17
BECKY
“Trash can,” I croaked, hand over my mouth.
Sheriff Duncan shoved it toward me as I lurched from my chair to puke again.
I couldn’t believe Todd was dead. Not just dead. Murdered. In my house!
They seemed to think I’d done it.
My body shook involuntarily, the nerves turning me into a rattling cage. I glanced down at my lavender scrubs. God, they’d come for me at work. I’d been late the other day and now this. No question I’d lose my job, and I’d be getting a call from the nursing board.
“Are you all right?”
I turned my head and glared at the deputy who had a gun on his hip but probably wasn’t old enough to buy himself a drink.
“So, you’re saying you haven’t been to your house at all in the past thirty-six hours?” Sheriff Duncan asked. The room was full of officers—the she
