The Dark of Day by Barbara Parker

sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing her. “We need to take that car back before someone reports it stolen. I’ll ask Judy. She can do it. You and I are going to talk. I need to know everything about Alana Martin.”
    After some seconds went by, Kylie said, “Why?”
    She shook her head. “It’s related to a case I’m doing. I can’t discuss that with you, but it’s extremely important that I know what happened that night. Why did she go to the party? Who was she going to meet? She must have said something to you. What can you tell me about her friends and the men she knew? Don’t move. I’m going to call Judy.” Crossing the room, C.J. picked up the phone. “You need to give her Alana’s address and the key to the car.”

    The key was in the pocket of Kylie’s shorts. She could almost feel it vibrating against her hip. A feeling of lightness was rushing through her, and everything suddenly seemed so clear, so perfectly obvious. Sliding her bag over her shoulder, she went around the coffee table, past an armchair, then toward the foyer. “This is so interesting. You have this big important legal thing you can’t talk about, and I have information you want. I might know a lot about Alana. It depends.”
    C.J. turned around with the phone in her hand. “What do you mean, it depends? Depends on what?”
    Kylie sent her a little smile. “I can’t talk to you if I’m not here, can I?” As C.J.’s mouth dropped open, Kylie ran for the door. “Stop! Where are you going? Wait!”
    She slammed the door on her way out, leaped off the porch, and sped across the yard. She skidded to a stop at the end of the brick walkway and dug the key out of her pocket as the front door swung open.
    â€œKylie! Stop!” C.J. almost tripped in her high heels. “Come back!”
    Kylie spun around. “I am not going to Pensacola! If you want something from me, you can pay for it!”
    She sprinted to where she had parked the car, unlocked it, and got in, slamming down the lock. The tires screeched when she stepped on the gas. Before she turned onto Bayshore, she looked in the rearview and saw C.J. Dunn standing in the middle of the street fifty yards back with her hands in her hair.

chapter EIGHT

    judy Mazzio said, “You couldn’t stop her?” “ You try to catch a teenager in sneakers with a head start.” C.J. threw one high-heeled Prada, then the other, at the sofa. “I hope she gets arrested for car theft.”
    â€œDo you really?”
    â€œNo.” C.J. fished a pair of scuffed flats from under the coffee table. “I’d have to go get her skinny little butt out of jail. You should have heard her. ‘Thank you for caring whether I live or die.’ That’s something you expect out of the mouth of a thirteen-year-old. I thought she’d be . . . I don’t know. Nicer.”
    â€œEdgar likes her. He says she’s spunky.”
    â€œEdgar likes everyone. I need some coffee. I need it bad. Let’s talk in the kitchen.”
    â€œBetter make it decaf,” Judy said with an arch of her brow.
    Standing in the doorway, C.J. sighed at the mess, then spotted one of her three cats on the counter. “Get down, you!” He leaped off and walked calmly to his dish, tail switching. “When I have a spare minute, I’m going
to interview housekeepers.” She waved Judy away from the sink and retrieved the coffee carafe herself. “I’ll do it. Go have a seat.”
    Judy pulled out a chair at the bistro table under the window and shifted aside a week’s worth of newspapers. “Have a good time last night?”
    â€œYes, I did, thank you.”
    â€œAnd how is Señor Wonderful?” Judy’s attitude was showing. She thought that Billy Medina had the morals of an alley cat, that he would dump C.J. one day, and that she deserved