Gerri went after her, but didn’t stop her, stepping subtly between the woman and Varley as she attempted to toss her drink in the young woman’s face. Gerri’s arm was close enough to block the attack, the bubbling liquid going sideways, washing over the stones in front of the fountain. Chase glared at Gerri, but she didn’t have time for the cranky CSI.
Not when the woman Donald identified as Bethany threw herself, shrieking, at Varley
“Beth, please!” Donald was there, pulling her back while Gerri wrestled with her. She might have been tiny, but her muscles were rock hard, and she had enough rage in her the detective was pretty sure if she let go, there’d be a second murder that night.
While it usually amused her how women blamed each other for men’s infidelity, Gerri’s good humor was pretty much used up at this point. “Name,” she snapped in the woman’s harsh face.
“Bethany MacIntosh,” she spit back.
No shocker there. Exs were the worst.
Mills and Purcell manhandled the woman clear while Varley Porter huddled against Kinsey. But Bethany had already seemed to calm, as though her outburst had been held inside for far too long. She shook off their grips and glared at Gerri.
“I was at the party the whole time,” she said, as if expecting the detective to accuse her of murder. “There were times I would have loved to see Malcolm dead.” Her lower lip trembled. “But damn him, I’ll miss his arrogant ass.”
Truth, Gerri's instincts whispered with a sigh of irritation.
She would never, ever understand women when it came to men.
Speak of the devil. As she ordered Mills to take the ex-Mrs. MacIntosh inside for further questioning, her phone buzzed in her pocket. One look at the screen made her wince.
Coming to SC. Want to see you.
Supervisory Special Agent Quinlan Foster texted her on a regular basis, since they’d met and bonded over the endless deaths of Jordan Michaels. Her attraction to him had been fiery and, now that she admitted it, likely tied to her bheast. The traitor. It grumbled unhappily at her as she shut the phone down and stuffed it back into her pocket. She was far too busy—and her head too screwed up—for a relationship right now, even a long distance one.
SSA Foster would just have to find another redhead to chase.
***
INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – NIGHT
Kinsey was happy to finally step away from Varley, just in time to spot Agent Foster’s name on Gerri’s phone before the detective tucked it away. Why the knowledge he was still in touch with the stubborn redhead amused Kinsey she didn’t know.
Not like her own love life was all that stellar.
“Sorry to ask, Dr. DanAllart,” Officer Mills said, nodding to her, notebook in hand, “but I need to know where you were at 10PM.”
“Not a problem, Candace.” Kinsey thought about it a moment, rolling over the events of the last two hours in her head. Recalled the fumbled attempt Malcolm made to feel her up at the buffet table, only to have his fingers twisted in such a way he changed his mind rapidly. While Kinsey knew she couldn’t believe everything she saw or read on the Internet, there were times when those self-defense videos making the rounds on social media actually helped.
Case in point. Malcolm’s frown and muttered, “just being friendly,” under his breath preceded him staggering away from her. Exactly her hope for the maneuver. She’d have to post a thank you comment on the video link.
She remembered being cornered by the terribly dry and always snore inducing Dr. Lawrence Prich and his wife, Marion. Calculus. Who needed it, anyway? She’d remained where she was, though, out of sight of the president on purpose. Not that she was avoiding him out of nervousness. Kinsey still had her job, and seeing Simone here tonight told her why. And that pissed her off.
To the point she wanted to go up to Mickerel and tell him where he could shove his crummy teaching position. But, every time her mind spun out the scenario, it ended with the college’s president face first in the punch bowl or on the floor groaning, holding his balls. Kinsey felt her mental success was sufficient.
For now. But she’d already decided her first year at Silver City College would be her last.
There was a particular freedom in making such a decision. She’d keep it to herself until the end of second semester. She didn’t even want to follow through with her contract and finish summer courses. April would mark the end of this career. And the beginning of something new.
Like what? She still had no idea. And realized, with a start, Candace Mills was watching her with wide eyes, pen poised, waiting.
