by Patti Larsen
She might as well have been eight years old forever.
The Melton Hotel’s large foyer spread out before Kinsey, marble and statues and a bubbling fountain between her and her destination. The space might as well have been the size of a football field, the dining room’s doorway on the far end. She brushed past a towering plant next to the concierge station and apologized for almost bowling over an older gentleman in her haste. Her awkward apology was met with a kind head shake, but it was enough to annoy Kinsey, trigger her temper. This wasn’t her, not anymore. And yet, she still found herself hurrying to her grandmother’s beck and call, to the point of embarrassing herself and almost taking out an old guy in the process.
She swept past the front desk and its judging compliment of attractive, watchful staff, to the full bank of mirrors beside the dining room doors. The reflection of her sleek, black dress and pulled-back hair cast back at her from the wall, speeding Kinsey’s heartbeat, not from anxiety, but from anger.
If her grandmother was going to try pulling out her usual arrogance on Kinsey’s friends, she had another thing coming. At least that was what she told herself as she stopped on the threshold and drew a deep breath, purse clutched in one shaking hand.
The brightness of the grandiose lobby gave way to darkened ambience in the formal dining room. Kinsey approached the hostess, a tall, stunning brunette who reminded her of Ray. The woman smiled at her and, on her murmur of her name, guided her through the hush of the crowded restaurant toward the back of the room. Kinsey kept her eyes locked on the woman’s shoulders, doing her best to cling to her resolve. She would not allow Margot to turn this visit into a disaster. Her grandmother’s agenda—she always had an agenda—wasn’t Kinsey’s concern. She was already regretting roping Ray and Gerri into this dinner. What had she been thinking? Margot had never been anything but cold and, at times, rude to Kinsey’s friends. Mind you, that had been years ago, when they were all in college. Gerri’s reaction on the phone gave Kinsey pause, worried now maybe the detective might, if pushed, do something they’d both regret.
And yet, if her grandmother was here to be rude to Kinsey’s friends, she had it coming.
A padded door, cleverly disguised as a wall panel, opened under the hostess’s soft touch. She turned and nodded to Kinsey with a professional smile before leaving her to enter. She winced at the sight of Ray, already seated at on the right. Her hazel eyes met Kinsey’s with a hint of desperate relief, though it was Gerri’s narrow, sharp smile that made her most nervous.
“Hello, everyone.” She steadied herself, false, practiced smile on her face as she approached the table, eyes traveling over the safety of the white linens, the gold-rimmed plates, the real silver cutlery, the impressive floral centerpiece. It took one last firm grip on herself for Kinsey to force her eyes upward, across the glittering black shell and up to the sparkle of diamonds on one old hand before Kinsey could meet her grandmother’s cold, blue eyes. Still attractive even in her seventies, with a presence that shook Kinsey to the core no matter how old and experienced with authority she became, at least she knew she had good genes and would age well. She could see herself in her grandmother, though she hoped the tension in Margot’s face, ever present, wouldn’t be her own legacy.
“Grandmother.” Kinsey bent and kissed Margot’s cool cheek, the scent of lotus tickling her nose, like it always did.
“Kinsey, dear.” Margot’s deep voice held no warmth. “Tardy, as usual.”
Kinsey ground her teeth together. “Sorry, Grandmother.” One glance at Gerri was all Kinsey needed to know this was a huge mistake. As if she wasn’t already aware. Something about the redhead’s attitude, the way she slouched back in her chair, still dressed in her jacket and button up, jeans hugging her long legs, badge and gun showing, screamed confrontation. Ray, at least, had changed into a dark brown dress that flattered her skin tone and slim body.
Kinsey shook off her judgment of Gerri. This was supposed to be a nice dinner.
She could just keep telling herself that while it all went to hell.
Kinsey sat down next to Margot, hand rattling her wine glass as she set her clutch down on the table. “How was your trip from Boston?” Her grandmother hadn’t said a word as to why she was here on the west coast, aside from a likely attempt to make Kinsey’s life misery. Margot was good at that.
