She wasn't lying about that.
"I've got no problem showing you the prenup if you want to see it. I want to cooperate fully with your investigation. I want you to find out who killed my husband. I don't care what anybody else says—I loved Brock. I could never do something like this."
"I'd like to see the prenup and the copy of the will, if you have that available."
"I can get it for you. I'm sure it's around here somewhere, and our attorney has a copy."
I dug into my pocket and handed her a card. "Get in touch if you think of anything helpful. We are here anytime, day or night, if you need anything.”
She exhaled a breath. "Thank you. I appreciate that.”
EMTs attended to her.
Jack and I stepped away and rejoined the sheriff. I caught him up to speed.
Jack whispered, "You’ve heard the rumors, haven't you?"
We both looked at him.
"What rumors?" I asked.
"Well, I don’t really want to say right now. But the story of how they met is quite…interesting.”
We tried to be subtle about it, but none of us could help it. We took another casual glance at Tiffany as the medical technician treated the gash in her scalp.
I had a few theories about how Brock might have found himself in the company of such a gorgeous young woman. Tiffany was smoking hot and oozed sexuality. I’m sure when she cleaned up and wasn't covered in fresh blood, she was breathtaking. Right now, she looked like a scream queen in a horror movie.
"I don't care who she is or how they met,” Daniels said. “Just find out who killed Brock Madison.”
The EMTs worked their magic on Tiffany. When they were done, forensic investigators processed her robe and took blood samples from her skin and scalp.
Brenda and her crew transferred the remains to a body bag. From there, they hefted the bag onto a gurney and rolled the deceased out of the bedroom.
Tiffany's eyes spurted tears again, and she sobbed. I told her she’d need to come down to the station and make a full statement again.
"Can I get cleaned up first? Put some clothes on?”
I nodded.
Tiffany left the master and ducked into a guest room down the hall. She slipped into the bathroom and took a shower.
Forensic investigators still worked the master bedroom.
JD and I lingered around and waited for Tiffany. She spent a long time in the shower. I'm sure she was trying to wash away the trauma of it all, but something like that just didn't scrub off.
She cut the shower and fumbled around in the bathroom, toweling off, making herself presentable. I'm sure she didn't have to work too hard. That took another half hour. She finally stepped out, wearing a fresh terrycloth robe. She sauntered down the hall and into the master. The fresh, clean scent of her body wash trailed. Tiffany stepped around the bloodstains and moved into the walk-in closet. She pulled the door shut and got dressed.
JD and I kept waiting.
Tiffany emerged from the closet a few moments later, looking stunning in a slinky black cocktail dress and a pair of high heels. It looked like she was going out for the evening. She hadn’t had time to do her makeup, but Tiffany was a natural beauty. She didn’t need makeup. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, grabbed a pair of sunglasses and a pink baseball cap, and pulled the brim low. She knew the kind of media onslaught she was about to face. The flashing cameras, the microphones shoved in her face, the loaded questions. She'd been through it all before. But nothing could compare to what she was about to endure.
We escorted her through the house and down the steps, still mindful of the bloodstains.
Tiffany paused and took a breath before she stepped into the courtyard, then strolled out to face the world.
Word had traveled about the incident, and a horde of reporters swarmed. Cameras closed in, just as anticipated. A cascade of blinding flashes ensued, along with an onslaught of questions.
"Is Brock Madison dead?"
