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already."
    Kitty got up from her chair, put her drink down on a
coaster, and walked toward the door. I followed, Imogen trailing
closely behind me, then opened the door for Kitty. She apologized
to me for interrupting my evening and then expressed her apologies
to Imogen for showing up unannounced and for disturbing her dinner.
Imogen assured her there was nothing to worry about, and by the
time we closed the door it appeared as if we were all on good
terms.
    "Bitch."
    On second thought, things might still be a bit
precarious.

CHAPTER EIGHT
     
    After calming Imogen down, I called Detective
Carrington. I was going to make it a point to share any information
that I had received about this case with him immediately. At least
for the time being. Keep the suspicion away from myself. I was
going to play offense.
    "Detective, it's Max
Slade."
    "Ah, Max, good to hear from
you."
    "John, do you have a minute to
chat?"
    "John, huh, glad to see we're
making some progress."
    I chuckled inside. Maybe I was a cliché,
subconsciously cozying up to the detective, addressing him by his
first name.
    "I certainly do. What's on your
mind?"
    "Kitty just left."
    "Ah, Mrs. Baxter. She certainly
likes stopping by your place."
    "Indeed, it's becoming a terrible
habit that I intend on helping her break."
    "So, what did Mrs. Baxter have to
say for herself?"
    "She was poking around about the
email from Mike to Ted. I told her we didn't really get anywhere
with it. But then I told her that we shared it with the police and
she lost her cool."
    John paused for a moment then
said, "Hmm, I see." I believed he spoke simply to fill the void of
silence that had formed. Then, after another moment of silence, he
asked, "Do you think she's hiding something?"
    "I'm not sure. She told me that
she thought there was something brewing at Ted's office, but she
wasn't quite sure what. That's why she was poking around Ted's
email."
    "Can't a husband trust his wife
anymore?"
    "I'm sure the knife cut both ways
in that house."
    "Funny you mention it, Max—we've
been poking around about the email and a few other things over
here."
    "Care to share?" I asked. There
was nothing to lose. The worst he could do would be to hang up on
me. But I guessed he would want to bait me. String me along. Play
some sort of detective mind game with me. But maybe my tidbits of
information had endeared me to the detective.
    "Well, for starters, forensics
came back with confirmation on the gun. It was a 9mm. There were
traces of the powder left on the entrance wound. We also found a
fragment of the bullet lodged in a book. The powder and the casing
match."
    "Forgive me, detective, but, what
does that all mean? That Ted was shot with a 9mm gun?"
    John laughed. "You got it, Max. If
we can find the gun we can probably link it back to Ted's murder.
But the odds of that are slim to none." He let that comment
marinate for a moment. "You don't have a 9mm, do you?"
    He threw that question in nonchalantly. As if I
would admit it even if I did have a gun.
    I chuckled. "No, detective. I
don't carry a gun. I've never even fired one."
    He paused. Digesting my answer.
Then completely changed the subject: "Another thing that you might
be interested in is the time of death. They put it around 7:45 p.m.
Smack dab in our window. And, last but by no means least, is the
email. Our boys have been working on that one, too. There's
something to it, but we're not sure what exactly. We'll be
interviewing Mr. Mike Miller shortly."
    I just listened. I didn't have
anything further to add to this conversation. Other than the
sinking feeling that I was still a person of interest. I had hoped
that I wasn't going to graduate to suspect.
    "OK, Max, well, we'll be in
touch."
    Then he disconnected. I threw my phone on the couch
and looked over at Imogen sitting across from me.
    "So, now we're in this, huh?" she
asked.
    "I'm afraid so. For a little
while. We don't have a choice. At least until we can deflect this
away from