Think Before You Speak by D. A. Bale

addition to how long she’d hung out
playing with the critter and his apparent mood, as if she was some
sort of feline whisperer. See? This was why my best friend made
such a great doctoral candidate – she was anal and unashamed of
it.
    I plopped down on my sofa and stretched out
with the cat on my chest. Then I typed a message to Janine,
informing her I was home, before setting the alarm on my phone. A
couple hours before I had to make my way to the bar meant a
thorough nap was on the menu before I made any rash decisions
concerning Nick. Perhaps everything would work out in the long run
once I gained a little restorative perspective.
    Yeah, I didn’t think so either.
    So with that happy thought, I turned off the
phone alarm and sat up, much to Slinky’s frustration. How could I
sleep with the chaotic thoughts rumbling through my head? Nick was
a distraction I simply didn’t need right now, especially with
Reggie’s blackmail problem churning in my gut.
    The last time I’d helped a friend, it almost
hadn’t ended so well for little ol’ me. Who did I think I was to be
dipping my toe into another investigative matter? Wasn’t like I was
a private eye. Nancy Drew anyone?
    Hmm. There was only one other person besides
Zeke I could talk to without giving away my offensive playbook –
not that I had much to go on yet anyway. The idea of finding a
blackmailer was just way different than tracking down a murderer,
but I was pretty sure it’d prove to be safer for my carcass in the
long run. Guess instead of a nap, it was time for Nancy Drew to go
see Detective Dingbat.
    ***
    Detective Horace Duncan hailed from the
Dallas Police Department Homicide Division. We’d had the distinct
displeasure of working together on Bobby’s wife’s death several
months ago. Okay, working together wasn’t exactly an
accurate depiction of what transpired. Actually he’d caught me
sneaking around inside Bobby’s house, and if it wasn’t for Zeke,
I’d have served one to life for breaking and entering.
    Okay, maybe that was a bit of an
exaggeration. I’d had Bobby’s permission to be there. Even knew
where to find the spare key. ‘Course I didn’t realize being an
active crime scene usurped homeowner consent – especially when said
homeowner was the prime suspect at the time.
    So now Duncan and I have a love-hate
relationship. He loves to hate my interference when it comes to his
investigations. I hate the love he shows my God-given assets –
namely my boobs.
    Well, and there was the teeny tiny fact he’d
tried to lay blame on me for the death of Bobby’s wife – no matter
how briefly. Something to do with phantom texts I hadn’t sent. Then
there was that pesky police report from my involvement with Bobby
when I was fifteen, which had made him think there was a plot afoot
between old lovers.
    But Reggie’s blackmail situation didn’t
involve homicide. Therefore, it wasn’t one of Duncan’s current
investigations, so asking a few simple questions couldn’t be
misconstrued as interference this time. Therefore, any threats to
throw me in jail would be about as empty as a natural blond.
    Oops. Apologies to my best friend.
    For a busy homicide detective, Duncan sat
firmly behind his desk every time I stuck my mug into his sector,
busily pecking away on his keyboard like a starving woodpecker.
Their IT department had to go through countless replacements every
month at the rate he pounded on the poor thing. Even with the air
conditioning blasting away with blessed cool air, the detective’s
waxy dome gleamed with perspiration. Perhaps typing was his workout du jour .
    I sauntered up in my daisy dukes and plopped
onto the corner of his desk with my newest pair of Tony Lamas
dangling in full view. The tapping stopped as Duncan checked out
the latest morsel – namely my shapely legs after all that walking
around San Antonio. It’s a firmly established principal that God
made men visual creatures, and I had no problem using my