Got Your Number

stay up on his nose. He looked all of nineteen and was dressed like a farmer—smelled like one, too.
    "Please excuse my appearance," he said in a boyish voice as he sat down heavily. "I was working my compost pile when my phone rang."
    She had no idea what compost was, but the man must have some means if he had a pile of it. At the moment, however, she had more pressing matters on her mind. Carl was dead. Dead. Dead. The more the word revolved in her head, the less it even seemed like a word, much less one that was so...final. Dead, just like Tammy Paulen. And these visions of her strangling Carl—were they real? Or had hearing the graphic details of his death put them there? Her head was too full to think.
    Her lawyer pulled out a pad of paper and went through three pens from his briefcase before he found one with ink. "Here we go. Now Ms. Ryder, have you spoken with anyone about the murder?"
    She shook her head and massaged the pain just beneath her breastbone. A foul-tasting blend of indigestion and grief and guilt. She'd already been sick twice, once before they left Dr. Oney's and once on the ride over in the police car. Good God Almighty, when Dee found out what had happened, she'd have her birth certificate changed. And if everything unraveled, then she might as well go to prison for all the life she'd have.
    "Ms. Ryder?"
    "Yes?"
    "I asked if you'd like something—coffee, soda?"
    What she wanted was to sit on the floor and cry like a baby. "N-no, thank you."
    He cleared his throat. "Ms. Ryder, do you understand that you're a suspect in the murder of Carl Seger?"
    She squinted. "How old are you?"
    He blushed. "Thirty-five. I know I look young, and I did just pass the bar, but I got a late start."
    Boy, did she know all about that. "How do you know Dr. Oney?"
    "She's an old friend of the family, encouraged me to go to law school."
    "Mr. Brown, I don't have a lot of money." She doubted if she could get a refund on the money she'd bid for Carl, and she couldn't go to her parents.
    "That's okay," he said cheerfully. "I'm doing pro bono work on the side until I get my soybean crop harvested."
    Her attorney was a soybean farmer? What were soybeans, exactly? Her doubt must have been apparent because he smiled.
    "I'm not a trial lawyer, Ms. Ryder. I'll only advise you through the police interviews." Then he frowned. "How did you get those bruises on your neck?"
    "Carl Seger choked me."
    His face darkened. "Do you need medical attention?"
    She shook her head. "I just want to get this over with and go back to Baton Rouge."
    "Is that where you live?"
    "Yes."
    He wrote it down. "Are you married?"
    A lump formed in her throat, forcing her to swallow. "No."
    He took down a few more vitals, then withdrew a limp blue bandana and wiped his shiny forehead. "Ms. Ryder, I read the police report, and I have to tell you it doesn't look good."
    "But I didn't murder Carl."
    He nodded as if he didn't believe her. "It isn't murder if you killed him in self-defense."
    A rap on the door preceded the entry of two plainclothes cops. Mike told them his name, and they identified themselves as Detectives Jaffey and Warner.
    Jaffey looked at her as if she were a snack. "Are you ready to talk, Ms. Ryder?"
    She looked at Mike, who remained quiet, as if he wanted her to make the decision. Hm. She nodded.
    "No tape recorder," Mike said. "And I'll stop Ms. Ryder if I think the questioning is going against her best interests."
    The detectives shrugged. Jaffey leaned over and planted his hands on the table. "Ms. Ryder, did you kill Carl Seger?"
    "Stop," Mike said, placing his hand on her arm. His big fingers looked a bit grubby. "Let's start again, gentlemen."
    Jaffey sighed and pulled up a chair. "All right. Ms. Ryder, how do you know Carl Seger?"
    Mike removed his hand and nodded for her to answer.
    "He was a theology professor when I attended college at Notre Dame." Jaffey asked for the years and she told him.
    "Were you a student of his?"
    "Yes, for a few classes."
    "Were you ever involved with him sexually?"
    She shifted on the uncomfortable plastic seat. "Not involved, no."
    "Was there ever an encounter?"
    She glanced to Mike, but he only pushed his glasses higher. "Once," she murmured.
    "What happened?"
    "He invited me back to his office. I...gave him oral sex."
    "And that was it?"
    She nodded, hot from shame. "He barely acknowledged me after that."
    "Did that make you feel worthless? Angry?"
    Angora bit her tongue. "No one likes to be