Sarah Killian: The Marching Tides
I force myself to produce a blush that would make Jason proud, and say, “Well, they were pretty clearly . . . uh . . . ”
“Copulating?” the officer interjects, saving me—or, at least the character I’m currently projecting—from the embarrassment of saying the word out loud.
“Yes. They were very vocal, so there was quite a bit of screaming and yelling, but I honestly just thought they were . . . enjoying themselves. Why? Did something happen? I can’t imagine the hotel called you to deal with a noise complaint from the night before?”
“I’m afraid both of your neighbors were killed last night, probably around or shortly after the time you heard the music playing,” the officer states.
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