“Okay,” I say dully. “I’ll go.”
“Is there anyone you’d like for us to call to pick you up at the station?” she asks.
“My husband,” I say.
As I recite Sam’s number, I can’t even imagine what he’s going to say to all this. It was bad enough when it was just drugs. Now there’s a possible murder charge thrown into the mix.
It’s obvious I’ve been set up. If there was any doubt about it in my mind, that letter opener confirmed my fears. Someone wanted me to be set up on murder charges. Someone who was worried Denise knew too much.
And I’m afraid that someone is going to get their wish.
30
At the police station, the female officer introduces herself again as Detective Sweeney. She gets me set up in an interrogation room, which, besides the name, isn’t nearly as scary as it sounds. It’s a small room painted sky blue with a metal table in the middle and a plastic chair on either side. I’d rather not be in here a long time, but it doesn’t frighten me.
I sit down in one of the chairs and Detective Sweeney sits across from me. She has a pleasant face with a disarming smile, which I suspect might be the point. They’re hoping I’ll tell them something to incriminate myself. But I won’t.
Because I didn’t kill Denise.
“Mrs. Adler,” Sweeney begins. She hesitates. “May I call you Abby?”
“Yes.”
“Great. Abby.” She flashes that disarming smile again. “I was hoping you could clear up a few things for me.”
“Uh, okay.”
She folds her hands in front of her. “You were fired by Ms. Holt yesterday, weren’t you?”
I nod.
“What was the reason for your termination?”
I consider lying, but that would be stupid. It would be easy enough to find out the real reason. “I took a drug test that came back positive for meth. But it was a false positive—I don’t take any drugs.”
“I see.” Sweeney nods, but something changes in her expression. “So given you were fired, why were you in the building?”
“Denise asked me to come by.”
“For what purpose?”
“She said she thought someone had tampered with my drug tests and she wanted to discuss it.”
Sweeney raises an eyebrow. “She called you and said that?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say who she thought had tampered with the test?”
I hesitate for a moment before nodding. “Monica Johnson. My former personal assistant.”
“I see. And why did she think Ms. Johnson tampered with the drug tests.”
“She found a bottle of Adderall in Monica’s… er, Ms. Johnson’s desk. That’s an amphetamine. She believed Ms. Johnson had spiked my coffee with it.”
“Why was Ms. Holt searching Ms. Johnson’s desk?”
I squeeze my hands together. “She told me she saw Monica snooping around her desk, and… I think she wanted to make sure she wasn’t stealing stuff.”