private room of the local hospital.
“But we believe it was her gunfire that caused the general confusion among the rescue services, allowing your mystery rescuer access to the burning cabin, and then later, to escape into the woods.”
“Ms. Felstrom is a member of a private gun club. It wouldn’t be surprising if she had residue from a firearm on her, Detective Spacek.” Her voice was still croaky from the smoke inhalation, but improving all the time.
“And your cuffs?”
“A sex game.”
He nodded, his withered cheeks not even carrying a blush.
He looked pointedly at the dark bruises and cuts still marking her wrists.
They both knew there was nothing for him here. She was the four hundredth and ninety-seventh wealthiest woman in America. She had all the aces and all the answers. And she only played when the odds were in her favor. All that was left for him to do now was to wrap up his report and get the hell out of her hospital room.
“The tall girl that got you out?” Finally, he turned to the last loose thread they both knew would forever dangle, because Victoria was never going to tell him the truth. “You’ve never seen her before.” A statement, not a question. He knew her answer already.
“Didn’t see her. Thought she was a firefighter.” He placed his hat back on his head, signaling the interview was over and he was ready to depart.
“Well, I guess I’m done here, Ms. Gresham. I’ll file my report. Your lawyers can ask for a copy if you feel the need.” She nodded. “I see. Thank you, Detective Spacek.” Giving a polite nod, he turned to leave, only to bump into Ginette at the door. She had several magazines rolled under one arm and carried two plastic cups of steaming coffee. They eyed each other warily as the detective politely held the door. Sliding past him with not so much as a nod of acknowledgement, Ginette perched herself on the edge of Victoria’s bed, scattering the magazines across the covers.
“The vending-machine coffee is atrocious, and it’s a good fifteen-minute walk to the local Sludgebucks, so you’ll have to make do with this canteen muck. It’s pure tar. All you need are some feathers and you got your own revenge kit.” Victoria laid her head back wearily on the pillow, uninterested in magazines and conversation. Ginette prattled on, nodding toward the door Spacek had exited.
“They took so many swabs, prints, and DNA samples, I could clone myself.” She sounded disgusted with the processes of law and order she had been forced to endure. “I mean, I’m innocent, so I should get all that stuff back, right?” Victoria glared at her, and she shifted awkwardly.
“Well, innocent in that they know nothing…that kind of innocent.” Ginette tried to appease. Victoria’s laser-beam glare remained.
A complete change of subject was in order. Best turn the spotlight on someone Vic currently despises more than me. I wonder who that could be? Ginette assessed the situation with Machiavellian shrewdness.
“Did you know the cabin had been rented out in your name? Seems that bitch thought of everything.” Victoria’s stony silence was fraying Ginette’s nerves. She needed her influential ex to be on her side now that all the money was gone. How else was she ever going to recover anything?
“Come on, Vic. She was a bitch, a dirty, two-faced con artist. I was way out of my league. I just wanted to stiff you for that big fat bank account and our itty-bitty joint one. Okay, okay, so I’m a bitch, too, but wasn’t that one of the things you used to love about me?” She pouted defensively.
She was a very attractive woman and knew it. Her looks and guile had taken her far in life, but under her hardcore materialism ran a mischievous wit and charm that had actually been the glue in her relationship with Victoria. They made each other laugh, they were in synch, and they were real with each other, warts and all. In fact, if they had never become lovers they
“But we believe it was her gunfire that caused the general confusion among the rescue services, allowing your mystery rescuer access to the burning cabin, and then later, to escape into the woods.”
“Ms. Felstrom is a member of a private gun club. It wouldn’t be surprising if she had residue from a firearm on her, Detective Spacek.” Her voice was still croaky from the smoke inhalation, but improving all the time.
“And your cuffs?”
“A sex game.”
He nodded, his withered cheeks not even carrying a blush.
He looked pointedly at the dark bruises and cuts still marking her wrists.
They both knew there was nothing for him here. She was the four hundredth and ninety-seventh wealthiest woman in America. She had all the aces and all the answers. And she only played when the odds were in her favor. All that was left for him to do now was to wrap up his report and get the hell out of her hospital room.
“The tall girl that got you out?” Finally, he turned to the last loose thread they both knew would forever dangle, because Victoria was never going to tell him the truth. “You’ve never seen her before.” A statement, not a question. He knew her answer already.
“Didn’t see her. Thought she was a firefighter.” He placed his hat back on his head, signaling the interview was over and he was ready to depart.
“Well, I guess I’m done here, Ms. Gresham. I’ll file my report. Your lawyers can ask for a copy if you feel the need.” She nodded. “I see. Thank you, Detective Spacek.” Giving a polite nod, he turned to leave, only to bump into Ginette at the door. She had several magazines rolled under one arm and carried two plastic cups of steaming coffee. They eyed each other warily as the detective politely held the door. Sliding past him with not so much as a nod of acknowledgement, Ginette perched herself on the edge of Victoria’s bed, scattering the magazines across the covers.
“The vending-machine coffee is atrocious, and it’s a good fifteen-minute walk to the local Sludgebucks, so you’ll have to make do with this canteen muck. It’s pure tar. All you need are some feathers and you got your own revenge kit.” Victoria laid her head back wearily on the pillow, uninterested in magazines and conversation. Ginette prattled on, nodding toward the door Spacek had exited.
“They took so many swabs, prints, and DNA samples, I could clone myself.” She sounded disgusted with the processes of law and order she had been forced to endure. “I mean, I’m innocent, so I should get all that stuff back, right?” Victoria glared at her, and she shifted awkwardly.
“Well, innocent in that they know nothing…that kind of innocent.” Ginette tried to appease. Victoria’s laser-beam glare remained.
A complete change of subject was in order. Best turn the spotlight on someone Vic currently despises more than me. I wonder who that could be? Ginette assessed the situation with Machiavellian shrewdness.
“Did you know the cabin had been rented out in your name? Seems that bitch thought of everything.” Victoria’s stony silence was fraying Ginette’s nerves. She needed her influential ex to be on her side now that all the money was gone. How else was she ever going to recover anything?
“Come on, Vic. She was a bitch, a dirty, two-faced con artist. I was way out of my league. I just wanted to stiff you for that big fat bank account and our itty-bitty joint one. Okay, okay, so I’m a bitch, too, but wasn’t that one of the things you used to love about me?” She pouted defensively.
She was a very attractive woman and knew it. Her looks and guile had taken her far in life, but under her hardcore materialism ran a mischievous wit and charm that had actually been the glue in her relationship with Victoria. They made each other laugh, they were in synch, and they were real with each other, warts and all. In fact, if they had never become lovers they
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