We ordered steaks, probably the best choice for room service, baked potatoes, and a pitcher of iced tea. It was served on our coffee table as I signed the bill, but gave the server his tip in cash. Jennie and I ate quietly, but a few minutes later she asked, “What do you think the police want?”
“Not sure, but I don’t think they want to arrest me. If they did the detective wouldn’t have phoned. He would have been here waiting for me. He said he has some info on the case so I guess we’ll find out in the morning.” Room service sounds romantic, but the food is often cold by the time it’s delivered. Tonight it was okay, but it was better than going out. We ate, showered together as we did every night, and climbed into bed, Jennie, as always, on my left side with her head on my chest. I lay back on the pillow and was gone in seconds.
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