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Some women
seemed naked without makeup. Other
women seemed naked without jewellery. The
uptight
Manolo-shod Chihuahua who had barged into my
office without an appointment seemed naked
without
an entourage. I put down the current issue of
Billboard
and listened.
“I thought that bullshit about till death do
you
part only applied to couples who actually got
married.
That bastard Gordon dumped me and got himself
killed
four months later. I didn’t do it, but I’d
like to thank
whoever did.”
Listening to the little bottle-blond bitch
barking at
me, I automatically figured the guy who had
dumped
her must have had a good reason. “So,
Christine, what
would you like me to do for you?”
She looked down her nose at me. “Isn’t it
obvious,
Sasha?”
Hmm … isn’t it obvious you’re a shrew in
Chanel?
She got up from the faux leather chair
opposite my
desk and brushed the back of her skirt as if
the imitation
rawhide had left authentic cowpies on her
designer
suit. “Everyone thinks I killed Gordon, and
believe me,
I wanted to. Everyone except the police, that
is. They
questioned me. They interviewed my family and
my
friends. They checked my alibi and went to
all the places
I said I’d been. They found nothing because
there was
nothing to find, so I was never charged.”
She continued to pace around my
minimalist-byaccident,
barren-by-bank-account office, her ring-less
left hand anxiously twirling her hair. I
silently smirked
that my own blond hair would never have the
mousy
brown roots hers did.
“So why bother?” I asked. “You should just
move
on and forget about him.”
“Well, Sasha …” She drew out my name in the
same tone people used on a two-year-old who
had just
discovered the treasures hidden deep inside
his nostrils.
“I bother because people still talk, they
point and
whisper, I know they think I did it, and they
think I got
away with it. When I go to fundraisers or
events, they
treat me differently. When I’m at the club,
they make
me feel funny. Trust me, if I’d killed the
bastard, I’d be
bragging about it.”
“So being accused of murder is shameful, but
actually
doing it is fine?”
“Exactly. If I’m going to get credit for
something, I’d
prefer it be for something I really did do.”
“Of course. But why now? He was killed eight
months ago.”
“Nine months.”
“Whatever. A while ago.”
“I was at Monsoon for a dinner date last
night.
Gordon’s cousin Rebecca saw me there. She
never liked
me, and my date and I happened to be seated
at a table
right across from Rebecca and her friends.
When she saw
me, she walked over to my table, called me a
bunch of
names, said I got away with murder, and then
she threw
her drink in my face.”
“Ouch.”
“On top of that, my date, a really hot
proctologist
named Randall, made up some bullshit about a
reminder
on his BlackBerry and bailed on our night
out.”
“That sucks. So … why me then? I don’t really
do
this kind of work. I mostly do background checks
for
corporate hires and the occasional cheating
partner. I’ve
never investigated a murder.”
“Because you’re all I can afford.”
“Gee, you know someone with an ounce of
graciousness would have answered that
differently.”
“Don’t be so touchy. I didn’t mean it that
way.”
I stared at her silently.
“Okay. Sorry.”
It was true my rates were low, at least for
now.
I’d graduated from Sheridan College’s
Security and
Investigator Diploma Program a few months ago
and was
still trying to build my reputation and my client
base.
“I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any
promises,
and I won’t commit beyond one week. I don’t
see the
point of wasting my time or your money.”
“I’ll be expecting results much sooner than
that,”
Christine said. “And daily reports.”
I pointed out to the sabre-toothed socialite
that
expenses weren’t included in the bargain
prices of my
stellar but novice services. She took a
chequebook out
of her Ferragamo purse and filled in the
details using a
ninety-nine-cent disposable pen with blotchy
ink. Her
signature, Christine Arvisais, was loopy and
flowing,
and she topped all the i’s with little circles. That seemed
so very cutesy and incongruous with what I’d
seen of
her personality.
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