Page 15 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)
Nettles raised a brow. I knew what he was going to try to pull. “So you’ve got a temper.” He flipped the page in the folder. “That’s useful to know.”
Yeah, like you don’t… arrogant bastard.
“Cap, the guy cheated. She vented. Hell, if it were me? I’d say—or do—worse. Doesn’t mean I’d gut the bastard.”
He scoffed. “You have to have them for more than one lay to consider them your girl, Locke.” He didn’t even look up. “Got a new record?”
Good god. Cheap shot. But not wrong.
Prick.
Maggie
I didn’t like him.
Nettles was a jackass, and his agitated tone echoed through the room as he instructed Graham to verify my story with Burt and Katie. Graham’s swift exit left me uneasy, but also—somehow—hopeful. Like maybe he actually believed me.
As I watched him disappear down the hallway, I turned to the captain.
“Would you like me to clarify anything else for you?” I said, frustration boiling under the surface. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but I’m telling you, I didn’t murder that man.”
My voice cracked, heat rising in my chest. The anger bubbling up pulled Mark back into my thoughts. He was an asshole, sure—but not a killer. Maybe the type to leave dog shit on your doorstep, but not to take a life.
Captain Nettles narrowed his gaze, his eyes lingering on mine. “You said you were a baker?”
“Baker’s assistant.” I corrected.
“Ever mess up a big order? Wedding cake perhaps? He asked, deadpan. “Some folks go off the rails when their red velvet’s an inch short.”
His sarcasm slapped me.
I looked away, cheeks hot with embarrassment. Maybe I had overreacted back then, but the pain was real. I loved Mark—more than I should have. I never used magic on him, never tried to control him. What we had felt real. At least to me.
“When can I leave?” I asked, rubbing my arm.
“Once your alibi’s verified and the scene’s cleared, you can return home—for now. But don’t leave town.” He shoved a yellow legal pad and pen toward me. “Write down every detail from the time you landed in Boston until now. Times, locations, receipts—whatever you’ve got. We’ll verify it.”
I narrowed my eyes. Nettles still didn’t believe me. “Should I log every time I pissed? How many squares of toilet paper?”
That got him. A nerve twitched in his cheek, but all he gave was a smug half-smile beneath the hedgehog mustache. “If you peed between the airport and your grocery run? Yeah. Write it down. In whatever version of your story you’re trying to fabricate.”
God, I wanted to shove that pen somewhere painful.
He left, the door creaking shut behind him.
I hated him.
But fine. He wanted details? I’d give him the whole damn scrapbook.
5:00 P.M. - Sneezed. Dabbed with great-grandma’s handkerchief.
5:01 P.M. - Checked phone. Learned it was 5:01. Makes sense.
Later-ish - Discovered my putrid green ride. Probably farted. Chili burrito last night. Regret.
Even later - Thought about masturbating. Didn’t. Saw hot guy at the market. Reconsidered.
I didn’t spare a single thing. If this was going to be my defense, it was going to be stupidly thorough.
The room felt smaller by the second, closing in on me. The only proof I wasn’t in a padded cell was the faint sound of movement beyond the glass.
And then I remembered?—
“Oh no! My groceries!”
I groaned, tossing my head back. It had to have been at least a half hour since Captain Cranky left me in here. Were they just standing there behind the glass watching me spiral?
Probably.
If it were just Graham? I wouldn’t mind. But Captain Dipshit?
Hard pass.
The lock clicked. The door opened fast.
Graham stepped in first, staying by the door, while Nettles followed and claimed his seat like he owned the air in the room.
He leaned forward, bracing an arm on the table. “Alright, Maggie. Your story checks out—for now. Scene’s been cleared.”
His eyes stayed on me too long. That predator stare made my skin itch.
“So I can go?” I rose from my seat and looked at Graham. “Am I still a suspect?” I slid the notepad across the table. “Here. Eat your heart out.”
“Not exactly,” Graham said.
Nettles didn’t blink. “You may be a key witness.”
A witness ? I stared at him. How could I witness something I didn’t fucking see?
My chest tightened. This was insane.
“It seems,” Nettles continued, “you might’ve been the target. The victim had photos of you in his pocket. And he was carrying ammo.”
I blinked. “Just… ammo?” Maybe he was going hunting?”
“We didn’t find a gun.” Nettles’ voice was dry. “Whoever killed him might’ve taken it.”
I clutched my stomach. “Maybe they were trying to protect me?”
“Unlikely.”
My knees buckled. I dropped into the chair.
I wasn’t just a suspect anymore.
I was bait.
A fucking target.
Nettles chewed his toothpick with determination. “We’re putting your house under surveillance. You’ll see some of us around, maybe poking round the yard. Try not to get jumpy.
He stood, all business. “Locke, take her home.”
I couldn’t move. My voice barely made it out.
“Wait… am I seriously in danger?”
The door was already closing behind him.
“Captain Nettles?” I called, but he was gone. Just like that.
“He’s so insensitive,” I muttered. “He can’t even stay to explain. Or I don’t know—reassure me that I won’t die alone in my haunted woods?”
“Yeah… he’s rough around the edges,” Graham said, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll protect you. But you have to cooperate. I’ll tell you what I can on the ride.”
I looked up at him. “What you can ? I’m cleared, and I’m still not allowed to know what’s going on?”
“It’s not personal.”
“Sure as hell feels personal.”
He didn’t argue.
“Take me home,” I whispered. “I just… I need sleep.”
Though really, what was I going back to?
Dust? An empty house? A kitten with a full bladder? The snack-size bag of Sunchips I’d probably cling to like it was my rations during the apocalypse?
“Christ,” I muttered. “I feel like I’m on an episode of True Crime.”