“Sorry, mind drifted.” Kinsey shook off her distracted excitement. “I was in the ballroom, speaking with another professor.” Imagine Prich and his dowdy old bitch of a wife would be her alibis. “I heard a scream.” Piercing, cutting through the chatter in the room. She’d run for the door immediately, knowing Gerri’s influence had added to her new found fearlessness. “I found Varley here in the courtyard with Malcolm on the grass next to the fountain.” She recalled he looked soaked through. “She was hovering over him, sobbing. I helped her up and called 9-1-1. Then Gerri.” She smiled apologetically. “Detective Meyers.” Best to keep this more official.
Candace nodded, looking relieved Kinsey had an alibi. She must have wondered when the anthropologist took so long to tell her story. She took the names of the Prich’s and left Kinsey alone.
Ray was just leaving, deep in conversation with CSI Chase. The crime scene tech looked up as Kinsey approached, nodded. Rather cocky, in Kinsey’s opinion, faint smile on her face.
Ray, on the other hand, looked like she needed about 24 hours of solid sleep and a bucket of hot coffee. Kinsey reached out to take her hand, but Chase was already talking, distracting her from the medical examiner.
“Tell Meyers I’ll have the results on the bullet in a few hours.” She pointed to the angel at the center of the fountain. “Through and through, pulled it already.”
Like Kinsey cared. “Tell the detective yourself. That is your job, isn’t it?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as rude.
“You work with her, don’t you?” Chase’s tone matched Kinsey’s perfectly. Enough she had to refrain from smacking the annoying little bitch.
Wow, she was developing a temper. Gerri was rubbing off on her.
Before Kinsey could come up with a suitable response to Chase’s bitchslap, the detective joined them. The CSI’s flicker of anger passed from Kinsey and to Gerri who she addressed a bit more respectfully.
“Find a murder weapon?” Gerri’s gruffness made Kinsey feel better about Chase’s attitude.
The young CSI shrugged. “Got your bullet. We’re still looking. But there’s a good chance the killer didn’t dump the gun here. And unless it has a history, we might not have any luck tracing it.”
“Just work your magic.” Gerri turned to Kinsey and Ray, cutting Chase out of the conversation with a simple turn of her shoulders. The CSI took the hint, but Kinsey could tell from the tightness between the young woman’s eyes, she wasn’t happy about it.
“Ray.” Gerri prodded the medical examiner who seemed to snap out of a moment of daze.
“Sorry,” she said, British accent more pronounced as she slurred her words. “Druit was supposed to be on tonight. I’m working a 36.” Thirty-six hours? Poor Ray. Kinsey didn’t do well on little sleep and couldn’t imagine trying to do Ray’s job on so slim a rest schedule.
Gerri’s expression told Kinsey she agreed. “Go home and get some rest.”
“Can’t.” Ray yawned. “Four bodies awaiting my particular skill set.” She wiggled her fingers in their direction like some witch casting a magic spell. “I’ll grab a half hour on the cot at the office.” She turned and left with a wave over one shoulder while Gerri watched her go, frowning.
Gerri’s favorite expression.
“So, what have we got?” Kinsey turned to observe the remaining police and CSI’s still on scene, the gathered guests being release
d one by one. The president stood off to one side now the courtyard had been cleared, glaring in her direction. “Agent, assistant, girlfriend, ex-wife?”
Gerri nodded. “And if you can be believed,” she shrugged, “and I have no reason to think otherwise,” her grin told Kinsey she’d meant to tease, “any man whose wife MacIntosh boffed.”
“That’s a lot of boffing.” Kinsey had to giggle. “Seriously. A lot.”
“Dude was a real winner.” Gerri grinned. Paused. “So, Donald Ipps says MacIntosh had a new book coming out, one of those guaranteed bestseller situations.” The detective raised one eyebrow, waited for confirmation.
“As much as I hate to admit it,” Kinsey said, “Malcolm was that famous, at least with the people who read his books. Safe bet he’s telling the truth.”
