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“Not that I know of, but...” I glance over my shoulder as something slams in my truck. That bastard is going through my cabinets. There’s nothing in there for him to find, unless he likes four different kinds of cheese.

Act innocent.

“I get a lot of customers and I’m not great with faces.”

She slides the photo back in and grabs another one. “His name is Canon McGregor. Does that help?”

I blink, but probably shouldn’t have. “No, I’m sorry.”

“He was found dead yesterday morning,” she continues, studying me.

“Sucks to be him. What does this have to do with me?”

“Because his body was covered in your signature hot sauce, Mr. Murray.”

I shift. “Wait, really?”

She hands me the second photo. I look at it and cringe at the image of a very dead, very red-covered body.

“That’s not blood?” I ask, laying it down.

“Some of it is.” She slides it back into her folder. “Can you tell me where you were the night before last between seven and eight?”

I try to think back, but I draw a blank. “In my truck?”

“You’re not sure?”

“In my truck,” I say again.

She closes her folder and leans over it as she stares back at me. “Do you make your sauce on-site, Mr. Murray?”

“Uh... yeah. Sometimes, I’ll do a batch at home and bring it in.”

“So, this is a specific recipe?” she asks. “Not something you buy from a store?”

“I make every ounce, Detective. It’s my bread and butter.”

“Do you ever sell your sauce? Bottles or jars of it?”

“No, never.”

She tilts her head. “Then, can you tell me how this man, who you’ve never seen before, ended up dead covered with nearly a half-gallon of your hot sauce, that only you have access to?”

I open my mouth to speak, but my vocal cords tighten. “Uh...”

“Hey there, stranger.”

We break eye contact and I follow the new voice upward to see that tight blonde from last night standing over the table. She brought a friend with her, a girl just as tight as she is, but a little more brunette.

“Hi,” I say.

She nudges her friend’s arm. “This is the guy I told you about,” she says. “The one with the cursed eyes.”

I force a laugh, grimacing between them and the unamused detective sitting across from me. “I, uh...”

“See the different colors?”

The brunette leans over. “Let me see.”