Read Alibi in High Heels for Free Online Page B

like the ones they issued you when miniature golfing.
    "So, you were the one who found the deceased. Gisella..." He consulted his notes. "Rossi?" he asked as if he'd never heard the name. Clear he didn't subscribe to French Vogue.
    I nodded.
    "When was this?"
    "I don't know. Maybe an hour ago. As soon as we found her, Jean Luc called you guys."
    "Jean Luc. This would be Monsieur Le Croix, your employer, yes?"
    I nodded again, starting to feel like a bobble doll. "Yes."
    "And he called the police right away?"
    "Yes."
    "When was the last time you saw Gisella, Mademoiselle Springer?"
    I thought back. The previous day had been a blur of activity. "I-I'm not sure. There was so much going on yesterday."
    "You didn't see her this morning, then?"
    "No, not until..." I trailed off, my eyes cutting to the door.
    "Right. And where were you earlier this morning?"
    My head snapped up. "What?"
    "I asked where you were this morning," he said, leaning two hands on the table.
    I gulped. "Why? Am I a suspect?"
    Moreau stared at me. "This isn't the first time you have come across a dead body, is it?"
    I bit my lip. I had to admit, it wasn't. Call me unlucky, but I seemed to be jinxed that way. "No."
    "Isn't it true, in fact, that you once before stabbed a woman with a shoe?"
    I paused. Then nodded slowly. "Yes, but-"
    "And isn't it true," he continued, raising his voice to steamroll right over my objections, "that she was also stabbed in the neck?"
    I said nothing. Damn, news traveled fast.
    "An interesting coincidence, no?"
    "Look, I didn't have anything to do with this. I barely even knew Gisella. I just met her yesterday. Yes, it's just a weird coincidence." But even as I said it my mind was rejecting that thought. What were the chances of a something like that happening twice? "Look, stilettos are sharp. They're pointy. They're a good weapon choice."
    He looked unconvinced, his dead squirrel mustache twitching with every breath.
    "It could have been anyone! Gisella wasn't exactly popular, you know."
    "And, you are the designer of the shoe in question, are you not?"
    "Um... yes?" I said. Only it sounded more like a question.
    "Another coincidence that she was stabbed with your shoe?"
    I jutted my chin out defiantly. "Yes. Another coincidence."
    Moreau snorted. "That's quite a few, isn't it?"
    I pursed my lips together, refraining from comment. Mostly because I didn't have one.
    A knock sounded at the door and an officer in blue appeared. He was carrying a black bag with him and said something in French to the detective. Moreau responded with a, "Oui, oui," and waved him in.
    The second guy laid his bag on the table and opened it up, pulling out a long stick with a cotton swab on the end that looked like a super sized Q-tip.
    "Since this is all one giant coincidence ," Moreau said, heavy on the sarcasm, "I don't suppose you would mind giving us a sample of your DNA? To rule you out, of course."
    I looked at the Q-tip, then back to Moreau. I squared my shoulders. "No, of course not."
    Moreau nodded to the uniform, who gestured for me to open my mouth. I did, and he stuck the Q-tip in, gently scraping it along the side of my cheek. Then he placed it in a plastic case and snapped the top shut, dropping it into his black bag. He mumbled something else in French to Moreau, then nodded and left the room.
    I stared after him, suddenly wary. Though I wasn't sure why. Surely whatever they did with my DNA would prove me innocent, right?
    "You never answered my initial question, Mademoiselle Springer," Moreau said, scrutinizing me.
    I snapped my eyes back to meet his.
    "Gisella was killed between one and four am. Where were you this morning?"
    "I woke up and came straight from the hotel to here. Where I found Gisella."
    "Alone?"
    "Yes. No. I mean, I was with Jean Luc."
    "All morning?"
    "No, just when we found her."
    "What about last night?" he asked, his questions falling like rapid fire one on top of the other.
    "I was working."
    "Alone?"
    "No. I was