“Which gives him little or large reason to want MacIntosh dead?” Gerri’s booted foot tapped on the stone, hands hooked in her belt, eyes narrowed.
“Little, I’d say,” Kinsey said. “At least, if money means anything to him. As his agent, Donald likely gets at least a fifteen or twenty percent cut of everything Malcolm made.”
“Big slice.” Gerri nodded. “So, unless MacIntosh was sleeping with his wife…”
Kinsey shrugged. “What about Zed?” She knew him only a little, in passing. Met him a few times, talked to him briefly tonight—last night, she realized as she checked her watch. He seemed nice enough.
“Weak alibi,” Gerri said. “Who do I talk to about video feeds in this place?”
Kinsey pointed to the nearest campus police officer who stood back, watching with wide eyes. “Any one of them should be able to take you to the security office.”
“Meantime, I’ll have Jackson bring Zed downtown for a chat.” Gerri fist bumped Kinsey. “Thanks for the help.”
“My pleasure,” the blonde said. “And, according to my boss, my job. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
She turned, strode from the scene, heading to her office. She’d changed here, thank goodness, and had jeans and a t-shirt to slip into. While she loved this dress, she was happy enough to shed the skin she’d been forced to wear first for her grandmother for years and now for her job.
Kinsey saw Simone watching, but didn’t acknowledge the other woman. Not even when Simone’s black eyes locked on her and stared, following her out.
***
INT. – SILVER CITY COLLEGE – NIGHT
Gerri didn’t ask Kinsey to stay, though she wished she had while she questioned the ex-wife. Not that it was necessary, only that Kinsey knew these people, at least better than the detective did. She might have some insights Gerri wasn’t privy to.
She’d check in with the blonde later and compare notes.
Bethany MacIntosh stood off to the side, swaying slightly. She’d found a further source of alcohol and seemed intent on drinking as much of it as possible, a near empty bottle of champagne in one hand, glass in the other. At least she wasn’t swigging it right from the bottle. Gerri took it away from her though the woman tried to fight her, sloshing some of the liquid over her brown dress as she staggered from the feeble fight.
Gerri passed the bottle to Purcell before drawing a fortifying breath and facing off with the ex.
“Mrs. MacIntosh.” She wasn’t married to him anymore, but kept his last name.
Bethany glared at her drink. “I should be happy the bastard is dead.”
“I take it your breakup wasn’t amicable?” Gerri prodded her with tone and words, sarcasm cutting through even the ex-wife’s descent into drunkenness. She snorted in response, tossing her empty flute aside to crash into the stone tiles with a tinkle of shattering glass. She stared at the broken mess with tears rising in her eyes.
“He couldn’t keep it in his pants.” No shocker there. Kinsey already said as much.
Bethany met Gerri’s eyes with mute hurt a long moment. Then shrugged, as if that were all she needed to say.
“How long were you married?” A matter of record, but easier to ask.
“Twenty-one fucking years,” the ex said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the last of her lipstick over her cheek. Gerri noted no one seemed inclined to come to her aid, letting her stand there, drunk and broken, alone. Nice crowd. Then again, who knew how much shit this woman stirred up over her adulterous husband?
“And your divorce?” Gerri didn’t need to push her. Bethany was already on the brink.
“Went through six months ago.” She hiccupped, swayed. “Like it mattered to him.”
“And the settlement?” There were times Gerri hated to ask these questions, times when even her hard-won detective skills had a workout when it came to the victims and their families. But all the emotion seemed to have drained out of this woman. She looked blank, now, numb.
“He screwed me.” She barked a laugh. “But I have my own money, Detective. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
It was. “He married you for yours, I take it?”
“I’m the reason Malcolm MacIntosh even had a chance at being rich and famous.” She wiped at her nose this time, trail of snot wet on the back of her wrist. “He’d still be a loser professor at some Midwest college going nowhere if it hadn’t been for me.”
“Bethany.” Donald Ipps finally decided to step in. “Let me take you home.” His hand settled on her arm, but she jerked herself free from him, almost falling into the carefully shaped bush beside her.
