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20. Killion

KILLION

T he next morning, my office at the Brambleberry Bay Police Department looks like a crime scene of its own.

Papers are strewn across my desk, the stale smell of yesterday’s coffee lingers in the air, and a box of donuts sits to my right, a not-so-subtle reminder of my unhealthy coping mechanisms. Although to hear Hattie extol the benefits of a cruller, you’d think they were the next craze in health food.

I cast another quick glance around.

Come to think of it, my entire office is a mess. The only clean spot is Rookie’s corner next to me, where he’s currently napping, most likely wishing he spent the day with Cricket and Hattie instead.

Hattie offered and I know she doesn’t mind, but a part of me wanted the company.

I’m about to take another sip from the most bitter coffee in the world, just as the door bursts open and in strides my mother, looking as if she’s on a mission.

A mission to do exactly what—that is the question. And I’m pretty sure I won’t like the answer.

She’s bundled from head to toe in black, her matching dark hair is pulled back into a bun, and the only spot of color is that brick-red lipstick of hers.

“Killion Major Maddox,” she calls out as if I were clear across the precinct and I can’t help but groan.

Nothing good has ever come of my mother invoking my middle name, let alone shouting it.

“What now,” I mutter as her heels click against the linoleum as she makes her way over.

“We need to talk.”

“Good morning to you, too, Mom.” I lean back in my chair and toss my pen to the desk. Not a speck of work will get done with her around. I needed a break from all the chaos anyway. Although I get the feeling chaos is about to rain down on me in a whole new way. “What’s the crisis this time?”

“You bet there’s a crisis.” She plants herself in front of my desk with her hands on her hips. “I heard you’re about to lock Venetta up. This is unacceptable!”

I raise a brow and do my best to suppress a smile. “You heard wrong. There are no charges against Venetta.”

Her eyes narrow. “But she’s a suspect, isn’t she?”

“Among others.” Although the list is rather short. And considering my only other suspect is dead, it’s not looking so good for Venetta.

“Well, I command that you knock this off.” Her voice booms over all four walls and Rookie whimpers softly as he lifts his head. Clearly, he’s not a fan of the current situation. I’ll have to make it up to him by way of donuts as soon as she leaves.

“Mom, just because Venetta is a suspect, doesn’t mean I’m going to lock her up and throw away the key. It’s simply procedural.”

“Suspect, schmuckspet,” she scoffs. “Venetta is practically family. You can’t seriously think she had anything to do with those murders.”

“Mom”—I give a slow blink—“being family—or practically family—doesn’t grant immunity from suspicion. And by the way, she’s not family. She’s a friend of yours.” Emphasis on the word yours .

“She’s close enough,” Mom huffs, smoothing down her hair. “And you know darn well you have the power to cross her off your suspect list. You’re just being stubborn.”

“Stubborn?” I laugh. “I'm doing my job, Mom. You know, the one where I catch killers and keep people safe?”

Her lips fidget as she stares me down. “Killion, honey, I’m just saying?—”

I hold up a hand. “No, Mom. You’re not just saying. You’re insisting. And I’m telling you, there are no charges against Venetta. Not yet at least. Now, please allow me to continue my investigation.”

She purses her lips, clearly not satisfied with my answer. “And what if she’s innocent?”

“Then my investigative efforts will prove that. I promise I will do some digging,” I reply as calmly as I can—and it’s taking a lot to do it.

She gives a dramatic sigh as she glances at the door. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Must be genetic,” I say, taking another sip of my hours-old coffee.

Her brow hitches up a notch, her eyes flit to the ceiling as they begin moving left to right as if she were reading a book, and something tells me this is a very, very bad thing.

“I’ve got an idea.” She lifts a finger in triumph.

I have a feeling my theory about that bad thing is about to be confirmed.

“What’s that?” I’m almost afraid to ask.

“Seeing that you have to investigate Venetta’s innocence, why don’t you spend a little alone time with her? You yourself said you had to do some digging. What better person to dig with than Venetta herself? Why, the two of you practically grew up together.” She gives a forlorn sigh toward the window. “I’ll admit, I’ve always been rooting for the two of you. You make such a smart, handsome couple. And oh, the babies you’ll have. What stunners they would be with your good bone structure and her glorious red hair. I don’t know why in the world the two of you are wasting your time. Mark my words, you’ll be married soon enough, and you’ll be angry with me for not pushing the two of you together sooner.” She wags a finger my way as she heads for the door. “I’ll speak with Venetta and let her know you’re interested in spending a significant amount of time with her. Oh, she’ll just be thrilled to hear it. Don’t putz this up,” she calls out as she strides back out the door.

Rookie gives a sharp bark in her wake and I pluck a donut out of the box and he promptly runs this way.

“I feel the same,” I say as I give it to him and nab one for myself. “How can she not see that Hattie Holiday is the perfect woman for me?” I shake my head at the thought.

Hattie is Mrs. Right. But too bad for me, I’m about to have another head-on collision with Mrs. Wrong, courtesy of my mother.

And I am certainly not looking forward to it.

I glance at the clock, and it’s time to dive back into the case files. There’s a killer to catch, and as much as I love my mother, I can’t let her or anyone else sway my focus.

Unless, of course, Venetta Brandt is the killer I’m looking for.

Now that would make this a case for the record books.

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