“Sorry,” Joy said, stepping back to regain her balance. “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes, you can,” the detective said coolly. “I’m going to need you to come down to the station for questioning.”
“About my visions?” Joy asked.
“You could say that.” Coolidge pulled out her cuffs, quickly secured Joy’s arms behind her back, and said, “You have the right to remain silent—”
“Silent about what?” Joy gasped out. “What is it I’m being arrested for?”
Before the detective could answer, Carly appeared. “What the hell is going on here?” she demanded in a tone that was so full of anger that Joy almost hadn’t recognized her voice.
“Joy Lansing is under arrest for obstruction of justice,” Coolidge said.
“What? You’ve got to be joking,” Joy said out of pure disbelief.
“Joy, don’t say one word to her,” Carly ordered. “Do you hear me? Not one word. I’ll get my lawyer, and we’ll get you out as soon as possible.”
“I don’t—” Joy started, but Carly cut her off.
“No. Not one word. It’s clear they’re building a case against you because they can’t run down any leads.”
“All right,” Joy said, anxiety crawling all over her skin. Was she really being arrested? Was this real life? Why in the world did the detective think she had anything to do with the abduction of Carly’s niece? Fear settled in her gut, and her head started to spin.
“Oh. My. God,” Prissy said. “Of course, you’re a criminal. I knew that goody-two-shoes garbage was just an act.”
“You’re calling me a criminal?” Joy cried, finally letting the stress of the day overwhelm her. “You’re the one who has been poisoning my food and drinks with hexes to curse my skin or make me sick. What is wrong with you? Do you need meds? Who the hell does that?”
“Me?” Prissy asked, placing a hand on her chest as if she were in shock. “What makes you think I’d do something like that?”
“Because I found your stash in your sex drawer,” Joy said coldly. “It’s in my sweatshirt pocket.”
“Thief!” Prissy said as she walked right up to Joy and reached for her pocket.
Detective Coolidge stepped right in front of her. “You need to step back, Miss. This is official police business.”
“She has my gag spells. She stole them!” Prissy shouted. “Arrest her!”
“Okay, that’s enough, Prissy,” Finn Chance said as he walked into the commotion. He stared at Prissy. “Go to your trailer. Now.”
Prissy let out a huff and stormed back inside.
He turned around and scanned Joy, his eyes landing on the handcuffs. “You can’t arrest my actress,” he said to the detective. “Whatever you think she did, you’re wrong. She’s the most honorable person on this set. If you haul her in, it will be all over the tabloids, and when you have to admit you were wrong, your entire department will be a joke.”
Coolidge ignored him and pushed Joy forward toward the cruiser that was parked at the front of the lot. Joy glanced back and stumbled, nearly falling to her knees, but Coolidge had a decent grip on her arm and steadied her.
“Don’t say anything, Joy! Not one word,” Carly called again.
“She seems pretty insistent that you don’t talk to us,” Coolidge said conversationally.
Joy grunted.
“Nothing to say, huh? I doubt that’s going to help you, considering the evidence we have, but go ahead and keep your mouth shut. We’ll just find out what a judge has to say. You should be arraigned within, oh, seventy-two hours or so.”
“Seventy-two hours! You can’t be serious,” Joy said.
“Very.” The detective yanked the back door of her cruiser open and shoved Joy in. Just as Joy’s rear hit the seat, a flash went off in her face, and she winced. Perfect. It would only take a couple hours before that hit the tabloids. Her life had morphed from quiet anonymity to mysterious model to hot-mess actress in the matter of just a few months. If she managed to avoid jail, the likelihood of anyone hiring her again was probably less than zero. She leaned back into the seat, winced at the pain in her wrists, and closed her eyes. Maybe when she opened them, the nightmare would be over.
Coolidge sat across from Joy in the same conference room they’d sat in the week before. The detective leaned in and pushed two photos toward her. “Want to tell us what these are, Ms. Lansing?”
Joy glanced down at the two drawings she’d made of her visions. One was the house and the other was the man holding Harlow. Neither were the originals. They looked like computer prints. How had they gotten her drawings? Joy glanced up at her and said nothing.
“Isn’t it true that you’ve been having visions this entire time but decided not to tell us the details?” Coolidge pressed.
No. That wasn’t true at all. But Joy was hesitant to say anything. If she told Coolidge that Carly had said she’d talk to them, would Carly be in trouble since she clearly wasn’t their source?
“Who is this man?” The detective pointed at the picture in front of her. When Joy didn’t answer, Coolidge pressed on. “Where is this house, and why did you draw it?”
When Joy continued to remain silent, Coolidge tried to appeal to her motherly instincts. “We can do this all day, Ms. Lansing, but I’m sure you have a home life to get back to. A son who just broke his leg and likely needs help?”
Joy narrowed her eyes at the detective and thought, what a manipulative bitch. “I want my lawyer. I’m not answering anything until I have representation, especially since it looks as if you’ve been poking your nose into my personal life.”
Coolidge sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. “You do realize that your entire life is being detailed in the Premonition Perspective, right?”
Son of a… of course it was. Kyle’s accident had been covered as a reckless kid who’d run away from home after coming out to his father. “So you thought it was a good idea to use my son’s injury to get me to say something? That’s low, Detective.”
The door banged open and a tall dark-haired man with muscles piled on muscles stared at Coolidge and barked, “My office. Now!”
“But sir—”
“Shut up, Coolidge. If you don’t, I’ll fire you on the spot.” Without another word, the chief of police turned and stormed out, clearly expecting her to obey his command.
Another man walked in, this one in an expensive three-piece suit. He was carrying a briefcase and had a kind smile. “Joy Lansing?”
She nodded.
“I’m your lawyer. Carly Preston sent me. Are you ready to get out of here?”
“Yes. Is that allowed?” she asked, her heart racing with anticipation. They hadn’t actually booked her. Coolidge had just marched her into the conference room and then proceeded to interrogate her about something that Joy knew was complete bullshit. She couldn’t be compelled to tell the police about her visions. That wasn’t obstruction of justice. They’d have to put her on the stand to force her to talk.