Spencer’s pulse raced. And even better, he had something positive to tell Dani. But first he wanted to talk to the reporter. After that, he’d call Dani and find out the title of the book Dr. Demented was so interested in getting back.
Chapter 17
Dani had been sitting in the frigid room for over an hour. Shivering, she stared at the mirrored wall, which she was sure was two-way glass. Her stomach knotted. Was someone observing her? Was this some kind of test?
The overhead lights flickered as chills chased up her spine. In a futile attempt to get warm, Dani wrapped her arms around herself. She was an idiot. She should never have opened her door, let alone agree to come to the station with the scary detective. She should have called Spencer.
Dani had just finished with the lunch rush and had been about to look for Kipp’s book when the doorbell had started ringing. Rushing into the foyer, she saw Mikeloff’s face peering through the side window. When she’d hesitated, he’d pounded on the old glass so hard she was afraid the pane would break.
As soon as she’d unlocked the door and opened it a few inches, Mikeloff had snarled, “If you don’t want Ivy Drake to spend the night in jail for the murder of Regina Bourne, you’ll accompany me downtown right now and tell me everything I want to know.” He’d poked her in the shoulder and repeated, “Everything. Are we clear?”
Mikeloff had ignored Dani’s questions, barely giving her time to grab her purse and lock up before hurrying her into his unmarked Chevy Impala. Although she’d been relieved that it wasn’t a squad car with sirens, flashing lights, and a steel mesh cage between the front and back seats, her heart had thudded so loud, she could barely hear the detective’s rantings.
Then when he’d nearly rear-ended a truck, passing it half on the sidewalk, she’d yelped and clutched the dashboard, positive they were about to crash.
Mikeloff had glanced at her and sneered, “No. I do not have road rage. I just assertively maneuver around morons that don’t know how to drive.”
“Why don’t you simply give them a ticket?” Dani had asked.
“I’m a detective, not a patrol officer,” Mikeloff had snapped.
The detective had then proceeded to ignore Dani during the remainder of the short drive. He’d refused to explain his statement about Ivy or reveal if the girl was already in custody. Once they arrived at the police station, Mikeloff had parked in the staff lot behind the building, hustled her in through the back entrance, up the stairs, and into the room where she now sat, her emotions vacillating between boredom and fear.
Dani took a deep breath. The overwhelming smell of vomit mixed with disinfectant made her gag. Breathing through her mouth, she eyed the door. Could she just walk out?
Had Mikeloff locked it? The detective had secured her purse in a file drawer and she had nothing in her pockets, but surely someone would give her a ride home. Or at least let her make a phone call.
She’d just pushed back her chair, determined to leave, when she heard shuffling footsteps and the rattle of the doorknob. Mikeloff marched into the room. He had a folder under his arm and a steaming mug in his hand. The concerned expression on his face confused Dani, and she wrinkled her brow. What had changed the detective’s attitude from belligerent to sympathetic?
Mikeloff leaned close to her—his breath reminded her of rotten vegetables and sewer water. Barely keeping the repulsed look off her face, Dani scooted her chair back from him and made a show of crossing her legs.
The detective placed the coffee near her hand, dropped into the seat across from her, and said conversationally, “I don’t know why they keep it so cold in here.”
“That’s for sure.” Dani warmed her fingers on the cup. “Thank you.” Straightening her spine, she said, “Now that I’ve had a chance to think about this, I’m not sure what I can tell you. If Ivy is in trouble, it would probably be best for me to call her uncle.”
“Mr. Drake is a busy man and I bet his girlfriend isn’t too thrilled with all the time he’s spending helping you and Miss Drake.” Mikeloff rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t we see if you and I can straighten this out before we bother him?”
Spencer had a girlfriend? Disappointment hit Dani like a fifty-pound sack of flour, but she shook it off and, ignoring the tiny voice inside her head that was urging her to shut up and leave, asked, “How?”
“I just need to know what happened.” The detective’s voice was as sticky as melted tar. “Once we get that cleared up, you can go, and we probably won’t even have to bring Miss Drake into the station.”
“Well…” Dani took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. It was not only unsweetened; it was also more like motor oil than a tasty beverage.
“Let’s start with you spelling your first and last name for me.”
Dani complied.
“Although your name is Danielle, most people call you Dani, right?” When she nodded, the detective recited her address. “Is that correct?” When she nodded again, he asked, “How long have you lived there?”
“About two months.”
“And you rent out rooms to Ivy Drake, Starr Fleming, and Tippi Epstein.”
“Uh-huh.” Dani wondered why he was asking her stuff he already knew.
Mikeloff then went over her age, marital status, and her work history.
The questions were easy and just as she was beginning to relax, the detective said, “Dani, do you know the purpose of this interview?”
“To talk about Regina Bourne’s murder.” Dani tensed. “Right?”
“Correct.” Mikeloff flipped open the folder that he’d placed in front of him. “We’re here to figure out what happened that night after everyone left the party.”
“I don’t see how I can help you with that.” Dani crossed her arms.
“You should realize that if you had something to do with the murder, we will eventually