“Tolerable.” Margot’s blue eyes observed Kinsey with the same sharpness as ever.
“I hope the hotel is to your liking?” Kinsey yelled at herself in her head for being such a wimp even as her lips kept smiling.
“Also tolerable.” Gerri’s snort drew Margot’s attention and, for a brief instant, Kinsey was grateful. “You find something amusing, Geraldine?”
The redhead just shrugged, downing her wine, reaching for the bottle.
“I’m sure Gerri was just agreeing with you.” Kinsey hated herself for her need to appease. Damn it, how did her grandmother manage to revert her from powerful, confident Dr. Kinsey DanAllart to weak and pathetic little Kinsey with one look from her cold, blue eyes?
Gerri muttered something that sounded like, “As if,” before Ray spoke up.
“Is this your first visit to Silver City?” Kinsey shot Ray a thankful look for taking focus.
“Hardly, Rachel.” Margot’s insistence on using the girl’s full names pissed Kinsey off for some reason. So officious and arrogant. And yet, she just sat there with that damned smile plastered on her face and her heart beating too fast. “Though I much prefer Boston.” There was a huge accusation in the glare her grandmother leveled at her. “I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for Kinsey’s insistence on taking this job,” she said the word like it tasted bad in her mouth, “at the university.”
Kinsey’s jaw jumped. She couldn’t help it. “I’m enjoying it so far,” she said, shocking the hell out of herself. “Thanks for asking.” Kinsey looked away before she could stare at her grandmother in surprise at her own courage, grasping for the wine glass and taking a long sip of red to steady her nerves.
Gerri’s grin and wink she caught out of the corner of her eye. Somehow, the redhead’s attitude didn’t make her feel any better.
“I was surprised to hear the three of you ended up here.” Kinsey knew that tone. Margot was angry, under all her chill. But why? She had no right to be mad at Gerri and Ray for taking jobs in Silver City. She had no say over them whatsoever. It was enough to push Kinsey further into anger and away from the false smile she usually affected.
“Gerri’s the new head of homicide for the 9th Precinct.” It felt terribly important to Kinsey her grandmother understand how awesome her friends were. “And Ray is one of the lead examiners in the coroner’s office.” So there.
Margot’s eyes darkened, whether in response to Kinsey’s rebellion or for some other reason only known to her grandmother. Kinsey gulped more wine and reached for the bottle herself.
“I understand Geraldine’s partner was murdered.” Kinsey spit out a bit of her drink, a slight spray of deep red over the white plate in front of her, splashing onto her pristine napkin. Ray shifted uncomfortably in her seat and even Gerri looked shocked, white-faced and staring.
“And how is that any of your business?” The detective sounded breathless, as though Margot punched her in the chest. Kinsey’s sympathy burned a small hole in her gut. This was her fault, she shouldn’t have asked the girls to come. Should have found a way to put her grandmother off instead of caving like she always did to give Margot what she wanted.
“Considering my granddaughter also suffered a loss,” her grandmother said in a cold voice, Boston accent showing, “and also to murder,” Margot’s icy gaze traveled from Gerri to Ray and finally to Kinsey, “I should think it is my business. Proof Silver City is the cesspool I always thought. And far too dangerous a place for Kinsey to be living.”
Kinsey shivered inside. So like Margot to talk about her as if she wasn’t in the room. Like what she wanted didn’t matter. The tiny rebel
lion born moments ago blossomed and grew. Only to die slowly, softened around the edges, as she thought it through.
Maybe her grandmother was right. Silver City had proven dangerous. And she had already been told she could take her place again at Harvard. The Dean would welcome her back with open arms. Suddenly, the idea of going home felt like the right thing to do.
Until Gerri spoke up. While standing up. She towered over the table, red hair flowing around her broad shoulders, the fire in the detective shaking Kinsey loose of her stupidity. “As usual,” Gerri said, “it’s been so much of a pleasure, I can’t stand it.” Gerri saluted Margot before meeting Kinsey’s eyes. “If you’re going back to Boston, I get your couch.” With that, Gerri left the small dining room, while Margot glared after her.
