Confessions by Joann Ross Page B

win the Mr. Congeniality award. But the clock was ticking down and he still had to get to the hospital in Payson and interview Fletcher again before the press conference. And then there was the scorned beautician with the scissors.
    â€œNeither. Is there a third choice?”
    Her curse was short and imaginative. He wondered if she could get away with using it in her TV shows.
    â€œLook, I’ll bet my last Emmy that Alan’s sleeping with his assistant. That gives you the motive.”
    â€œMotive’s for trial lawyers, crime novelists and you Hollywood writers. To tell you the truth, Ms. Swann, in real life cops don’t spend a helluva lot of time looking for motive.”
    â€œYou don’t?”
    Trace could tell he’d momentarily sidetracked her. “Sometimes the motive behind a crime can be interesting. Sometimes it’s even helpful. But it’s usually beside the point.
    â€œFor future reference, forget the why. Worry about finding out the how and nine times out of ten it’ll give you the who. ”
    From the silence on the other end of the line, Trace suspected she was thinking that over. He was right.
    â€œThat’s very interesting.” Another little silence. He strapped on his watch and decided if he didn’t wind this up soon, he was never going to make his appointment with Jessica.
    â€œI’m glad you think so. Now, if you don’t mind—”
    â€œSo, what I have to do is figure out how Alan killed Laura.”
    â€œWhat you have to do is be a good girl and let me do my job,” he corrected.
    â€œIn the first place, I’m no longer a girl, Sheriff. And in the second place, even when I was, I was never, ever good. Ask anyone in Whiskey River.” Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, he thought he detected a bit of wry humor in her tone. “I’ll get back to you.”
    â€œI’ll be waiting with bated breath.” He wasn’t usually rude, although he could admittedly be so when it suited him. Fatigue had made him speak his mind and now that he had, Trace was considering whether or not he should apologize when her next statement stopped his thoughts dead in their tracks.
    â€œYou’re a sarcastic son of a bitch, Callahan. But since my sources in Dallas tell me you were one of the best—in your day—I’ll forgive you.”
    â€œYou had me checked out?” Surprise and irritation made him ignore the crack about in his day.
    â€œOf course. I told you, I pride myself on my research. I’ll be watching your press conference on the tube.” She hung up.
    As he drove to Payson for a little heart-to-heart with the senator, Trace considered that Mariah Swann was turning out to be a royal pain in the ass.
    At the same time, in his mind’s eye he could see her struggling to be brave when she’d viewed her sister’s body. He remembered the infinite tenderness with which she’d brushed away her sister’s hair from her face. He thought about how she’d thrown up afterward.
    And now he had the discomfiting feeling that she had no intention of leaving this investigation—or him alone—until she’d achieved justice for Laura.
    That she was stubborn was obvious. She was also intelligent. And, although he’d tried like hell not to notice, she was also more than a little sexually appealing. There had been a couple of suspended moments, back in hisoffice, when he’d felt the age-old stir inside him—man for woman.
    When his mutinous mind conjured up, without difficulty, her springtime scent, her expressive turquoise eyes, her full ripe lips, Trace cursed. He couldn’t discern all the emotions working through him, but he knew damn well that they weren’t comfortable.
    J.D. had been right. Mariah Swann was definitely trouble.
    After breezing through the brief surgery, Alan Fletcher had been wheeled into a private room. Ben Loftin had arrived, as