“I know,” he soothed. “This is the last time, I promise.”
Groaning, I went over the details again, beginning with the party at Shelly’s bookstore and winding up with me landing face-first, sprawled across the body. Jeff’s pen flew across the pages of his notebook. The man took faster shorthand than I did. I comforted myself with the fact that it was probably indecipherable to anyone except him.
Sheriff Jeff Rhodes had arrived on the scene within minutes of my emergency call. One of the benefits of small town living. I was still babbling incoherently to Maggie, the 911 dispatcher when Jeff removed the phone from my hand. One look at his familiar face and I went from incoherence to near hysteria, wild laughter threatening to overwhelm me.
There is nothing funny about a dead body. Especially one you’ve tripped over and become sort of, um, intimate with. At that thought I shuddered and Jeff pulled me against him, rubbing my back in a comforting gesture.