Adrianna Hasselhoff, the beauty queen assistant district attorney, goes over to Brock's house for an informal interview the night after Tack's death. She asks him if he can think of anyone else who would make a better suspect for the police. Although he'd already been playing with that idea, Brock decides he doesn't like the idea of making his suspicions official.
Much as I was attracted to Adrianna Hasselhoff, I wasn't in the mood for her questions anymore.
"I'm not prepared to be the town snitch," I said quietly.
She could tell from my tone that I was angry. Sadness filled her eyes and she shut off her recorder. Sighing heavily, she sat back on her stool, taking the clips out of her hair. She shook her head a little, letting the hair fall where it wanted. She looked even prettier with it down, kind of vulnerable and a lot younger than I first thought.
Closing my eyes against the tempting sight, I inhaled deeply. Which was really a mistake, because her perfume wrapped around me like a cloud. I was hooked and she probably knew it. I hoped she wasn't planning to use her beauty against me. That would be damn low.
"Look," she said softly. "Brock, I came here because my boss thinks that a pretty solid case could be built against you and Amy Carmichael as co-conspirators. You say she's not capable of doing this, that you don't want to be the town snitch. But the fact is, Brock, that everyone is pretty willing to turn and point fingers at you. Amy told us about your affair. She said you had reasons to kill Tack that no one else knew about. Amy mentioned your name in connection with Tack's death no less than four times in ten minutes." She sighed again, looking down at the counter all sorrowful.
"By your own admission, you think that everyone is better off without Tack Carmichael. The killer did a public service. You couldn't have killed him yourself, you have a restaurant full of witnesses. But that doesn't mean you couldn't have hired someone to do it for you."
"Jesus Christ!" I yelled, totally pissed off now. "Why the hell would I bother?"
"For Amy Carmichael."
"For Amy? Sure, she's a great lay, but I don't love the woman. I don't even particularly like her. She's a selfish, self-centered bimbo. Ms. Hasselhoff, I think you need to leave now."
"I'm sorry if I've upset you, Mr. Parnell."
"You're too nice a lady for me to say to you what I am thinking of saying. Let me calm down, get some more sleep."
"May I call you later?"
"Depends on what you want to say to me." I smiled a little, giving a sardonic laugh. "If you want to call and talk dirty, that's cool. If you want to talk about Tack Carmichael, then I don't know."
She smiled, her blue eyes going all soft and gooey. I wanted to dive into those eyes. They were like twin lakes and I wanted to drown in them. I wanted to wrap myself in her hair and stay tangled in it forever.
". . . .about Tack Carmichael." She said, but I missed part of it.
"What? I'm sorry." I blinked hard and fast, trying to focus on her.
"I said I don't want to talk about Tack Carmichael."
I grinned, winking at her. "I bet you don't want to talk dirty either."
Ms. Hasselhoff giggled, her blue eyes going wide. "Oh, I didn't say that, Brock."
She winked and walked toward the door, giving me a good view of her ass. She put a little twitch into her walk that wasn't there last night and I nearly slipped in the puddle of drool that gathered at my feet. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob.
"Get some sleep, Brock. You look like you could use it."
"I bet you could too," I smiled sympathetically. "You probably didn't sleep any more than I did."
"Not been to bed yet." She sighed. That did nice things to her chest.
"We could share," I suggested playfully.
She knew I was only half kidding. "Get some sleep, Brock. I'll call you later."
Her smile lit bonfires in me. I felt like a damn teenager again!
"You do that."
I stayed behind the counter because there was quite a happy dance going on in my pants that I didn't really want her to see. I pretended to be occupied with my coffee cake, acting all casual.
She flashed a five star smile, tossed her hair over her shoulder and opened the door. One last time, she glanced at me Lauren Bacall style before going out. My heart did flip-flops as the door closed behind her.
"That's it," I said to myself. "I've died and gone to hell. God is punishing me for being a bad boy."
© 2015 Dellani Oakes