A Murder Misstery

"FBI," a deep voice said. "Are you Tracy Flowers? Do you mind if we come in?" Tracy tried to slam the door but it was too late, and two middle-aged special agents in suits and ties entered the apartment. Tracy was beside herself, and I was worried that she might give me away.

Sheer instinct for self- preservation took over. "Why don't you go change, Tracy? Can I get you guys some coffee?"

Tracy ran into the bedroom and slammed the door. "I'm sorry we barged in on her in her bathrobe," one of the agents stammered.

Keep it short and sweet, I reminded myself before I spoke. "That's okay, she's a big girl. How do you take your coffee?"

"Black for me."

"Nothing for me, thanks," the other agent said as he prowled around the apartment. "Do you live here?"

There was no time to think, so I just went with the flow. "Uh huh." I reached up into one of the cabinets for a mug, very aware that my skirt was riding up my legs, and after I filled it with coffee I offered it to the agent, trying to keep my gestures as feminine as possible.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

"Ashley." In her wig, I looked almost like her, not that they would know what she looked like anyway...keep your cool, girl, I told myself.

"Do you know Matt McCoy?"

"Tracy's boyfriend? I've met him, why?"

"Let's wait for your roommate." That was the opening I needed, and before they could stop me I walked over to the bedroom and closed the door firmly behind me. Tracy was sitting on the bed, still in her bathrobe, shaking with sobs.

"Listen carefully," I whispered. "They think I'm Ashley." Her eyes widened. "You've got to play along. Quick, put on some clothes and when you come back, just tell them that you haven't seen or heard from Matt since yesterday. Got it?" She nodded dumbly. "Come on, Tracy, get with it!"