My excitement over the gossip lessened. I didn't like the kind that involved me, and this obviously did.

Unless it was a dead body.

"We have to hide you," she said and jerked on my arm.

Not good gossip then.

"What?" I asked. Cookie crumbs tell from my lips and landed on the top of my scrapbook.

She yanked at me harder, moving my chair with her effort. "They found your mentor."

"Mick?" He wasn't a great mentor, but he came to town occasionally. It's not like I needed to run from him.

Katy gave me a big jerk, and it tweaked my achy ribs. "They found him dead."

I plopped down into the chair, costing her all the progress she'd made. "Dead?"

That explained why he hadn't called in the last week. "Okay, that sucks."

I still had like two hundred hours I needed for my PI license. Now I'd have to find a new mentor. It'd been hard enough to find Mick. Damn it.

"In your office." Katy stared at me with big round eyes as her fingers cut into the skin on my arms. "Mrs. Coogs found him dead in your office. She was walking Brent and heard the gunshot."

Wha- It clicked.

"But I didn't do it," I shouted and glanced at the woman for confirmation. I'd been at the bakery all morning.

Katy motioned at my hands and I spotted the red on my fingertips. The ink coated the tips of three fingers.

"You'll be their top suspect."

My shoulders hunched, and something in my chest squeezed. Did I murder someone and forget it?

Where had I been that morning? Did I have a murder weapon?

I shook my head with my gaze still stuck on Katy.

No. I didn't kill anyone.

It wasn't me.

"It wasn't me," I said to Katy, since she couldn't read my mind.

She shrugged, and Anessa leaned up against the counter behind her, watching me.

"Everyone saw me not kill anyone, right?" I asked the room at large.

Pearl snorted. "You don't have the killer instinct."

I jerked forward. What did that mean? "I do too."

Pearl sipped her tea. "No."

"Yes. I could kill." Wait. Did I just admit that out loud? And on camera? Ridge and his crew wired the entire bakery with cameras, and now I'd just practically confessed to a murder. "I mean, you're right. There's no killer in me. I'm soft."

Pearl snorted again. "I didn't say that."

My word. The woman needed to make up her damn mind.

"I've got to find Anderson," I said and scooted back my chair. It scraped against the floor and the screeched echoed off the pink walls.

I had to get to my office, explain everything to Anderson, and rescue my stun gun. I'd left it in my top desk drawer. What if Mick tried to steal it before he died?

Holy shit. Someone killed Mick.

A block from the bakery, I slammed to a stop.

Someone killed my mentor. Sure, he drove me insane with his stupid Dick Tracy hats and his pen clicking, but he was my mentor. He didn't deserve to die. And not in my office.

Why was he even in Pelican Bay?

I quickened my pace until I hit a full run. My steps pounded the sidewalk and thundered in the quiet streets.

The yellow crime scene tape caught a speckle of sun and half-blinded me before I crossed the parking lot. Four police cars-three from the county-blocked the path in a semicircle. I ran between them and came to a halt in front of Officer Bradley, who guarded the entrance to my office building.

It was a small rundown building on the north side of town with only a few spaces for rent. Earlier in the year, the ceiling caved in, coating me with water and debris. Bricks covered the only two windows, and the room had a single outlet with no lighting.

It would be a horrible location for crime scene photos. Think of the shadows.

"Bradley, what are you doing?" I asked and tried to push past him.

He hit me on the shoulder to stop my forward movement. "This is a crime scene."

"Get her out of here!" Detective Anderson yelled from behind me in the parking lot.

I whipped around and squinted at him in his standard tan trench coat. What had him all yelly?

"Let me in there. My stun gun is in the desk," I yelled, but he'd already approached.

Anderson stared down at me with an evil expression. "Mick Darcy is dead. Your office is a crime scene. This isn't one of your games, Vonnie. Stay away and let us do our job."

"Games?" I asked. "Who is playing games?"

I never played games.

Anderson stopped between me and Bradley, so I had to step backward. "Go home."

"I've solved more crimes than you this year," I said and poked him in the chest. The red on my fingers caught my eye. I yanked my hand away and stuck it behind my back.

His eyes widened as huge as saucers. "Go home or I will escort you to the police station myself."

"Well, then." If he was going to be that way about it. I turned around and stalked toward the bakery and my vehicle. Well, my step-vehicle since my Camero ran out of gas earlier in the month, so I'd been driving Broadrick's red Shelby F-150 truck.

It got horrible gas millage. He had less than half a tank left, and then I'd have to use a gas station. Which meant I needed money. And a case.

I crossed the street behind a car and continued toward the bakery. Maybe to save gas, I'd walk all the way home. It was only a few more blocks and it would give me time to think about Mick. Who would kill him? And why in my office? How? Why?

A huge white Dodge Ram honked at me. I stopped and waved before crossing the street.

"That your cat?" Tony, the bounty hunter, yelled from his truck window. He had on his standard tough-guy vest that showed off the tattoos with his dark hair cut short to his head and swept back on the top.

"What?" I followed his gaze and spotted a white and brown small dog racing across an open yard. "NB!"

My troublesome pup ran into the road and dove over the curb. I threw my hands up and scowled at Tony. "It's a dog."

He shook his head and rested his tattooed arm on the truck's window. "Anything less than fifteen pounds is a cat."

Ugh. I whipped an errant piece of blonde hair behind my ear and took off after NB, crossing in front of Tony's truck and hitting his bumper.

He yelled something out of his window-probably a swear word-and then followed behind me in his truck.

I caught up to NB three yards later and scooped him up while leaning over, sucking in air like I might die. He wiggled, trying to get away like he was late for a hot doggie date.

"Where. The. Hell. Is. Your. Collar?" I asked him between gasps.

Broadrick bought him that collar, and it wasn't cheap. How did he lose it? Tony honked once, and then a car door slammed. I did my best to stand up and face him with my back straight.

"Thanks for the help," I deadpanned when he finally lumbered over.

Tony shrugged his big ass meaty shoulders. "It looked like you had it under control."

Men.

"You're such a bad boy, NB," I said to the dog and then kissed the end of his nose.

The skin between Tony's eyes crinkled. "How are you sure that's your dog?"

I stared at NB. Totally my dog. "He doesn't smile. It's a long story. Don't ask."

"Whatever you say, princess." Tony reached out to grab NB but then thought better of it and stepped away again. "Let me buy you pizza and you can tell me why I got a call that you're wanted for murder."

Ugh. Small town living sucked sometimes.