Skeletons in the Closet by Jennifer L. Hart Page B

everything the detective was about to say.
    “Neil, maybe you ought to—”
    “Boys, grab your jackets. We’re heading down to the park.”
    Patterson shot him a grateful smile, and while Neil herded the protesting adolescents out the door, I poured the detective a cup of coffee.
    “Thank you, ma’am. You have a very nice family there, and I really didn’t want to ruin what’s left of everyone’s weekend with more unpleasantness.” Although he didn’t say it outright, I was pretty certain by his tone that he knew what I’d been up to the night before. I watched him take a sip of his coffee and smiled at the look of surprise on his face.
    “Good stuff, huh?”
    “Excellent, ma’am. Smells just like the 7-11 in here.”
    “Well there’s a compliment.” I let the sarcasm drip from my voice, but he either didn’t notice or decided to let it go.
    “As I was saying, Mrs. Phillips, I’m very sorry about our conversation the other day. You see, this case makes no sense at all, and frankly, I’m stymied at every turn.”
    I blinked at him, and he gave me a knowing smirk. “What, you think that a black man don’t know a word like stymied?”
    “No, actually, I was surprised that a man who would complement a housewife by comparing her kitchen to a 7-11 would know a word like stymied.”
    Bradley Patterson was the one to blink this time and then burst into laughter. “No offense intended, ma’am.”
    “Here either, Detective. I know the Southern accent tends to fool people at times, but I’d like to think we could get beyond the stereotypes here and be candid.”
    “Sounds like a plan to me, although I must point out you don’t have a very thick accent, it’s a bit different than a Bostonian intonation is all.”
    Now that’s a compliment.
    “I heard about your little adventure last night. A friend of mine works dispatch and recognized your name. I was a little surprised to say the least, since I thought you were going to keep your head down for a while.”
    I made a vague gesture with my hand, trying to make light of the most mortifying situation of my life.
    “I thought I’d come by and let you know you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
    “But the tattoo! I know Greg was Mrs. Kline’s lover, I saw the tattoo!”
    “ Latest lover, you mean. The Kline marriage was littered with similar indiscretions, which is why I zeroed in on Mr. Kline. It must have reached a point where the man needed to kill her just so that he could retain a shred of dignity.” Patterson shook his head. “But you held true to being Mr. Kline’s alibi, and Greg has an even better one. He was having a, ahem, full body wax at a local spa.”
    Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww!
    As Kenny would say, “Way, way, TMI.”
    “So, both the current lover and the husband have alibis. This definitely appears to be a crime of passion, at least according to the medical examiner’s report. Twelve rounds at close range was no theft gone awry. No, someone wanted to make good and sure that Alessandra Kline left this earth forever.”
    Warning bells clanged in my head. I took another sip from my tepid coffee and puzzled out exactly what wasn’t right.
    “The husband has some strange fetishes, as I assume you’ve noticed. His little torture room and whatnot, but your alibi shoots that theory down the crapper, so I’m left with a violent crime of passion, with no possible suspects. Or, at least, too many to sort through.” He sent me a meaningful look that I couldn’t decipher, and the clanging grew louder.
    “Why are you telling me all this?”
    He looked pained. “I shouldn’t be revealing evidence to a civilian, but I need an in.”
    “An in? To where?”
    “Alessandra Kline’s social circle. The people she ran with, so to speak. When dealing with the elite, I have to tread very carefully and with a ridiculous lack of evidence I can’t afford to even let on that they’re under investigation, or they’ll lawyer up faster than you