorney there that dresses that way.
“You’re not with Knight & Payne,” I tell her assuredly as I ignore her outstretched hand.
“I most certainly am,” she says with indignation and reaches efficiently into the side of her briefcase, pulling out a card. She hands it to me, and I reluctantly take it.
Emma Peterson, Associate Attorney
It looks official enough with the firm logo and tagline below it. I throw it on the desk and ask her, “Where’s Midge?”
“At the office,” she says and walks past me to the chair on the opposite side of the table. “She asked me to handle this.”
She sits down, places her briefcase on the floor beside her chair, and leans over for a moment. When she straightens back up, she has a yellow legal pad in her hand and a generic black pen. Placing the pad before her on the table, she sits ramrod straight as she looks at me. I can just imagine those prim little legs crossed at the ankles and clamped tight under the desk.
“Mr. Scott… I’d like for you to—”
“It’s just Evan,” I say with a sigh, her rigid professionalism starting to grate on my nerves from the start. It makes me nervous to be honest.
She blinks a few times, seems at a loss, but eventually nods in acquiescence. “Okay… Evan… I’d like for you to tell me everything that happened this morning when the detectives showed up at your house.”
I drum my fingers on the tabletop, playing a beat. I do this when I’m nervous. “They showed up and told me my former bandmate, Keith Carina, was dead. Asked me where I’d been last night, then asked me to come in and give a statement. That’s pretty much it.”
Emma scribbles some quick notes before looking back up at me and asking, “You said Keith Carina was a former bandmate? Was that when you were with the band Kickback?”
So my attorney knows my music.
Interesting.
“Yes,” I tell her, and then add on in case she doesn’t know all the facts. “We broke up about a year and a half ago, and I went solo.”
“Was there bad blood between you and the other band members?” she asks, her head now bowed over the yellow pad as she scribbles.
This question irritates me because she’s focusing on a potential motive I might have to kill Keith. I try to maintain my calm though and tell her vaguely, “They weren’t happy I went solo.”
She nods in understanding but doesn’t look at me, still writing her notes. “Did the detectives give you any details at all as to what happened? Like what time? Where?”
I shake my head. “Only that Keith was shot in the head and they asked me where I was between midnight and four AM?”
Emma’s head bobs up and down. She jots some words on the yellow-lined paper and asks, “Who were you with last night? He or she’s a potential alibi.”
“It was a she. And I have no clue who she is.”
Emma’s head snaps up, and she looks at me with her mouth parted in surprise. “You don’t know who she is?”
I smirk at her, because it’s fucking adorable this buttoned-up little attorney doesn’t understand the concept of an anonymous one-night stand. “Absolutely no clue. Don’t even remember her first name. She had red hair and fantastic tits though, so I’m sure I could identify her from a lineup, although she’d have to be naked for me to be absolutely sure.”
She makes a noise deep in her throat… possibly disgust, not sure, but her nose also wrinkles up in distaste. Makes me stare at her freckles there a little harder, as they lend a youthful, carefree sort of look about her. That’s clearly not the case though as she looks down that little judgmental nose at me.
“This isn’t a game, Mr. Scott,” she says primly.
“It’s Evan,” I growl at her as I lean forward in my chair, slapping my palms on the table. “And I don’t need your holier-than-thou attitude. I’m a little stressed over what’s going on here.”