To Die For by Linda Howard Page A

again.
    “Let me check. I don’t think the lieutenant is in the building, but I’ll see what I can find out about your car,” he said, and put the phone down.
    I could hear noise, the kind of noise made by a lot of different voices. I could hear telephones ringing, papers rustling. Days were evidently as busy at the police department as nights were. I waited. I examined my manicure, which was holding up nicely. I began to think about lunch, which could be a problem unless someone—anyone!—delivered my car. I seldom eat lunch at home; I have mostly breakfast food, and I was getting low on that because I hadn’t bought groceries in a couple of weeks. I guessed I could have a pizza delivered, but I wasn’t in the mood for pizza. I was in the mood to strangle one police lieutenant.
    Finally Detective Forester came back to the phone. “Ma’am, Lieutenant Bloodsworth is taking care of your car.”
    “When?”
I asked with clenched teeth. “I’m stranded here without it. He was supposed to have it brought to me early this morning.”
    “I’m sorry for that, ma’am. He’s been very busy today.”
    “Then why can’t a patrolman bring the car to me? Or—I know!—I’ll take a taxi to Great Bods and someone can meet me there, and move the car from the back parking lot. That would save time and trouble for everyone.”
    “Hold on,” he said, and I held. And held. And held. About ten minutes later he picked up the phone and said, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t get anything arranged right now.”
    Okay, this wasn’t his fault. I managed to make my tone calm. “I understand. Thank you for checking. Oh—do you have Lieutenant Bloodsworth’s cell phone number? I misplaced it, or I’d have called him directly instead of bothering you.”
    “It’s no bother,” Detective Forester said gallantly, and rattled off the number.
    Heh heh heh.
Thanks to Wyatt’s high-handed actions the night before, all the cops thought we were involved. Why wouldn’t the detective give Wyatt’s cell number to me? That was a tactical error on Wyatt’s part.
    Wyatt might be in the middle of something important, and calling him would be a big distraction. Damn, I hoped so. I started punching in the numbers, then stopped. He probably had Caller ID on his cell, and he might not answer a call he knew was from me.
    Smirking, I put down the cordless and retrieved my own cell phone from my bag. Yes, Detective MacInnes had been kind enough to return it to me last night, once he had determined I hadn’t shot Nicole. I turned it on and called Wyatt.
    He answered on the third ring. “Bloodsworth.”
    “Where’s my car?” I demanded in as menacing a tone as I could muster.
    He sighed. “Blair. I’ll get to it. I’ve been a little busy today.”
    “I’m
stranded. If
you had listened to reason last night, you could have retrieved my car then and we wouldn’t be having this conversation, but, no, you had to throw your weight around—”
    He hung up on me.
    I shrieked in fury, but I didn’t call him back, which he probably expected. Okay, he was going to be a jerk. Fuck him. Well, not literally. Though once upon a time I—never mind. I wasn’t going there.
    I drummed my fingers and considered my options. I could call Mom and Dad and they would gladly give me a ride to a grocery store, or even lend me one of their cars, which would be an inconvenience for them. Siana would also ferry me around. Jenni
might,
if she didn’t have anything else going on, but her social calendar made me exhausted just to think about it.
    On the other hand, I could simply rent a car. Several of the name-brand rental agencies would pick you up and take you back to their office to sign the papers and get the car.
    I don’t dillydally around when I come up with a plan of action. I looked up the number of a rental agency, called them, and arranged to be picked up in an hour. Then I raced around watering plants and packing what clothes I thought I’d