"Marks, Jeffrey - Talked To Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Marks Jeffrey)

"What's up with you? I didn't kill her."

"Is that why she said 'Laurie' just before she died?" I eyed the man and the door, wondering if I could escape before his oversized form caught up with me.

The big man snorted. "My names not Laurie, its Larry, and besides, Mr. Personality here can vouch for me for the past two hours. We've been filming a ten-car pileup at the nudist colony all morning."

McKinley nodded with a frown. "He's right, but it's a shame we have such an airtight alibi. Otherwise we could get an exclusive with a suspect." He shot a glance at the cameraman.

"Wasn't her daughters name Laurie?" McKinley asked, trying to spice up the story.

I shook my head. "I don't know. I just remember there were two girls and a boy."

"There were two boys and a girl and the girl's name was Lauren after her father's mother." The cameraman turned away and started filming again.

Mark's and my eyes swiveled to look at him. How did he know these things? Just then the door opened and Brian stepped into the room. I didn't have to fake being in love with him. He had a broad chest under a tight-fitting T-shirt and a narrow waist in jeans that could still make me swoon like someone who had watched too many of Mark's movies. He'd just gotten off work as an EMT. I was glad to see him even though it was too late to call this an emergency. "What's going on here?" he asked.

"You remember Mark McKinley from the show, don't you?" I asked as if talk show hosts stopped by all the time.

"Sure, how are you?" Brian stepped forward and extended a hand like Oprah had been here for drinks the other day. The cameraman still blocked the view to the closet and Brian scanned the apartment repeatedly looking for a reason for the visit.

"You must be the best man." Mark turned to look at me. "So you did know all about the jail break?"

"He's not the best man. He's just a friend." I sputtered, wondering how many years I'd get for helping with a jail break.

"That's not what you said last night," Brian said with raised eyebrows.

I poked him in the ribs and whispered, "Last night I didn't know Maggie Parker was going to die in my apartment and say the name 'Laurie' before she bounced out of this mortal coil."

Brian swallowed hard. "Laurie? Are you sure that's what she said? It couldn't have been 'Maury'? Maybe she was angling for another talk show."

"It was definitely Laurie." I was already in enough trouble without changing a dying statement. Maybe they could put Brian and me in the same prison, I thought. The state could save on beds.

"Where is she now?" he asked.

I pointed to the closet. "Over there. I hid her when these two showed up at the door."

Brian took a cautious look over the cameraman's shoulder and leaned down to examine the body. "Looks like she was beat up pretty bad. Probably died of internal bleeding. Where did you find her?"

I pointed to the carpet on the living room floor. "Right here."

Brian bent down and Larry moved behind him, still operating the camera. "There's no bloody carpet here. She must have been moved from where she was beat up."

My mind started racing at his comments. I had forgotten about the woman's past in my rush to clear myself.

"She was hit by a truck," I said smiling which probably wasn't appropriate for a man who had just lost his fiancee.

"Says who?" McKinley asked. I figured elementary school retorts would probably be removed from the tape before it aired.

"It's simple. When Brian started talking about 'the bloody carpet', it reminded me that Parker was British. She wouldn't talk about a truck. The English call it a 'lorry', but that wasn't the way I heard it. I assumed it had to be a girl's name. A truck would do all this damage to a person plus the bumper would leave those smudge marks on her blouse."