Chapter 11

Detective Jarrett was standing there when I opened the door. “Do you mind if I come in, Mr. Moore?” he asked.

I knew he was only being polite, so I stepped aside, feeling a sense of déjà vu from Detective Irvin’s visit just over a week ago.

Jarrett looked at my cup of coffee. “I don’t suppose you have more of that?”

I grinned, sort of. “If you’re asking if you can have some. Yes. Come on. We can talk in the kitchen as well as out here.” I poured him a cup when we got there, then sat on one of the stools at the center island.

He took the other stool—and a drink of coffee—before taking a key from his pocket to hand me. “Do you recognize this?”

“I think it’s called a key,” I replied, knowing I shouldn’t be a smartass. I put it down to still being tired—and tense because he was here.

Jarrett rolled his eyes. “I know that. Is it one of yours?”