The steadiness of his arm was comforting. “We need a list of the guests.” A uniformed officer drummed his fingers on the counter. Detective Bell approached the desk, transferring his phone from one hand to the other. “Do you have a warrant?” The clerk wrapped her arms around the computer screen. I admired the clerk’s show of protecting the information. Of course, turning off the screen would’ve worked, though less dramatic. “No.” The officer looked over his shoulder at Detective Bell. I schooled my features into boredom, not wanting Steve to know the conversation piqued my interest, and squeezed my heart. A poor woman died—was killed—and no one knew her name. Detective Bell sighed and rested his arm on the counter. “I can get one. It’ll take me a few hours. If the press shows up, I’ll make sure to tell them the resort is slowing me down in identifying the victim of a hit-and-run.”
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