Page 95 of Dirty Rich Cinderella Story

A long walk and an elevator ride later, we’re in an interview room, the three of us across from him, a camera in the corner. The drilling begins and with a bang. “How many times have you fucked the deceased, Ms. Knight, prior to him being deceased of course?”

“Six times,” she says, without hesitation.

Waller just blinks at her then says, “Not seven?”

“Six,” she repeats.”

“What about last night?”

“He wanted to fuck,” she says, leaning back in her chair and flipping her hair. “I had to sleep, and that man didn’t sleep at all when we fucked. It was like all night long. I have a charity event tonight. I couldn’t do that last night.”

He starts drilling her about where they met, how they met. Where she was last night. When she saw him last. It’s all building up to some bombshell. I feel it. I know how these things roll out. “Did you ever do drugs with the deceased?” he finally asks.

“I don’t do drugs, detective,” she says. “I’ve never done drugs.”

“You were in rehab last year.”

And there it is, bombshells starting to land. “For pain killers from an injury,” she says. “And it’s quite embarrassing.”

“If this gets out,” I tell him, “we’ll sue the department.”

He smirks. “Good luck proving that one.” In other words, he’s covered his bases.

Tara sits forward. “You little—”

Lori catches her arm. Tara inhales and sits back, never finishing her sentence.

Waller smirks. “Did you know the deceased as a drug user?”

“He smoked weed, if that counts,” she says. “I hate the skunk smell weed gives off and he kept it away from me. Even when he was writing his book, and he was all fucked up about revisiting the past, sex was his thing, not drugs.”

Lori suddenly stands up and walks to my seat, leaning down to my ear, “I’ll be right back.” Her hand is on my shoulder and she squeezes, and I get it. She thinks she knows something. She needs to check it out.

She exits the room and Waller leans toward us. “Have you ever given any drugs to the deceased?”

I don’t like this question. “State his name,” I say. “This constant reference to ‘the deceased’ could mean anyone.”

He grimaces and repeats the question. “Did you ever give David Curry drugs of any kind?”

“Advil. Maybe Excedrin. Nothing more.”

He reaches in his pocket and sets a bagged prescription bottle on the table. “We found this on his bedside table.”

Holy fuck. I reach for it before she can, reading the Vicodin label dated a year ago. “I didn’t give this to him,” she says to me. “I swear to you, Cole.” She looks at Waller. “I didn’t give this to him and I wouldn’t have even given up my pills back then. I was addicted. I wanted every one for myself.”

“We’ll let you get out of this,” he says. “We’ll make a deal. You give us your father, we’ll give you privacy and freedom.”

I laugh. “You’re a piece of work. The man took it from her. Or she dropped it. Not to mention there is no cause of death or toxicology report.”

“That’ll take weeks,” he reminds me, looking at Tara. “Weeks of bad PR, but a good amount of time for me to talk to your mother. She wouldn’t take down your father last year, but now, she’s protecting her daughter.”

Tara leans forward. “Leave my mother out of this.”

“Even if he has Vicodin in his system,” I say, “you’re going to have a hard time proving a year-old prescription was the source.”

Lori walks back into the room and kneels beside me. She holds out her phone and is showing me the cover to David Curry’s book when Waller asks, “If you didn’t give him the pills, how did he get them?”

Lori’s eyes go wide, and she says, “I know how.” She tabs through pages on her phone and then lets me read a section of the book. It takes two paragraphs for me to decide I’m really falling the fuck in love with this woman. “Read it to him,” I order.

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