“How rude.” Kinsey’s grandmother turned back to her plate, lips thinned. “She hasn’t changed.”
“Neither,” Ray said, standing in a graceful push of her chair, elegance and class radiating off her, “have you, Ms. DanAllart.” With a small nod to Kinsey, a hint of apology in her eyes, Ray left, too.
Abandoning Kinsey with her scowling grandmother. No, not abandonment. They shouldn’t have been here in the first place. This was Kinsey’s fault.
She looked up and met those crystal blue eyes, her eyes. And, for the first time, felt something. A twitch in her head, a push. A subtle touch she recognized, only because she’d used it herself.
With a gasp and her heart thudding a heavy beat, Kinsey surged to her feet.
“Grandmother,” she whispered. “You’re like me.”
Margot’s frown deepened, though Kinsey saw a flicker of something she finally decided was fear in her grandmother’s eyes. “What are you talking about, child? Sit down.”
Kinsey backed away, hands grasping her clutch by habit, pushing the heavy chair away with an awkwardness made worse by her stunned realization. “You’ve been manipulating me my whole life.” It was so clear now. The ability she had, to lean on people. To encourage them to do what she wanted. It wasn’t imaginary, she wasn’t alone.
Her grandmother had it, too.
She ran for the door, her grandmother calling her name, but Kinsey was gone, more than physically. Now that she understood… Margot would never control her again.
Fury drove her feet to hurry past the startled server who was just walking through the door, between tables of staring patrons who frowned at her haste. Kinsey didn’t care. She finally understood, this family legacy, a truth her grandmother kept from her, should have shared.
With a hurt that ran so deep Kinsey almost sobbed from it, she skidded to a halt on the sidewalk and looked back at the hotel entry, fury aimed at her grandmother.
No wonder her mother left.
***
INT. – 9th PRECINCT BULLPEN - NIGHT
Gerri jerked her chair out from her desk and tossed her jacket to the surface, slamming her body into the seat. The old springs complained, but did their job, bouncing her softly as she wheeled herself close. The bullpen was quiet, though far from empty, a few other detectives hunched over their own work. The captain’s office door was closed, darkness behind it. Just as well. She’d rather not run into anyone she cared to keep on her good side at the moment.
Just let Jackson show his damned face. She was wound up enough, therapist or no therapist, Gerri wouldn’t be responsible for the outcome.
Her luck, he remained absent, leaving Gerri to turn on her desk lamp and pour over the photos from the first crime scene. Jackson had labeled each photo with a post-it note, scribbled with details he thought relevant. And while she didn’t think much of him as a person, he was efficient.
Most of the crowd had been other dancers, a few people from the area come to see the show. The only odd faces out had been the bald bruiser with the tats—as yet unidentified—and the preacher, also nameless. She made a note to track them both down in the morning before turning to her computer.
Jackson had included background information on most of the people he identified from the crowd, but Gerri liked to do her own digging. After emailing a copy of the bald dude’s face to Vice and the assumed preacher’s to hate crimes, just in case, she turned her attention to the club’s regulars. Salvador was first. The owner of the Starlet Lounge had an eventful life, as things turned out. One of the supporters of Harvey Milk, he spent most of the 70’s in San Francisco, relocating to Silver City shortly after Milk was assassinated in ’78. An activist until the late 80’s, Salvador gave up his political ways after an attack that was never solved. He started the Starlet Lounge in ’96 and had kept his nose clean since.
Gerri marked him off her list, as well as any political motivations. He’d been out of the protest scene long enough, she doubted very much if Aisling was connected to Salvador’s past. She’d chase it down if all other leads proved fruitless, but Gerri’s gut whispered to her the bar owner had nothing to do with Aisling’s death so she moved on.
