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only one who admitted to touching the murder weapon. That tends to get a cop’s attention.”
    I’d spent so much time contemplating the possibility of my own death from that bottle that I hadn’t considered that my fingerprints were on the murder weapon. Yowzah. I was a murder suspect.
    My legs went limp, and I leaned against the wall for support. “Now what do I do?”
    “Nothing.” Mike’s voice was low and firm. His eyes lost their usual glint of sardonic humor. “Detective Frewen and his team might ask you to come down to the station and answer a few more questions. Your job is to do what they ask and nothing more. You don’t want to stick your pretty little nose into a murder case again. You could have died last time.” He pushed away from the wall and strolled over to me. “I’d hate to see you push your luck and lose.”
    Me, too. Facing the wrong end of a gun was not an experience I’d care to repeat. I had no intention of poking into this murder case. Still, the macho “back off and let the men handle it” attitude had me saying, “If the cops do their jobs, there won’t be any need for me to poke my nose into their business. If not . . .”
    If I was hoping to get a rise out of Mike, I hit the bull’s-eye. His eyes narrowed, his face turned bright red, and the vein on his forehead began to dance the mambo. Yeah—score a direct hit for me.
    “Are you implying that it was my fault you got nosy and almost got killed?”
    Maybe. Had Mike investigated the real murderer instead of one of my students, I would never have needed to ask my own questions or face down a killer. Since I wasn’t interested in watching Mike implode, however, I crossed my fingers behind my back and said, “Of course not. Look, between watching a man die and finding out I’m a potential suspect, I’ve had a long day. What do you say we call a truce?”
    Mike’s expression softened. He reached up his hand and brushed a lock of hair off my face. “Paige, the Evanston police know you didn’t kill the opera guy. Do what they ask and everything will be okay. Got it?”
    “Got it.”
    “Good.” He smiled and put on his gloves. “And just in case you were wondering—the blonde I was seeing moved to Florida. I thought this might be a good time for the two of us to think about resuming our relationship.”
    Relationship? What relationship? Mike and I had kissed twice. The kisses were spectacular, which should have led to something more interesting. Too bad after both occasions Mike felt compelled to ruin the moment by speaking. And while Mike’s rugged features and toned muscles still made me sigh, I wasn’t sure going back for another round was in my best interest.
    Opening the door to a burst of arctic air, I gave Mike a sweet smile and said, “Thanks for dropping by. It was nice seeing you.”
    Grinning, Mike strolled past me toward the door and then stopped and turned. Before I could protest, his lips brushed against mine, making my pulse leap. Then Mike stepped back, gave me a wink, and headed out the door with a promise to see me soon.
    Damn. As if I didn’t have enough trouble.
    “Who was at the door, dear?” Millie asked as I walked back into the living room. Her eyes were wide, her face a mask of complete innocence. The Las Vegas casinos were lucky my aunt had gone into makeup sales. If ever she decided to take a whack at poker, she’d break the bank in no time.
    “Detective Kaiser stopped by,” I answered as though she didn’t already know. “He wanted to make sure I’d gotten home safe and sound.” Informing Millie about my murder-suspect status seemed like a bad idea. Between that and my job issues, Millie would freak out, which would be a waste of energy since I was freaking out enough for the both of us.
    “How nice of him. You know . . .” Millie’s eyes twinkled. Crap. I knew that look. “You don’t have a date to the country club’s Winter Ball yet. I’m sure Michael would be happy to go if