At the Drop of a Hat by Jenn McKinlay Page A

to her, how could I not go with her? It would be like letting a puppy play in traffic and not helping it to safety.
    â€œOh, I can’t ask you to do that,” she said. “You’ve already taken up so much of your day with this.”
    â€œA little bit longer won’t make much of a difference then,” I said. I glanced up and saw Inspector Franks studying me.
    â€œWhat time did you say you got here?” he asked.
    I liked Inspector Franks, I did, but I knew I looked like a square peg trying to fit in a round hole in this situation. I couldn’t blame him for being suspicious.
    â€œJudging by the fact that I stepped into the house and heard Ariana screaming, I’d say I got here just after he fell, so maybe half an hour ago,” I said.
    â€œIs there any other point of access to the roof?” Franks asked Ariana. “From outside perhaps?”
    â€œNone that I know of,” she said. “I think there’s just the one door on the third floor.”
    Inspector Franks smoothed his mustache as if considering her words. The gesture made me nervous, and judging by the way Ariana twisted her fingers in her lap, it made her nervous, too.
    Inspector Simms chose that moment to rejoin us in the sitting area. He looked a bit green around the gills and I figured staring at a man’s broken and bloody body would do that to even the most hardened police officer.
    â€œCan I have a word?” Simms said to Franks.
    â€œExcuse me, ladies.” Franks led Simms out the front door. I could hear the low murmur of their voices but I couldn’t make out what they were saying.
    I glanced at Ariana but she didn’t appear to be trying to listen to them. Then again, she was much closer to the situation than I was. I couldn’t imagine what was going through her mind. One second she’s making tea and the next she’s standing beside the bashed and bloody body of her boss. Talk about a rough day at work.
    The inspectors returned to the room and I noted that the fresh air had done Simms some good as he looked less pasty than he had when he’d left.
    â€œIf you’ll come with us, Ms. Jackson,” Inspector Franks said. “We’d like to continue our conversation back at the station.”
    Ariana gave me a helpless look and I stood up.
    â€œI’m coming with you,” I said. It was appalling how much I sounded like my mother when she’d made up her mind about something, but dang if it didn’t work.
    Inspector Franks frowned and his voice was grudging when he said, “All right then.”
    We followed the inspectors to their car, which was double-parked in front of the building. Traffic on the small street had become snarled and one constable was out in the road, trying to establish some order. Judging by the shouting and honking, he was failing spectacularly.
    He looked relieved when he saw the inspectors open the back doors for us and gave a wave as the men climbed in and Inspector Simms maneuvered us through the tight street.
    I had been to the Notting Hill Station—it’s a long story and really doesn’t bear repeating—but I’d never been to the Kensington Station. We hurried down Kensington High Street and worked our way toward Earl’s Walk. I took it as a good sign that the inspectors didn’t have the siren wailing as they drove.
    We arrived at the redbrick building and Inspector Simms pulled over to the curb, letting us out. Inspector Franks gave him a nod as we climbed out and I assumed it meant that parking the car was the younger inspector’s job.
    Two bright blue pots with small evergreen shrubs sat on each side of the glass double doors. Given the barren appearance of the very flat redbrick building, I took the planters as a sign of eternal optimism.
    Personally, my positive thought of the moment was the hope that Ariana’s fiancé would arrive shortly and I would be spared spending the entire day