Blood & Groom - sample #1

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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