Harry went over to the sidebar and poured himself a generous Scotch. He looked in her direction as she swung her legs around to sit up and shook his head, then went over to his desk and sat in the chair behind it.
He took the time to clear his head and consider possibilities. Nothing in that moment made sense.
He looked at her again, the ultimate femme fatale.
“Who is your real father?”
She looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Is that a trick question?”
“No, it’s quite simple. Who is your real father?”
“Al, of course.”
She was lying. The moment she hesitated, he could tell.
“Did you shoot Al?”
“Was that the murder weapon you left me with?”
“I don't know. I found it on the floor near the staff entrance.”
“Who is your mother?”
“Do you know Jeremy Brightwater?”
“Not personally, but he’s one of the partners with Al and Joe.”
“When was the last time you saw your mother?”
Hesitation. Then, “Over two years ago.”
“When you died?”
Shock, surprise, or indignation. Or all three at once.
“I think it’s quite apparent I’m not dead.”
“Not according to your mother. I just spoke to her not half an hour ago.”
“I was dead to her long before that.”
The woman sitting on my sofa wasn’t Cathy. It couldn’t be.
Here’s the scenario that was formulating itself in my mind: A woman who looks like Cathy sees an opportunity. She knows something of the death of the real Cathy, uses this knowledge to contact Al and try to blackmail him, convincing she was still alive and will tell the world the truth. I still didn’t know what that ‘truth’ was. Al panics, embezzles money from the company, tries to pin it on Brightwater, calls her to pay her off, and she or someone else, an accomplice, kills him.
Not my kind of case.
I went over to the door and held it open. “You can leave now. I’m done with the charades, and lies.”
But unfortunately, standing on the other side of the door was the conniving bitch, Miriam Waters.
© Charles Heath 2016-2019