He puts down three glasses in front of me.
He holds out his hands, palms upward, gesturing over them.
“Have a drink.”
“Do I have a choice?”
”Of course you do. You get to pick which one to drink.”
I lean across the table, getting as close to him as I can. My tape recorder’s still going in my pocket.
“And then you’ll tell me who killed Becca?”
“Of course.” Continue reading