Ник Сайнт - Purrfect Revenge

Just then, it was as if a bomb went off. Only it wasn’t a bomb but a leggy female with short raven hair and sunglasses covering half the acreage of her face. She strode up like a model on a catwalk, took one look at Shayonne, Shalonda and Boa, and bellowed, “Is this the way to greet your mother?”

Mother? And then I recognized her. Camille Kenspeckle had arrived. The original queen bee. She had a fur coat casually wrapped around her shoulders, and struck a pose, looking like the female version of Xander Cage.

Shayonne awoke with a start. When she caught sight of her mother, she squealed with delight, producing a sound so high only Dooley and I could hear it. And her sister, apparently, for Shalonda tumbled from the lounger, looked around dazedly, and scrambled up the moment she saw Camille. Both girls dashed around the pool and threw themselves into their mother’s arms. Boa, who’d been underwater when all this happened, emerged to the happy prattle of the reunion, and looked less thrilled. He probably feared for his employment. He stepped from the pool and approached the threesome.

“Hi, Camille,” he said.

“Boa. Where are they?”

Boa gestured to the guest house, and I got the impression they were talking about Odelia and Chase.

“Find them,” Camille ordered, “and bring them to me.”

She sounded like a warlord, ordering slaves to be fetched for execution.

Boa nodded curtly and stalked over to the guesthouse. Meanwhile, Dion and Damien had also joined the happy reunion, and even Kane had come running. The bulldog was yapping up a storm, barking at Camille as if he’d never seen her before, jumping up against Dion and Damien’s legs, barking at Shayonne and Shalonda and generally creating a big fuss.

“That dog is such an idiot,” Dooley said.

“He is,” I agreed. Staring at the dog, a thought occurred to me, but when I tried to catch it, it vanished. There was something about Kane. But what?

Oh, well. It probably wasn’t important.

Chapter 21

Laurelle Merritt’s room wasn’t much bigger than Eamonn’s. The door was open so Odelia and Chase announced their presence by giving the doorpost a quick rap. Laurelle was sitting cross-legged on the bed, pictures and fashion magazines spread out all around her. She had a narrow, pale face, framed by a black bob, and was dressed in khaki shorts and a sleeveless maroon shirt.

“Hampton Cove police,” Chase said. “Mind if we ask you a few questions, Miss Merritt?”

“Oh, of course,” she said. “Um, come in. I’m sorry about the mess.”

Odelia glanced around. The room was barely big enough to contain the bed, a vanity and a desk, and every available surface was crammed with stuff. Clothes, samples, magazines, makeup, wigs, clothes… Everything stuffed into the small space. “If you like we could do the interview outside,” she said.

“Oh, no, that’s fine. It probably won’t take long, right?”

"No, just a few routine questions," Chase said. He was a lot kinder to Laurelle than he'd been to Boa or the others. Her story had touched a chord. "First off, where were you the night Shana Kenspeckle was killed?" he asked as he cleared away a few magazines and took a seat at the foot of the bed.

“I was right here. Asleep.”

Odelia leaned against the desk. “Can anyone vouch for that?”

Laurelle shook her head. “I sleep alone, if that’s what you mean. I don’t have a boyfriend at the moment, so…” Her voice trailed off, and Odelia felt genuinely sorry for the young woman. She looked like a scared little mouse.

“We have to ask,” she said softly.

“Of course. No, I get it. Just ask me anything you want.”

This was probably a waste of time. It was obvious Laurelle wasn’t the killer. She could probably hardly lift that cleaver, let alone wield it with such deadly force and precision. Still, they had to interview everyone on their list.

“There is one other thing we need to discuss, Miss Merritt,” Chase said.

“Yes?” she asked, eyes large.

“We’ve been told about the tape.”

“Yes?”

“The sex tape?” Odelia asked.

Shock appeared in the girl’s eyes. “Who-who told you?”

“That’s not important. Is it true?” asked Chase.

Laurelle buried her face in her hands. “Oh, no.”

“I’m sorry to have to bring this up,” said Chase. “But we need to know.”

She nodded, then said, in a choked voice, “I made that tape back when I was still seeing this guy. He worked as a caterer and I thought he was the one.” She shook her head. “So stupid. He convinced me that to make it in this business I should make a sex tape. It would put my name on the map. Give me exposure. I-I wasn’t totally convinced but-but he was adamant.”

Chase’s jaw was working. If this caterer were here right now he’d probably give him a piece of his mind. And his fist.

Laurelle looked up. “So we made the tape and I sent it to Shana, figuring she’d know what to do with it. She’s got all these contacts, so… And she did show it around. To her sisters and all of their friends. To make fun of me. And to give me points for technique. Apparently I was so bad I was funny.”

There was a note of bitterness in her voice, and Odelia didn’t blame her. If something like this happened to her she’d probably die of mortification.

“Did they spread the tape beyond their circle?” Chase asked.

“No, thank God they didn’t. Shana said the best thing would be to destroy the tape, as it could only ruin my reputation. So I did.”

“Why didn’t you quit your job?” Odelia asked. “After what Shana did to you it must have been hard to keep working for the Kenspeckles.”

“It was at first, but this is basically my dream job. A lot of stylists would kill for this job. So I decided to suck it up.” She produced a feeble smile. “It wasn’t so bad. Shana apologized. Said she was totally out of line.”

Chase asked some more questions, and so did Odelia, but it was pretty clear that this was not their killer, nor could she shed any light on the murder.

“All right, Miss Merritt,” said Chase. “Thank you for your time. If there’s anything else you can think of, give me a call.” He handed her his card.

They left the room and walked back to the main house.

“We’re nowhere,” Chase said. “Absolutely nowhere.”

“Did you check Shana’s ex-boyfriend? Robin Masters?”

“Yeah, he’s got an alibi. He’s in Alaska. Writing his autobiography.”

“Isn’t he a little young to write his autobiography?”

But Chase didn’t respond. Boa had joined them. He jerked his thumb in the direction of a woman in a fur coat who stood with her back to them.

“Lady wants a word with you, Detectives,” Boa grunted.

“I think our luck just ran out, Poole,” Chase said.

The woman turned, and Odelia recognized her. Camille Kenspeckle, the matriarch of the Kenspeckle clan. The woman she'd seen so many times on TV and the cover of countless magazines. And she did not look happy.

The moment Camille caught sight of them, she took off her sunglasses. There was a glint of steel in those eyes. “Detective Kingsley, I presume?”

“You presume right, Mrs. Kenspeckle.”

“I’m calling off your investigation, Detective.”

“You can’t call off a police investigation, ma’am. It’s not a photo shoot.”

“I’m bringing in the FBI. This should have been treated as a terrorist attack from the beginning. You failed my little girl, Detective. You failed my family. But no more. I’m taking over, as I should have done from day one.”

“This was not a terrorist attack,” Chase insisted. “This was a homicide, and if you pull us off the investigation now we may never find the one responsible.”