Page 22 of So Bleak

Faith declined to offer an opinion on that. “So you were home.”

“I’m always home. Leroy works, and I cook and clean. That’s the way it goes when you’re not an uppity celebrity whore.”

“You clearly hate your sister,” Michael said, “So you can see why we might wonder where you were the night she died.”

“I was here. I’m always here. And I’m not gonna fucking kill anyone. What would be the point? Wouldn’t change anything about my life.”

Faith glanced at Turk. Turk dipped his head and began trotting through the house, sniffing for clues.

“What is he, a drug dog? Because I have a doctor’s prescription for everything I have.”

“He’s not a drug dog,” Faith said, “but if there’s a trace of the poison that killed your sister anywhere here, he’ll find it.”

“Poison? Ha! That’s funny.”

“That so?” Michael asked.

“Sure. Eleanor was a snake, so it’s funny that she died by her own venom.”

“Oddly enough, we think you might be right,” Faith said. “We think she wrote a review that angered someone enough that they chose to kill your sister and Harold Grimes to get revenge.”

“Who’s Harold Grimes?”

“Another food critic.”

“Were they fucking?”

Faith took a deep breath. “No. As far as we know, they didn’t know each other.”

“They just both pissed off the same restaurant?”

“Possibly.”

Melinda rubbed her chin. “Might be that French place she told me about.”

Faith stared at her a moment. “I thought you said you hadn’t spoken with her since college.”

“Sure, I haven’t talked to her. But she tried to talk to me a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t think that was important?”

Melinda gave Faith another defiant look. “How the hell is that my problem?”

“It’s your problem because you clearly hate your sister, and your behavior right now is coming dangerously close to obstruction of justice,” Michael said. “That makes people ask some questions you probably don’t want them to ask. So please, give us a reason to ask someone else.”

Melinda showed the first sign of shrewdness she had since they arrived and nodded. “All right. I'll show you the email she sent. I didn't respond, but maybe that'll tell you something."

She opened her phone and showed the two agents an email. Faith scanned it briefly. The top portion was brief:

Hey, sis, I know you hate me, but I’m worried. I think I might have made someone really angry, but I don’t know if I’m overreacting or not. Can you tell me if you think I should go to the police?

The bottom portion was a much longer email forwarded from a Marcus Delaney. It was a rambling, disjointed message that made three primary points: Eleanor was a vicious c-word who knew nothing about food, Eleanor deserved to suffer a violent death, and Marcus was seriously considering being the one to provide her that violent death.

“I didn’t reply,” Melinda said proudly. “She wasn’t there for me when I needed help, so why the hell should I help her?”

Turk trotted to Faith and snorted irritably to show he hadn’t found anything. With that revelation, Faith had no more interest in talking with Melinda. “We might have more questions in the future,” she said. “Keep your phone on and keep staying inside your house for a while.”

“Yeah, sure,” Melinda said. “I’ll see you later. Hey, close the door on the way out.” She hooked a thumb toward the toddler. “This one’s a runner.”

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