Killer Heels by Sheryl J. Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

night.
    “What? Molly? You think she should get the news—the worst news she’s ever going to get—from these cold strangers ?” I could only assume that she was talking about Detectives Edwards and Lipscomb and could only pray that they were out of earshot. “She’ll need. A friend! Someone to comfort her.”
    “I’ll go with you.” It was out of my mouth before I’d really thought it through. Something I’m getting a little too prone to do. But I’d been able to contain my own grief by not considering Helen’s at all. Now that Yvonne had pried the lid off that well, I could not stomach the thought of Yvonne unleashed on Helen in her darkest hour. The others looked at me curiously, wondering no doubt what could be luring me from their company in my hour of semi-darkness.
    “Well. I hadn’t … Let me ask the detectives.”
    I waited as Yvonne put her hand over her phone and went in search of the detectives. I thought she’d called with the intent of inviting me, but now she sounded like I was raining on her parade. I put my hand over my phone to explain. “Yvonne’s going with the detectives to tell Helen.”
    “Molly, you have to go. And if you can possibly gag that fiend and put her in the trunk before you arrive, even better,” Cassady urged.
    Tricia nodded in agreement as a voice issued from my phone. “Ms. Forrester?”
    I nearly swallowed my phone in my eagerness to answer. “Detective Edwards?”
    Cassady raised her glass. “Detective Edwards,” she whispered to Tricia and they clinked glasses, laughing.
    “Ms. Hamilton says you’d like to come with us to notify Mrs. Reynolds,” Detective Edwards said, with no hint in his voice as to whether he thought it was a good idea.
    “It seemed the right thing to do.”
    “It would definitely be a help,” he answered and I knew that was more of a slam on Yvonne than it was a compliment to me. “Where are you? We’ll pick you up.”
    “I’m at Django. I thought a drink with friends might help me sleep,” I added, feeling a sudden need to justify my location and activity.
    “I understand. We’ll be outside in ten minutes.”
    “It’s a date,” I blurted, then wished I really could swallow my phone. “Sorry, I mean—I don’t know what I was thinking.”
    “Too bad,” he said, and the quality of his voice warmed just a little. “Thought it might be a Freudian slip.”
    “Wow,” I breathed. “Detectives don’t miss much, do they?”
    There was a long enough pause that I could feel him debating with himself. “Ten minutes,” was the reply that won.
    “Ten minutes,” I echoed and hung up. I dropped my phone back in my bag and stood up. “Ladies …”
    “She’s ditching us.” Tricia cut to the chase.
    “It’s the right thing to do,” I defended.
    “I’ve seen him. It’s the right thing to do,” Cassady assured Tricia. She turned back to me for a hug and a kiss. “Call us in the morning. Me first or I’ll be hurt.”
    “Don’t wreck my shoes,” Tricia warned. “And stay out of trouble.”
    I should have listened to Tricia, parked my butt back down, and finished my brandy alexander. But no, I had to do the right thing. That’ll teach me.

3
    Dear Molly, I recently had to break some really bad news to a friend and another friend insisted on coming along with me. Okay, I’m a wimp—I should have told her to stay home. But still, was it wrong for me to imagine throwing my friend from the moving police car because she wouldn’t shut up about how horrible this was for her when it wasn’t her tragedy in any way, shape, or form? Signed, Vivid Imagination
    It’s a habit I’ve developed in the two years I’ve been writing the column. When I’m in a stressful situation, it helps me to imagine a reader sending in a letter about said stress and asking my advice. I like to think of it as a creative way of gaining perspective on a problem. I’m sure my therapist would say that I’m emotionally distancing myself from the