It Takes Two to Strangle by Stephen Kaminski Page A

and possibly even a murderess. Her father had just died, her boyfriend had confessed to the killing and she had just told him that the boyfriend was protecting her. And on top of everything else, he had just made a date with Bethany Krims, who he’d been fantasizing about for two years. But Clara’s hands were now on both sides of his face, lightly grazing his jawline and her open mouth began a slow descent back down his neck. Damon let her continue while he wrestled with his conscience.
    Clara made the decision for him. When she reached the base of his neck, she pulled back, let the point of her tongue dance playfully against his skin for a moment longer, then tucked it back inside her mouth and straightened up. She gave him another smile and reached to the table for her wine glass. Damon inched to the side so their bodies were no longer touching.
    “Jordan didn’t kill my father,” she said. “I doubt he ever left our hotel on Wednesday night.”
    Damon waited for more, noticing a mosquito that was noisily exploring the joint where the wall met the ceiling.
    Clara continued. “Wednesday was an early night for us. We had dinner in south Arlington with friends. I know a good number of people in this area. A few years ago, I had a nursing externship at George Washington University Hospital in downtown D.C. Most of the nurses from the program still live here. We finished dinner at about nine o’clock, then Jordan and I came back to the hotel. We haven’t been talking too much for the past couple of weeks. I’ve been trying to find a way to break things off with Jordan but haven’t had the stomach to do it. We laid side by side on the hotel bed for about an hour. I was reading a magazine and he was reviewing a medical paper on his computer.”
    The mosquito gained courage, and flew in a direct line toward Clara’s exposed ankles. She noticed and shook a foot when the mosquito came within close proximity. It changed course and left to survey the kitchen.
    “Jordan and I had discussed my mom’s will a little bit. Both before and after that scene at the Fish Barrel. He said we didn’t need the money, but that’s not true. He doesn’t need the money, but I’m not going to marry him and I do need it. I don’t need it so badly that I’d murder my own father to get it, but Jordan thinks I killed him.”
    “Why, Clara?” asked Damon.
    She closed her eyes. “Because after we went to sleep on Wednesday night, I crept out of our hotel room to meet a man. A married man I know who lives in the District.”
    Damon watched Clara closely. Eyes still shut, she folded her arms across her chest. It wasn’t a gesture of anger but one of comforting herself.
    “Jordan and I were in bed by ten thirty and he was sleeping soundly before eleven. I waited another ten minutes, then crept out of the room. I never even left the Sheraton. My companion made up an overnight work trip and booked into the same hotel where Jordan and I were staying.” She opened her eyes and shook her head in a self-deprecating gesture. “I know I’m a horrible person. Trust me, I do. But it is what it is. I can’t let Jordan go to prison because I cheated on him.”
    “Clara, you have to tell Gerry Sloman all of this.” The mosquito returned and landed directly on the point of the widow’s peak on Damon’s forehead. He blushed with self-consciousness and shooed it away.
    “I just wasn’t ready to speak to the police yet,” Clara said. “I feel better about it now. Maybe you could take me down to the station, if you don’t mind.”
    “I will, Clara. You know they’ll ask you who the man is.”
    “I know. He’s an anesthesiologist at the hospital where I did my externship. He had just gotten married when I met him. We didn’t do anything at the time, but the tension was always there. In the past year, we’ve seen each other five times. Either up here or down in Richmond. It’s terrible. He has two children under the age of three and he