Page 104 of Past Due

“What is the other part?” Detective Kermally asked, ignoring the childish back and forth between Eric and Besian.

“Shopping,” I explained. “Get rich quick schemes.”

“And where does she work?”

“She’s self-employed.”

“Doing what?”

“MLMs, mostly.”

The detective looked confused, and Eric cut in with, “Makeup, leggings, weight loss patches. You know—pyramid schemes.”

“Oh.”

I winced as I weakly offered, “Pyramid schemes are illegal. MLMs are network marketing.” At the detective’s arched brow, I said, “At least, that’s what she tells me whenever I start in on it.”

“I see.”

Someone knocked on the door, and Eric went to answer it. I glanced back at him, watching as he left the room. Besian took advantage of the lull in questioning to touch my face and give me a supportive smile. I turned my head and gently kissed his palm, silently thanking him for staying with me.

When Eric returned, he had a manila folder in hand. “Marley, we have some photos from the crime scene we’d like you look at for us.”

Besian held out his hand and flicked his fingers. “Let me see them first. You’re not going to traumatize her.”

Eric and Detective Kermally exchanged looks, and the homicide detective nodded. Besian took the folder and opened it, being careful to keep it as far away from me as possible. I watched his face for any indication that the photos inside were gruesome, but he remained impassive as he flicked through the photos. He pulled one photo out and turned it face down, sliding it across the table to Detective Kermally. “There’s no point in looking at that one. It’s distorted beyond recognition.”

Detective Kermally lifted the edge of the photo and peeked at the image. He made a face and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“Okay.” Besian extended the folder to me. “They’re not pretty, but I think you can handle them.”

Reluctantly, I placed the folder on the table and opened it. Besian was right. The images printed on the glossy paper weren’t very pretty at all. The crime scene photographer had captured images of the woman dead in my kitchen. The first was from above, and my heart raced at the sight of all that blonde hair. It seemed eerily similar to the champagne blonde shade Mom preferred.

I gulped down the ball of panic clogging my throat and looked closer at the images in the folder. I scanned each one, taking in the shoes, the pants, the shirt. A closeup of the woman’s hand and the small bit of mottled and sickly purplish gray skin visible between the jeans and the blouse convinced me.

“This isn’t my mom.” I let out a relieved breath. “It’s not her.”

Besian shifted closer and grabbed my hand. He searched my face. “Are you sure, rrushe?”

“Yes.” I turned toward the two detectives. “I’m sure it’s not her.”

“How can you be sure?” Detective Kermally asked skeptically.

“Well, first of all, the linoleum in the kitchen? I bought that and put it down with Spider’s help. The tiles were twelve by twenty-four.” I used my fingers to measure out the length between the woman’s shoes and her head. “This woman is maybe sixty-two or sixty-three inches tall. My mom is five-ten.”

I pointed out the pants the woman wore. “My mom doesn’t wear jeans this high on her hips. This shirt is way too modest. Mom has a great figure, and she makes sure everyone sees it.”

I flipped to the photo of the hand. “Mom wears acrylics. She’s at Mindy’s nail salon every week, either having her nails filled or the polished changed or getting a pedicure. She would never go out in public with raggedy cuticles and nails bitten down that low.”

I switched to the photo that was a close-up of the woman’s back. “The waistband of these underwear is all wrong. I doubt my mother even owns a single pair of briefs.”

I touched the mottled, decomposing skin and tried not to think about how it would feel in real life. “And there’s no tattoo here. My mom’s entire back is covered in ink.”

Detective Kermally and Eric digested my point-by-point rundown of the differences between my mother and this woman. Eventually, Detective Kermally asked, “Does this woman seem familiar to you in any way?”

I looked at the photos again. Now that I wasn’t terrified to see my mother dead and rotting on my kitchen floor, I had an easier time of inspecting them. “No,” I said finally. “She doesn’t seem familiar at all.”

There was a knock at the door before it opened and a pregnant woman stepped inside. She smiled apologetically at Eric and Detective Kermally. “Sorry, I’m running late.”

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