AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It made far more sense to simply run up the stairs and try and get help. But if he was still alive, rendering aid might be the difference between life and death. She was certified in CPR. Deciding it would be easier to live with her decision if she tried to help, she ran down to the pier, stumbling and twisting her ankle. Reaching the unmoving victim, she said a quick prayer that he was only unconscious and not dead. Her prayer was not answered when she shifted the man to his back and found evidence of no pulse.
It was only then that she recognized the identity of the victim. It was Antony Cobain, and it looked like he’d been strangled with what appeared to be the ribbon of a vintage typewriter.
Well, isn’t that just swell.
CHAPTER 5
LORI
Waiting for the police and then having them drive her to the police station instead of back to her hotel had certainly put a damper on her day. How had an evening that had started out so well gone to the proverbial hell in a handbasket? She could just hear Jessica and Fiona fussing at her for using a cliché. But in Lori’s mind, it only made sense to use it.
The interrogation room in which they’d placed her was the opposite of hell. In fact, a little hellfire might warm the place up. It was cold—the feeling of cold not being helped by the metal table, the metal chair with the vinyl seat, or the sterile gray paint. She would have much preferred to be sitting in a large leather wingback chair in front of a nice cheery fire. A cup of hot cocoa with mini marshmallows wouldn’t go amiss either.
She didn’t have a cup of hot cocoa. What she had was a cup of coffee which she was fairly sure had been made much earlier in the day. No cream or sugar had been offered; neither had she been offered tea, cocoa, or Diet Coke. Then again, she wouldn’t have turned down a shot of tequila.
Staring at the cup of cold coffee in front of her, Lori couldn’t help but be startled when the door to the room swung open, and a short, paunchy, balding man stepped into the room.
“Ms. Sykes, is it?” he said in a snarly kind of voice.
“Yes. I’m Lori Sykes.”
“I’m Detective George Middleton.”
He stopped at the other side of the table, looked down as if posturing, and then tossed a thin file folder down in front of him as he took a seat. Opening the suspiciously light folder, the detective fumbled through some loose papers before closing it and looking up at her.
“Ms. Sykes, you currently reside in Chicago?”
She nodded. “I do. I believe the police report they took at the dock should say that.”
“It does. I just need to ask you some preliminary questions. Can you tell me what brought you to Bleak Ridge?”
“Yes, as I said in the report, I’m here for the writers’ conference this weekend.”
“Are you an author?”
He was starting to get on her nerves. She was tired; she’d just seen a man murdered, and this guy was asking her questions to which she was certain he already knew the answers.
“Yes. Detective Middleton, I’m cold and a bit unsettled at seeing a man murdered. If we could just skip the things I told them at the crime scene, and confirmed once again when I signed the report, I would really appreciate it. I’d like to get back to my room at the hotel, get something to eat, maybe take a hot shower, and then go to bed.”
“As you said, a man—a famous author—lost his life tonight. It would appear he was murdered, and I am conducting this investigation.”
“Appeared to be murdered? What are the other possible scenarios? He committed suicide by strangling himself with the typewriter ribbon? Or maybe he tripped over it and became hopelessly entangled in it, and it was an accident—the guy I saw speed away on the boat notwithstanding.”
“Do you think you’d do a better job of figuring out what happened?”
“Well, I doubt I could do a worse one. I am a witness, not a suspect.”
“I will determine which you are, Ms. Sykes. After all, we only have your word about what you saw, and you seem to know an awful lot about the particulars of Mr. Coburn…”
“Cobain. Antony Cobain.”
“I knew that,” Middleton snapped. “I just misspoke. Can you tell me how you seem to know so much for a perfectly innocent bystander?”
Lori couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “I write mysteries for a living. I observe things closely. When I turned Mr. Cobain over…”
“So, you admit you touched the body.”
“Of course I did. I didn’t know for sure if he was dead so I thought I might need to provide CPR. When I rolled him over, I saw what appeared to be a vintage typewriter ribbon pulled tightly around his neck.”
