The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense by Kate White Page A

her head. “I’ll take it,” she said. She picked up the phone on her desk and identified herself.
    “Ms. Finn, this is Detective Molinari from the Miami-Dade Police Department,” a woman said crisply.
    “Hello,” Kit replied, at a loss for more than that. What wereyou supposed to say when a detective rang you up out of nowhere?
    “You’re an interior designer in New York City?”
    “Yes, I am.”
    “I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have a minute.”
    “Okay,” she said. What was going on, she wondered, anxiously. Nothing about the detective’s tone suggested she was calling to investigate changing the color palette at the police precinct. “Can I ask what this is about?”
    “I’ll fill you in momentarily. Have you been in the Miami area recently?”
    “Uh, not Miami,” she said. “I was in Islamorada about a week ago on vacation, but I flew in and out of the Miami airport.”
    “What day did you return to New York City from your trip?”
    Kit could feel her nervousness intensifying. Didn’t cops ask those kinds of questions when they were investigating you in relation to criminal activity?
    “On Monday. A week ago today.”
    “Do you come to this area frequently?”
    “No, not generally. I mean, I’m actually going to have to fly through Miami this week, but just for business purposes.”
    “While you were on your recent trip, did you give a business card to anyone?”
    “Yes, yes I did,” she said, fumbling through her memory. While scouting, she’d handed out cards to a couple of shop managers in Islamorada, and she related that to the detective.
    “Were any of them male?”
    “One of them was.” And then, with a jolt, Kit remembered. She’d also given a card to X that day at the store. Had he dragged her into his troubled life somehow?
    “And there was one other person,” she added, trying to keep her voice calm. “A man at my hotel who I had dinner with. Why?”
    She was aware of Baby watching her, signaling with her expression that she was there to help if needed. Dara had gone backto bill paying, attempting to appear nonchalant, but Kit could detect how on alert her body was.
    “Can you describe him, please?” Molinari asked.
    “Um, late thirties. About six one or two. Blue eyes and reddish hair. Please tell me what’s going on.”
    “Ms. Finn, we’re investigating a hit and run involving a man who fits that description. He had no identification on him—no wallet, nothing—but he was carrying your business card in his pocket.”
    Kit gasped and grabbed the side of the desk with her free hand. “The man I had dinner with put my card in his pants pocket,” she said. “Is—is he okay?”
    X must have been seriously injured, in a coma, perhaps, and not able to talk. She realized that she would have to fill the detective in on what she knew about him from Healy, and that it might very well lead to his arrest.
    “What was this man’s name?” Molinari asked.
    “I—I have no idea,” Kit said. “I mean, he told me his name was Matt Healy, but since then I discovered that it wasn’t true. He may have stolen someone’s wallet. It’s very complicated.”
    She overheard Baby whisper something to Dara, and the two of them whisked themselves out of the office and into the small kitchenette.
    “I’ve got all the time you need,” Molinari said.
    Kit ran through the story quickly, leaving out any mention of going to bed with X, and feeling a twinge of shame as she described how she’d been tricked.
    “Can you just tell me,” Kit said at the end. “Was he badly hurt?” She couldn’t help it. She felt the urge to know.
    A pause.
    “The hit and run was a fatality,” Molinari said finally. “And it may have been premeditated.”
    Kit tried to respond but no words came out. X was dead. Shecould still see his face in her mind, feel his naked body next to hers, feel him inside her.
    Maybe he’d been entangled in something bigger than pickpocketing and it had