Page 66 of Sinful Promise
“Not quite,” Fletch snickers. “We’re talking like, eighty percent sure. And we can’t just run any person we want, Delicious. That’s called a fishing expedition, and judges frown upon it. We need a suspect, then we can connect the dots.”
“Well… you know Whitney Patterson doesn’t own anything made in or around oh-five, right? And neither did Jason himself. So you can comfortably rule out those vehicles.”
“Right. But who do we have left?” I ponder. “Jason may or may not have had a girlfriend. No one has confirmed that yet, and without the confirmation, we can’t even check what this hypothetical person maybe drives. The kid, Jace, doesn’t have a car, and while we’re going, neither doeshisgirlfriend. This goes bigger than cars, though.”
“Because of the arsenic,” Minka mumbles. “Okay. So can we all agree that he was being poisoned?”
“Yes.” Three of us speak at once, though half of the people in this office are not cops.
“So then we figure out where he eats,” she continues. “Breakfast, lunch, dinner.Whois he eating with? Once we get that, you might ask them to consent to a blood draw. See if they’ve been exposed, too.”
“Could it be accidental?” Fletch glances across and waits for Minka’s attention. “Arsenic is found naturally in loads of common foods, right? Bananas are one of them. Is it possible he just really enjoys phallic-shaped fruit?”
“No.” She manages to keep a straight face, though I know her lips fight to curl into a grin. “Not at the levels we found during testing. No way could he consume enough…” Finally, she smirks. “Phallic-shaped anything to achieve these levels. Someone was intentionally, methodically, over an extended period, poisoning him.”
“But that keeps pointing us back at the wife,” Aubree grumbles. “Who else sees a guy daily, over a span of years, during meals and meal prep times?” She throws her hands up as the office door opens and a prim and proper Seraphina Lewis steps in.
Seraphina is back in her office-best: skirt suit, heels, pantyhose, and with a high collar that almost makes it look like she’s wearing a turtleneck. She carries a thick folder against her chest and looks at Minka only. Not at me.
And like her life depends on it, she doesn’t look at Fletch.
“Chief Mayet. The mayor would like to speak with you.”
“Oh, for god’s sake.” She scrubs her face with her hands. “Why?” she groans. “Whyyyy? I called him yesterday…” She pauses. “Or the day before. Whenever the hell it was. We’re going to his stupid dinner!”
“Tiffany Hewitt has also called,” Seraphina continues, like her boss’ emotional outburst was completely normal. “She’d like a statement on the Fentone murder. She specifically asked for an exclusive with you.”
“She’s not getting it.” Extending her hands, completely unaware of the currents sprinting through the air, since I didn’t go home and squeal to my wife about seeing her media relations guru in a miniskirt and a cage last night, she accepts the folder in Seraphina’s arms and flips pages until she finds the one with a sticky ‘sign here’ tab on the side. “You’re better off speaking to the detectives about that case.” Oblivious, she waves her hand in our direction and scribbles her signature on the pages demanding one.
In silence, Seraphina’s eyes slide to mine for a beat. Terrified. Horrified. All the ‘ied’ words that spell the end of her life. But when I give her my most normal smile, her brows pinch and her eyes slide over to my partner.
I wish I could be a better person. Not spin in my seat and ogle what they’re not saying. But I’m just a man. Just a mortal. And I never quite outgrew that phase of my life. So I twist in time to catch Fletch’s filthy smirk, and when I glance up, Seraphina’s ‘sucked on a lemon’ hatred.
“Sera.” Fletch says her name so it feels like I’m eavesdropping on a private discussion. “Good to see you this morning.”
“Mm.” Turning back to Minka, she ignores my existence completely and stands over the desk. “Doctor Raquel is working on those reports you requested. She’s hounding me for the expense breakdowns. Which,” she adds sourly, “is not my job.”
“Nope.” Swirl and scribble, another signature. “It’s not. But mediating the two of you is not mine, so…” Swirl and scribble. “You deal with her.” Snapping the file closed, she tosses her pen to the desk and hands the rest back to Seraphina. “What’s today?”
In response, Seraphina’s brows shoot high. “What?”
“Today.” Minka presses her fingers to her temples, like that helps her think. “Thursday or Friday?”
“Er… Friday?”
Stilling her hands, Minka looks up. “Is that a question, or…?”
“It’s Friday,” Aubree chirps. “Definitely.”
“Okay.” Trying desperately to straighten her thoughts, Minka finally nods. “Alright. Could you please organize someone to stop by that boutique over at…” She gestures toward Aubree. “Um… The Stitch? Is that the place I got my briefcase?”
“Yes! And I got the coolest boots there, too. Are we going shopping?”
“No.” She brings her gaze back to Seraphina. “Please have someone go over there and buy a briefcase like mine. Not the same,” she adds firmly. “But, ya know, similar aesthetic. Classy. Nothing too gaudy. Have it gift-wrapped and set in a bag for me. Please.”
Then she looks over my shoulder to Fletch. “Do you wish to make a statement on the Fentone case? If so, liaise with Fifi, who will liaise with Tiffany Hewitt.”
“Sure.” Despite the wayFifi’scheeks pale, Fletch grins wide. “I’ll liaise with Sera any day, Delicious.” But then he turns serious. “We’re not making a statement on Fentone. There’s too much to say, and only the killers will have much of that information. We don’t wanna blast it all over the city and screw ourselves over when it comes time to arrest.”
