Cause of Death Laura Dembowski (best selling autobiographies txt) 📖

her sister’s, or so I’ve been told. That’s the only place she’s allowed to go with her ankle monitor, not that I expect an ankle monitor to stop Margaret Moore.

I have kept my distance from her. Even in the courtroom, I have no desire to have one-on-one contact with her. Ryan’s still convinced Margaret had Tracy killed, and the more we talk about it, and the more I think about it, I tend to believe him. I want nothing to do with her, save to put her behind bars permanently.

I need to keep myself busy. In fact, I’m heading to the station now to look at some evidence and work on a robbery case Will and I have been investigating. Will’s been doing most of the work, even though he hasn’t even technically been promoted to detective yet.

Sneaking around isn’t really my thing, so I was up front with Sarge about wanting to attend the trial as much as possible. To my surprise, he was okay with it, so I’ve been working overtime to keep up with my cases, doing paperwork at home, and showing up to the trial every day as though it was a part of my job.

I walk into the station and head right to Sarge’s office. I knock on the door.

“Come in,” he says.

“Jury’s got it,” I tell him as I shut the door behind me and take a seat. The case isn’t exactly secret from the rest of the department, but private conversations are sometimes necessary.

“How’s it looking?” he asks.

“I’m not a jury expert,” I say.

He rolls his eyes. He knows I have a feeling about this, just like everything else on earth. I’m often known for my “feelings” about things, whether it be a case, a basketball game, or if it’s going to rain.

“Fine,” I continue, “I don’t think it’s going our way.”

“Really? I thought we had this one nailed.”

“She’s a good actress. The jury doesn’t believe someone like her could have killed her daughter. I wouldn’t believe it from that distance.”

Sarge sighs. “What about Tracy’s case?”

“You mean, can I prove Margaret Moore did it?”

He nods his head.

“I can’t. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

“Gotta feel bad for Ryan.”

“Sometimes at night I can’t sleep, thinking about him. He didn’t deserve this. I don’t know if you heard, but he was beaten pretty badly last week. I’m not sure how it happened.”

“I didn’t hear. Is he okay?”

“I haven’t been in. I talked to him on the phone; he’s okay, he says. Asked me not to come.”

“He doesn’t want you to see him.”

We fall silent a moment.

“Have you done Will’s paperwork yet? To make him a detective?” I ask.

“I’ll get it done today,” Sarge says, and I leave his office. Plenty of work waits for both of us.

On the drive home, I’m out of it. In a zone, or a funk, caught up in a web of my thoughts and fears. My life is fine; really, it’s better than that. I’m heading home to my boyfriend, Emmitt. I think he’s going to propose soon. I accidentally came across a ring in his drawer. It really was an accident; I don’t make a habit of looking through his clothes, only his cell phone.

As a detective, I’ve seen far, far too many relationships go bad because the guy was secretly a creep, a serial cheater, some financial schemer. That’s not going to happen to me. I wouldn’t blame him one bit if he had checked me out too. Sure, he doesn’t have the easy access to background checks like I do, but he can get creative. Now that I’ve seen what Margaret Moore is capable of, I am certain I can never be too safe. I would never go on a date with another guy as long as I live without checking into him, and possibly his family.

A moot point for now, I guess, since Emmitt and I bought a house together. I wanted to wait until we were married, but Emmitt found this house that was in foreclosure.

“It’s such a good deal,” he said, grabbing both of my hands, physically pulling me nowhere, but emotionally pulling me into the house. “It’s our dream house,” he cooed while flashing his almost too white, toothy grin.

“I know,” I said, “But we’re not married. We’ve only been together a year.”

“Most people are married and starting a family after being together a year.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“What do you have to lose?”

“Nothing,” I said, taking a bigger risk than I had ever taken in my life.

I don’t regret it. It’s pretty much my dream house. It is now, anyway. After we bought it, not so much. I remember my head becoming fuzzy and sitting down on the sidewalk because I couldn’t stop wondering what we had gotten ourselves into. Emmitt grabbed my hand again, stroking it up and down to comfort me. My boyfriend the accountant, about to turn HGTV-approved DIYer, took control again, in the best possible way.

“I am going to fix this house. Give me three months and it will be done.”

I didn’t believe him for a second, but with the help of his friends, not to mention his father’s construction company, our house was soon move-in ready, and my paradise. The place I love to come home to at the end of the day and cuddle up with my man, drowning the day in a glass of wine by the fireplace.

He loves me. I wasn’t sure I’d ever find love, and here I am, waiting for the moment when he’ll propose. This weekend, we’re going to the shelter to see if we connect with a dog. Apparently our lives are not complete unless there is a dog that we’re going to have to hire a sitter for, since we work so much. Oh well . . . I’ve always wanted a dog.

The thought that Margaret Moore is somehow going to ruin all of this flashes through my brain. I look down to change the radio