Page 11 of The Perfect Poise

"Here's the thing," he said, clearly not feeling the guilt she hoped he would. "That's Karen's son. I wish her all the best, and I don't want anything bad to happen to him. But Calvin’s not my kid. With mine, it wouldn’t just be a disturbing anecdote, it would be personal. So of course I’d be invested. Just because I don’t want to discuss the minutiae of her childrearing situation doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be laser-focused on ours. I’m just tired right now and didn’t want to be bummed out. Is that such a big deal?”

Jessie slumped back against the cushion of their banquette.

“I’m truly not sure,” she said, and she meant it.

“I have a question for you,” he said. “Does your question for me mean that we can now discuss the prospect of having children openly again?”

“No, it most certainly does not.”

“When do you anticipate that changing?”

"I'll get back to you on that," she said, unable to hide the irritation in her voice. "Right now, I'm tired and don't want to get bummed out."

"Fair enough," he replied, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender before returning to his pancake.

Jessie tried to push the issue out of her mind. It was important, but right now they had something bigger to deal with. They were in the middle of a murder investigation and as soon as they finished breakfast, they had a witness to interview.

***

By the time they pulled up at Lena Ortega's West Hollywood house, it was almost 7 a.m. Jessie knew that it was still pretty early to call on someone, but these were unusual circumstances. They walked up the path to the cute, Hansel and Gretel-style cottage house. Ryan waited until his phone officially read 7:00 before ringing the doorbell.

After sixty seconds without a response, he got restless.

"You don't think something happened to her or that she's maybe trying to sneak out the back?" he asked.

“Maybe,” Jessie replied, “or she could just be struggling with a migraine and moving slowly at seven in the morning. How about we ring the bell again and give her another minute before breaking the door down?”

Ryan gave her a wry smile.

“So should I just assume you’re going to be this snarky all day?”

Before she could tell him that he should, someone called out from behind the door.

“Who is it?” a woman asked in a tired, agitated tone.

"LAPD, Ms. Ortega," Ryan said, holding up his badge and ID so she could see them through the peephole. "We need to speak with you."

There was a long pause during which Jessie thought the woman was going to question their credentials, but just when she thought she’d have to cajole her, Lena Ortega unlocked and opened the door. The woman was in her forties with grayish-black hair that hung limply at her shoulders. She was wearing sweats and had dark circles under her eyes. Jessie recognized Ortega’s wince at the sunlight in her eyes. It was the same one she often succumbed to when she was in the throes of her worst headaches.

“Whatever this is, let’s do it inside,” she said. “I’m not feeling the best right now.”

She ushered them in, closed the door behind them, but pointedly didn’t invite them beyond the foyer.

“What is this about?” she asked tersely.

“Ms. Ortega, we have some questions about the auction at your gallery last night,” Ryan began cryptically.

“Was something stolen?” she demanded before cringing at her own volume.

“No ma’am,” he said. “We’ll get to the nature of the crime we’re investigating momentarily. Right now we’re trying to clarify some details. It’s our understanding that you left the event early.”

“That’s right,” Ortega said. “I suffer from migraines, and one came on in the middle of the auction. I took my medication and tried to tough it out, but it was too late. I had to leave right away. I barely made it home. In retrospect, I should have just gotten a rideshare instead of driving.”

“How are you feeling now?’ Jessie asked.

“I’ve been up most of the night dealing with it, though it’s subsided slightly in the last hour. Now, can you please tell me what this is about?”

“I will in just a moment,” Ryan promised. “But first, do you recall when you left the gallery?”

---