“Stan, please don’t tell me this is about that case you brought me last month.”
“It’s her. I tried to warn him too but he thought I was crazy. Now he’s dead, and she’s going to move onto her next victim after cashing in. That’s just what she does.”
I swiped my hand over the top of my head, feeling how greasy my hair had become and taking a mental note that I needed to wash it. “Stan, I told you, your leads didn’t pan out. If you continue to harass her, she can file a suit against you.”
God only knew what the husband thought of him talking about his wife like she was a killer. I felt bad for the kid, he was so serious about what he claimed to be a black widow but he just lacked proof. He needed to move on before he lost his mind or got himself sued. Or worse, arrested. Just looking at him, he would not handle prison.
“I’m not going to stop until she’s caught.”
Fuck, black widows weren’t that common anymore. Divorce was the way to go, and everyone knew it. Most judges ruled in favor of the wife in most cases. Less hassle.
“Just don’t make me arrest you, Stan, my cells are filled to the brim. It won’t be a fun time for you.”
I caught sight of my partner, Tommy, at the door to the old Victorian home. I headed up the stairs and into the house. Officers and CSI were moving through the house, doing their thing.
“Booties,” the head of the CSI team ordered, looking down at my feet.
“Come on, Sal,” I complained. She was a take no bullshit woman who had been through four divorces in twenty years. She didn’t give a shit and I loved her for it but she also pissed me off when she demanded I put these little paper booties on at every house we had to enter.
“Booties. Now.”
I grabbed the paper things off her and shoved them over my shoes before following Tommy down the hall. I noticed no photos on the walls, everything in the house was sterile, and well, full of wealth.
“What do we know?” I asked him.
“Not much, wife was home but only heard the sound of a thud which would be him falling to the ground. She came down the stairs to find him like this.”
“You believe her?”
“Yeah, she seems believable. In shock, but she’s got tears and that hysterical edge to her tone. There’s a bottle on the table with a note. Looks like someone laced a bottle of wine with poison. We’ll need to wait for the results from the lab to confirm.”
I looked down at the glass at the kitchen door, back at Tommy.
“She dropped her glass when she saw him,” he answered.
I stepped over the shards and entered the kitchen, taking in the sweet almond smell coming from the man’s vomit on the floor. It was coming off in wafts as I took in his purple-red face. His neck and face were swollen. It had to be a lot of cyanide to do this. The almond smell was a telltale sign. Not everyone could smell it, but I’d always been able to.
I looked at the note, reading:
Thank you for your help. I’ll forever be grateful.
Doris x
“Doris?”
Tommy shrugged. “No one’s mentioned Doris and the wife doesn’t know who Doris could be.”
“Possible mistress,” I said, more to myself than anyone else.
Looking around, I was looking for something out of place but there was nothing. It was a tidy house. I opened the refrigerator and noticed drinks, and easy snacks but nothing that told me that they ate in all that often. Not many wealthy couples did.
“Is this their only house?” I asked.
“No,” a female’s broken voice said from the door. I looked over to see a beautiful woman with tear stained cheeks standing there. Her purple blouse was tucked into her pencil skirt. She was the picture of elegance and wealth. She had her brunette hair pinned up in a clip at the back of her head, a few tendrils had fallen from the clip and hung down on the sides of her face.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her lip quivered as I would expect and I looked down to stop myself from intruding on a grievous moment for her.
