The Daddy P.I. Casefiles: The First Collection by Frost, J (great novels .txt) π
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I shake myself out of my thoughts. I have a baby girl I can do any filthy thing I want to now. Sheβll be with me in less than ten hours. I can wrap her in my arms and cuddle her and take all the pain that I canβt take from the woman sitting across from me. With Reggie Black, I have to be cool and professional.
I flip open my Moleskine notebook to a fresh page, uncap my pen, and set them on the coffee table between us. βMrs. Black, Iβm very sorry for your loss.β
She puts the bottle down on the table, crosses her legs and clasps her hands around her knees. I can always tell a womanβs age by her hands, and Mrs. Blackβs hands are slender and smooth, the blue veins that will be prominent in another decade still buried under a layer of tanned, taut skin. Early thirties. Twenty years younger than her husband.
βMy lawyer advised me not to come today,β she says. βAre you recording this?β
βNo. Iβd have to tell you if I was. But Iβd like to make notes, if I may?β I pat the open notebook.
Her bloodshot eyes flick to it; she nods. βYou said in your email that you didnβt believe it was food-poisoning. You said you want to find out what really happened to my husband. Is that right?β
βYes.β
βWhy?β
βItβs what I do,β I say. βIβd like you to help me, but if youβd prefer not to talk about recent events, I understand. If all you can give me is background, that would help, too.β
She lifts her chin so the cords in her throat stand out against her gilded skin. βMy husband went on what I thought was a routine business trip to Mexico. He came back Sunday afternoon two weeks ago. We were supposed to meet friends for cocktails and dinner at eight, but by seven he asked me to cancel because he said he felt terrible. He went upstairs. I heard him being sick. By the time I went upstairs with the antacids, he was lying on the bathroom floor without a pulse.β She takes a deep breath and releases it. βThatβs what happened.β
Most of thatβs in the reports the cruise line provided me. She omitted that she tried to resuscitate him for fifteen minutes before she called an ambulance. Thinking of her terror as she pushed on her husbandβs chest and tried to force air into his unmoving lungs for fifteen minutes hurts so badly that my stomach cramps around the breakfast I just ate. But her painβs not material to my investigation, so I just nod, keeping my eyes on her face, my gaze gentle.
βOther than vomiting, did he complain of anything else?β I ask.
βA headache. He didnβt say he had chest pains, or Iβd have taken him straight to the ER. Bill had a minor heart attack six years ago. I wouldnβt have taken any chest pain lightly. He knew that.β
Which is probably why he didnβt say anything about it. All of the other victims reported chest pains, profuse sweating, and a racing pulse along with the headache and nausea. βHad he had food poisoning before? Was he allergic to anything?β
She shakes her head. βNot that I knew of.β
βWhat about his lifestyle? Did he exercise? Drink? Smoke?β
She arches a well-groomed brow many shades darker than her hair. βI think you know more about his lifestyle than I do.β
I nod and clasp my hands between my knees, hoping to look non-threatening. βIβm sorry you found out this way. It must have been a shock.β
βYou could say that.β She stops staring me down, picks up the water, and takes another sip to steady herself. βI mean, Iβve read Fifty Shades like everyone else, but I had no idea my own husband was into . . . what do you call it?β
βKink.β
βKink? Like a bent cord?β
βYes.β
She shakes her head. βAnd thatβs what this cruise was all about, right? Kink . . . kinky sex?β
βYes.β
βGod, I had no idea.β Her soft, red mouth twists bitterly. βI feel like Iβve lost Bill twice over. How could I have been married to the man for nine years and not known about this?β
I spread my hands. βMany people feel they need to hide it. Fifty Shades aside, kinkβs not widely accepted. Maybe he worried it would have hurt his marriage to you, or his career, or his friendships. There are lots of reasons.β
βAre you?β She presses her lips together before continuing. βAre you part of this lifestyle, Mr. Logan?β
βYes,β I say simply.
A hint of color rises to her cheeks. βIβm sorry. I had no business asking that. Iβm just so angry. At everyone, and everything, associated with Billβs death. At this lifestyle of his. But I know you didnβt have anything to do with it. Iβm sorry . . . Iβm taking it out on you.β
βNo problem.β I accept her apology the way Iβd accept a bottomβs whoβd misbehaved. Only Iβm not going to be able to spank Reggie Black into forgiveness, no matter how badly she needs it. βGoing back to your husbandβs habits, did he exercise? Drink? Smoke?β
She shrugs. βHe golfed occasionally. He wasnβt really much for exercise, and I nagged him about his weight, Iβll admit. I
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