Two blocks from the police station, Kate parked her car curbside. Her stomach was more scrambled than her morning eggs, and her hands hadn’t stopped trembling since she marched out of Parker’s office, vowing to find Daisy’s killer.
Was she nuts?
What did she know about tracking down a murderer?
She could end up his next victim.
Her gaze darted from window to window. Okay, Kate, get a grip. No one besides a roomful of cops even knows you’re looking. She pocketed her keys and stepped out of the car. A short walk might help her calm down and figure out what to do next.
Bright splotches of sunlight dappled the tree-lined street, but the scene felt wrong—as if even the sky had failed her. The weather should be cloudy, miserable, like she felt.
How could Detective Parker insinuate Daisy killed herself on purpose?
He’d acted so concerned with those soft eyes and mellow tones, and then boom, he delivered that “people are rarely what they seem” line. Well, she’d show him. Daisy was an open book—and more than that, a woman full of life and zest. She never would have killed herself.
And Kate would prove it.
Somehow.
