Tour--Murder at the College

A Little Taste

A detective has a smooth-talking heartbreaker for a client, but there’s a problem.

Quinn has scorch marks from her last relationship and plenty of chemistry with Ben, but he could have killed his twin brother. He demands to work the case with her, claiming it’s his life on the line.

A partner is the last thing Quinn wants. What she wants is to prove him innocent. But she’s finding plenty of evidence he isn’t.

Quinn knew Ben would be his usual charming and charismatic self, but she wasn’t falling for it tonight. There was no chance of that tonight, not after what she’d learned.

When she entered the bar’s back door, she heard the band belting out tunes and the crowd singing along. Ben poked his head out of his office. “There you are. Thought I heard the back door close.” He smiled, and she pushed aside the familiar warm tug she felt when she saw him.

When Ben stood to the side for her to enter his office, Quinn felt the heat from his hand on the small of her back and the strong, almost magnetic attraction to Ben. It was as though the universe was pulling her to him.

“Have a seat.” Instead of sitting behind his desk, he sat next to her. She could see the concern on his face. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, thank you.” Even to her, her voice sounded cold.

“Quinn, whatever you’ve come to say, just tell me. We can handle it.”

“You lied to me and your lawyer. A witness saw you coming out of the Green Room Sunday night. She picked your picture out of a lineup.”

Ben lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I was there. I’m sorry. I was worried when I couldn’t find Paul, and he wasn’t answering his phone. I wish I hadn’t seen him lying like that on the sofa. I’d sat there so often with him, and then to see him dead like that.”

Quinn saw Ben’s grief, and she felt a surge of hope. The police had held back the fact that Paul’s body was found on the sofa to winnow out the crazies who called in and copped to every crime. Ben couldn’t have known unless he was there. “When were you there?”

“Around eleven.” He raised his head, and his gray eyes were wet with tears. “I’m sorry I lied to you. He pulled himself upright and said, “I didn’t kill my brother.”

“Tell me everything about that night,” Quinn asked.

About the Author

P.H. Turner (Pat) writes contemporary mysteries spiked with long-held grudges, secrets, and murder. With roots in a Texas farm homesteaded in the 1850s, she calls Austin home. When she's not writing, she's cooking for family, or taking care of a pair of hairy mutts, or in her garden coaxing roses to bloom in the Texas heat.