Corpse Whisperer by Chris Redding

Had it been Thursday or Friday. “Uh, Monday. The day after I signed the lease with the new place.”
    “And did you go back?”
    “No reason to. The place was a dump. No fond memories.”
    The cop grimaced as if he knew what she was talking about. “So you were nowhere near the Gray Arms two nights ago?”
    “No. Are you finished?”
    “Can anyone corroborate your story?”
    “I went to bed alone.”
    She turned away from him ready to be done with the conversation. His next words stopped her. “You were investigated in a murder by arson in Pennsylvania.”
    “And they decided I wasn’t the person they wanted.” Would that haunt her forever?
    “The detectives haven’t arrested anyone, yet.”
    “And I moved here, proof that they didn’t need me to stay in town. Goodnight Detective.”
    She left her blood on its way to boiling.
     
    ***
    Zach Holten’s apartment was in a high rise at one end of Main Street Glen Hills. Most of the town Grace had settled in was rural, with the hospital being the biggest employer, so the high rise stood out. Literally.
    As she trudged up the stairs to the third floor, the weight of her task slowed her steps. She only had two more days to solve this thing. At least she’d be close to Dolores. She’d taken the day off already and planned to invite her landlord out for lunch and shopping.
    New age music filtered through the red apartment door which sported a three seventeen. Grace stood with her hand poised to knock. What if he was in the shower? What if he had a woman over?
    She’d be mortified to interrupt a date or a rendezvous.
She’d be jealous, too. Oh, God. She’d never felt this way about anyone. Why now?
    She swallowed her hesitance and rapped on the door. Zach opened it a bit then when recognition dawned on his face he opened it fully. “What are you doing here?”
    “I have some questions for you. I didn’t think you’d mind being invaded on your home turf to be interrogated.”
    He leaned on the door dressed in loose pants and no shirt. A sheen of sweat covered his hairy chest. “Turnabout is fair play, I guess. You’ll have to wait until I’m done. Or better yet, join me.”
    She walked through the doorway into a true bachelor’s pad. Except for the art on the walls. No race car posters, here. Instead he had pictures of religious icons and prints by contemporary artists.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Yoga. I don’t have another mat, but if you take off your socks you won’t slide on the carpeting,” he said as he closed the door behind him.
    She looked at him making sure he didn’t have two heads. “Yoga? I thought only women vegetarians did that.”
    He laughed, the muscles on his chest rippling with the effort. “Nope. Homicide detectives that have seen too much do it to keep their sanity.”
    That had been the most he said to her about himself ever. She eyed his mat then her jeans. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for it.”
    “I can lend you some loose shorts.”
    “I doubt they’d fit me.”
    “They come from someone your size.”
    Clothes from an ex-girlfriend. Just what she wanted to wear when she was talking to him. “I don’t think so. I can come back when you’re done.”
    “No, I only have a few more minutes. Make yourself at home. There’s beer in the fridge.”
    He turned away from her as if dismissing her. She stood not sure what to do, then went to the kitchen for a beer. The amber liquid slid down her throat like a log on a flume ride. She expected to splash herself.
    Zach appeared in the doorway when she was halfway through the green bottle of imported beer. “So what brings you here?” His permanent scowl had returned.
    She hesitated. “I want to know if you’re the father of Dolores’ baby.”
    His laugh spurt out of him as if he had lost control of it. “Why would I tell you that?”
    “Are you?”
    He turned away from her and filled a glass with water. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he downed the whole lot of