A Murder Misstery

When she finally got up to get dressed, I returned to face the agents. "She'll be here in a minute," I said breezily. "Some more coffee for you?"

"You must be a very good flight attendant." I ignored the sexist remark and sat down on the sofa. It occurred to me that the men were staring at my legs. I crossed them slowly and tugged at the hem of my skirt, waiting for them to make the next move. Just then Tracy opened the bedroom door, dressed in jeans and a hoodie. I gave her an encouraging wink, and she sat down beside me on the sofa.

"I'm sorry for the intrusion, Miss Flowers, and thank you for your time. When is the last time you saw Matt McCoy?"

"Last Saturday."

"Where was that?"

"He took me to a movie, and then we came back here for a while."

"Have to spoken with him since?"

"No."

"Is that unusual?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, doesn't he call you on the phone sometimes?"

"It depends. He knows I travel a lot. I just got back from a trip this morning," she answered, trying to keep to the truth whenever she could. I felt so strange, sitting there in women's clothing, watching the men ogle my legs while Tracy described me like I wasn't in the room. I tugged my skirt down over my knees again and prayed that she wouldn't give me away.

"Were there any messages from him on your machine?"

"No."

"Do you know where he is right now?"

"Look, I'll be very honest with you," Tracy said as I held my breath. "One of my girlfriends called me a few hours ago and told me that Matt was wanted by the police. I saw his picture on TV."

"Was that news to you?"

"Yes! What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"Did you try to get in touch with him after you heard about it?"

"No! Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"What they're saying about him. Is he really a criminal?"