Killer Cocktail by Tracy Kiely Page B

think Skippy is more intelligent than the majority of our population. And then there are times like now, when I know he is.
    The paramedics rolled DeDee out on a gurney. She lay still and unconscious. What little of her face I could see from beneath the gauze bandages looked suddenly smaller and older. I gently pushed Skippy off of me and asked, “Which hospital are your taking her to?”
    â€œCedars-Sinai,” said the blonde paramedic rapidly as he continued to monitor her vital signs. “Once you’re finished with the police, you can see her there.”
    I nodded, my throat tightening at the sight of DeDee’s battered face. Now that the paramedics had her, all of my earlier adrenaline vanished. Exhaustion now seeped through my body. Tears pricked the back of my eyes. Nigel wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “She’s going to be fine,” he murmured softly as he pressed his face into my hair. “DeDee’s a fighter.” I turned into his chest as he pulled me into his arms and hoped to hell he was right.

seventeen
    No sooner had the paramedics rushed DeDee outside to the ambulance than two police officers stepped into the foyer. The first was a small, wiry woman I guessed to be about thirty-five. Her clear grey eyes regarded me as if I were a specimen under glass. The second officer was tall with broad-shoulders. His dark hair was shaved close to his skull. Neither seemed particularly happy to be here. I was not unsympathetic.
    â€œYou the ones that found the victim?” the first officer asked, her voice clipped.
    â€œDeDee. Yes, we found her,” Nigel answered, still holding me tight against his chest.
    â€œI see,” she said, flipping open a notebook. “And her full name?”
    â€œDorothy Deanne Evans,” Nigel said. “She’s our employee. She was house-sitting for us tonight.”
    â€œI see,” she said. “And you are…?”
    â€œI’m Nigel Martini and this is my wife, Nicole.”
    â€œI’m Officer Hax and this is Officer Kelly,” she said jerking her chin toward her partner. Officer Kelly nodded. Nigel and I nodded back.
    â€œI was just about to make some coffee,” I said, reluctantly stepping out of Nigel’s embrace. “Is it okay if we continue this conversation in the kitchen?”
    â€œThat’s fine,” Officer Hax said. Officer Kelly nodded. Apparently, he wasn’t much of a talker. Not that I cared. It was almost four-thirty in the morning. I wasn’t really in the mood for a lot of chitchat either.
    I led them down the hallway. While I busied myself scooping beans into the coffee maker, Nigel and the officers seated themselves at our kitchen table. Skippy sprawled on his back at Nigel’s feet, demanding a belly rub. Nigel obliged.
    â€œSo, why don’t you tell me what happened?” Officer Hax began as she flipped to a new page of her notebook.
    â€œWe got home around three-thirty and saw that the front door was open. We found the place the way it is now—trashed. Nic and I called out for DeDee, but she didn’t answer. We found her in the study beat up and unconscious, and called 911,” Nigel said.
    â€œDid Ms. Evans have any enemies you know of ?” Officer Hax asked.
    Nigel shook his head. “Not that I know of,” he answered, as he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket. “I mean, I don’t think she’s on very good terms with her ex-husband, but they’ve been divorced for several years now, and as far as I know, he’s never tried to contact her.”
    Officer Hax scribbled in her notebook. “Do you know the ex’s name and address?” she asked.
    â€œReggie Evans,” said Nigel. “I don’t know his exact address. He lives in Tallahassee, Florida. He runs a plumbing business there. Or at least he used to.”
    â€œI see,” replied Officer Hax as she jotted this down. “And do you know