Next up, the bartender. But Curtis Alexander’s past was as bland and pasty as Salvador’s was colorful. Born to a salesman father and a stay-at-home mother, an only child, he attended private school until his father’s death when Curtis was ten. Never went to college, not even a traffic ticket. Clean as a whistle. His mother worked for some charity here in the city. That was it. Gerri sat back with a frown. She hated it when suspects were so sparkly. It always made her think they were hiding something. But there was nothing here to go on, so she abandoned Curtis in favor of Roxy.
She had a temper, her record showed that. In and out of juvie, passed around from foster home to foster home, the orphan turned queen was barely twenty three. Gerri shook her head over the report. Gay, parents dead, living on the wrong side of town… she was surprised Roxy wasn’t dead or hadn’t killed someone before now.
And yet, Gerri’s gut, ever present and nagging, told her Roxy wasn’t guilty of Aisling’s murder. The evidence might say otherwise, and, despite the different knife, the change in the attack, any DA worth their salt would likely get a conviction just on circumstantial evidence. If Gerri was willing to let this go, Roxy could easily go down for both murders.
She stared at the block-letter writing on the post it stuck to the front of Roxy’s file. GUILTY. Jackson had already made his decision. Gerri needed more to make hers.
The phone was cold on her cheek as she picked up the receiver on her desk and dialed the desk sergeant. Time to drag Roxy out of holding and ask her some more questions.
“Sorry, detective,” the rough voice on the other end said after leaving her hanging for five minutes. “Looks like your suspect was released a half hour ago.”
“What?” Gerri lunged to her feet, drawing curious looks from the handful of detectives still working. “You let a murder suspect walk?”
“Paperwork mix up.” Of course he sounded defensive, the jackass. “Out of my hands.”
And then, had the nerve to hang up on her. She glared at the buzzing receiver before slamming it back into its cradle.
Guess who chose to show his pretty face, with perfect timing? Gerri’s anger switched from the desk sergeant to her grinning partner.
“Problem?”
He was about to have one. It was lucky for him he stood, with his hands in his pockets, T-shirt tight across his wide chest, smirk pulling his full lips to the right.
“Roxy.” Gerri ground the name out between her aching teeth. “Was released.”
Why didn’t he look pissed? Jackson shrugged, still grinning, like this was her fault and he was just waiting to see her crash and burn. Oh, that’s why he wasn’t mad. Asshole.
“Go pick her up again,” he said. Like it was no big deal.
Gerri’s hand grasped her coat, even as she imagined her fingers tightening around Jackson’s neck. She wanted to leap over desk at him, to stop him from smirking at her with her fist in his face. The strength of her need cooled her down as fast as a bucket of ice water to her face. He was a total and utter jerk, yes. But she really needed
to get a handle on her temper.
Jackson waved at her with casual nonchalance as she left, her partner letting her go it alone.
She wouldn’t have it any other way.
***
EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE – NIGHT
Roxy paced beside the dumpster, hands gripping her little purse close to her chest. She ran one hand over the stubble on her cheek, hating she hadn’t had time to go home and shave. The bitch who did her laser treatments missed far too much hair for Roxy’s liking.
Why was she thinking about grooming at a time like this?
She peeked around the filthy garbage container, nose wrinkling. The message said to meet here, the implications not lost to her. But this was her only chance to make things right.
The shadow fell over her before she realized she wasn’t alone. Immediately, she stumbled back, lips trembling, violet eyes filling with tears as her hands flexed convulsively around the clutch.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Aisling.” She tried a shaking smile. “You have to protect me,” she said, taking a step closer. “They killed her, I know it.” She glanced down the alley, then back, tears, the first real ones she’d shed since as long as she could remember, trailing down her face. That detective bought her emotion, she could see it in Meyers’s stance, the way she watched Roxy. And while she’d been sad about poor Crystal, she’d been more worried about her own hide to be that broken hearted.
Her own skin, on the other hand? That she would cry over.
She saw the knife only a moment before it fell, not long enough to yell, to run, to avoid the sharp blade. Roxy’s lips parted, the last of her tears coursing down her face as she fell beneath the knife, understanding at last she’d come to the wrong person for protection.
***
EXT. – THE STARLET LOUNGE - MORNING
