"Oh." Chloe hadn't realized how close she had gotten to Mr. Policeman. She had been staring into those eyes and getting a little lost while he talked and was nearly an inch away. She quickly took a step back and looked down at her shoes to keep from being hypnotized further. He didn't seem to take notice.   "You'll hear from your lawyer in a day or two, I'm sure, about wills and life insurance and all that. Technically Jonathan is a homicide, while Nicki is a murder and Veronica suicide, according to your story. But we are still looking into things. So Nicki's next of kin will be notified and all that jazz. As far as the police are concerned, well, I've got a lot of paperwork, and the labs will be busy. You are still a suspect, so you don't need to contribute to this case other than staying out of trouble and staying in town." She could swear he was suggesting she were guilty, and it felt like he was also flirting with her. Something about his eyes seeme

Chloe had made a quick call to work and they assured her bereavement time was already set up then she finally found the spare key to Jon's desk after looking for nearly an hour. He always kept one on his keychain, but there was always a spare in the house somewhere. It was her copy, but she never really had a use for it, so she often misplaced it. Jon had always used the desk and handled legal matters and all the numbers for things like bills and whatever else needed to be done. He was, after all, an accountant. She knew his key to the desk more than likely was at the police station being swabbed and prodded or stored in a plastic bag. She sat down at the large mahogany desk and took a deep breath. She had no clue what to expect from the lawyer or what to even say. She picked up the landline. She never used it, not even once, but she thought it was appropriate for some reason. She dialed the number on the business card paper clipped to some legal documents she knew nothing a

When she returned, he was sipping his coffee and looking in her crafts basket on the side table. She instantly felt the heat in her cheeks once again. She paused a beat then quickly grabbed up her cup and jacket, heading briskly to the door, hoping he hadn't seen much but wondering again what all he saw last night while she was passed out. She grabbed her purse from near the side table and headed out. He dropped whatever he was looking at and followed her out. Chloe stopped short when she saw the car in her driveway and felt his solid warm body collide with hers from behind, and she began to teeter over. He grabbed her shoulders to steady her and then guided her by the small of her back to the passenger door of a shiny Mercedes S-class sedan. It was a dark metallic blood-red color, almost black, and looked fresh off the lot. He opened her door for her. Even the rims were expensive, she loved those multi-spoke rims, and she knew they cost extra. When she continued to

Chloe sighed and shook her head. Then she began to cry. It came silently, her eyes blurring over the heat of her tears burning to get out and slide down her face. She sat there in the cold fall shade on the quiet street, not able to stop the soft, silent downpour of tears. Chloe didn't feel the loss of her husband or friends. She felt the betrayal of the man she trusted more than anyone else. How could he? Then before she could even be properly upset with him or digest it all, he was gone. She loved him; she did, even if it was a messed up sloppy, boring love; it was something. Kendra was right; Chloe had wasted so much of her life being Mrs. Jonathan Harris instead of Chloe. She heard a rap on her window, and she jumped. Then heard someone apologize as she looked up. There he was, her Sexy Detective in all his raw male essence, waiting to take hold of her as soon as she let him she could see it in his eyes. Oh god, she knew she was a wreck, but she pushed the button

She'd head to the restroom and, hopefully, run into Kendra along the way. As she stood, Detective Johnson pushed off the wall and excused himself from Madame Larsson's clutches. He made his way to Chloe before she'd gotten halfway to the door, which wasn't hard as she was stopped every couple of feet by someone giving sympathies and wondering what it'd be like to talk to a real life killer.   "Hey, Chloe." Detective Johnson said when he finally reached her. He too had been mobbed but by females and guys asking ridiculous questions like, if he knew what Jonathan was wearing at the time he got shot; if his eyes were open or closed; what was his facial expression shock, anger, or betrayal; how much blood was there; or did Chloe really kill all three of them for Moulton's loot. He tried his best to be polite as he pulled away from each of them. They were after the information for new gossip, and the women also wanted to stroke his arm while they asked their silly qu