“Don’t touch me.” She seemed to gather herself before speaking again. “You want to know where I was when he died?” Gerri nodded. Maybe she wasn’t as drunk as she looked. “10PM, I was fucking one of the waiters in the closet across from the ballroom.” She laughed out loud, the bray of a furious donkey. Bethany spun, pointed at a flushed and embarrassed young man in a black tie and white shirt who cleared his throat and nodded at Gerri from the doorway to the building.
Gerri’s gut giggled and agreed. Truth.
Jesus. What was wrong with these people?
“I hated Malcolm,” Bethany said, wavering toward Gerri who just avoided the woman’s hand as she tried to use the detective for support. Donald caught her and held her as she went on. “But I loved him, too.” She snuffled, tears erupting from her eyes. “And even though there were times I wished that asshole would just die and put me out of my misery, I can’t believe he’s gone.” She sagged against Donald, arms around his neck, sweat staining half-circles in the underarm fabric of her gown.
Gerri let Donald lead her away, cornering the waiter long enough to have him confirm Bethany MacIntosh’s story.
“One of the perks of working these events,” Pete Norish said, flushing furiously. He was cute in a lean, geekboy kind of way, a rim of acne running across his forehead and teeth in desperate need of a dentist. Fishing for drunken older women desperate for affection must have seemed easier than pursing women his own age.
Gerri took his information before tackling her final witness. By now, even the president of the college was gone, the CSI’s cleared out. Mills stood with Varley, her yellow dress filthy at the hem with two knee prints stained into the fabric. She’d stopped shaking and crying, though, so it was easier for the detective to ask her questions.
“Can you tell me where you were at 10PM?” She’d found the body, after all. There was a chance she’d been the murderer.
But, her startled reaction and Gerri’s instinctual grunt of, innocent, told her otherwise.
“I was talking with President Mickerel,” she said. “It was important to Malcolm I make the rounds, to socialize as much as possible. He might have seemed aggressive and charismatic, but he was really shy.” That was a total contradiction to what everyone else said about him. “He needed some time to himself.” Now Gerri got it. The poor, naïve little thing. He was prowling, wasn’t he? Made Gerri wonder if he’d found someone to share a fling with in the courtyard.
A someone with a gun and intent to do something fatal.
“Can you think of anyone w
ho would want to hurt Dr. MacIntosh?” Gerri had already come to the conclusion the young woman was clueless, so her reaction wasn’t too surprising.
“Everyone loved Malcolm,” she said. “Even that bitch ex of his.”
Gerri let the young woman go, asking Mills to take her home. It wasn’t really a big ah ha moment the girlfriend was deluded. Her theory MacIntosh might have been in female company when he was shot seemed like one of her best bets. Time to retrieve Kinsey and ask her if he had admirers.
***
INT. – SILVER CITY MORGUE –MORNING
Ray’s gloved hands pulled back the sheet from her third autopsy of the night. As with the first two, her body ran on autopilot, mind just not in the game. If her assistant, Robert, noticed, he wasn’t saying a word, though she did catch the occasional worried look from him and, once, saw him correcting her notations.
She tried to shake off her distraction, but it was hard this far into her third shift in a row. That wanker Druit called in sick, likely hung over so badly he couldn’t stand up, let alone do an autopsy. Ray might have been tired and distracted, but she was still a better medical examiner than that idiot.
He knew she’d reported him, though nothing had come of it. Retaliation was likely, not that she cared. She was so tired by now, on her bazillionth cup of coffee, she couldn’t care less if she was the one who was fired. Anything to get some sleep.
Worse, much worse, was the love of her life adding to her stress. Maybe if her relationship with Cici was going smoothly—or at least normally—Ray could find a way to focus. There were nights the Native American therapist was loving, kind, gentle. The most amazing woman Ray had ever been in love with. Most of the time, Cici’s steady calm kept Ray together, helped her to deal with the power growing inside her, the vampir power she’d triggered not so long ago when she finally cut her bitch of a mother loose.
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