Conflicts are solved with words, not violence. Punching your rival in the face won’t solve anything…but it will feel bloody fantastic!
–Fatally Yours
I never did get to Dena’s room that afternoon, though I did check in with her over the phone. With Jason there it seemed more appropriate that I give them some alone time…or at least as much alone time as you could get in a hospital room. Besides, I wanted to mentally prepare myself for my upcoming meeting with Chrissie.
I also checked in with Anatoly. He didn’t have a lot of time to talk since he was following around a man in a back brace in hopes he might break into an impromptu series of cartwheels and thereby undermine his workman’s comp claim. But Anatoly did listen when I told him about Amelia’s predicament. In fact, he listened rather intently. Normally he wasn’t all that interested in the trials and tribulations that accompanied my friends’ love lives, but this time he peppered me with questions and sounded genuinely concerned. Not necessarily concerned for Amelia though, just more concerned in general. It was kind of weird.
Then again, weird was normal these days, so I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about it. Leah picked me up at my place at exactly three-thirty. She was all business in her sleeveless ruffle-front silk top and black pencil skirt. Her hair was pulled into a carefully arranged low ponytail. She glanced disdainfully at my jeans and the geometric pattern of my rayon tank. I ignored her and strapped myself into the passenger seat of her car. I wasn’t going to dress like some kind of fashion-conscious PTA power-mom just to impress the woman who I suspected of shooting my best friend in the back.
It took us exactly twenty minutes to reach Chrissie’s Presidio Heights home. Her house was the smallest one on the block, which meant that it probably only cost her three million instead of the four to six million undoubtedly shelled out by her neighbors.
When I tried to get out of the car Leah stopped me by grabbing my shoulder. “This is a fact-finding mission,” she reminded me. “Do not provoke her unnecessarily.”
“Who me?”
“I mean it, Sophie. And be prepared. If she thinks you’re worthy of her time she’ll be perfectly pleasant. If she doesn’t she will behave like…how shall I put this? Do you remember the evil witch in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe?”
“Yeah.”
“Chrissie’s a little like that. She’s charming when it benefits her and absolutely horrible the rest of the time.”
I stared at Leah. “The White Queen,” I said dryly. “The Satan-like character from the Narnia series.”
“Something like that, yes.”
“Right, well, I’ll try to be nice…to Satan’s henchwoman.”
Leah gave me a warning look and we both got out of the car and walked to Chrissie’s home. Chrissie opened the door literally seconds after we rang the bell.
She was not what I expected. I had harbored visions of an overbearing woman who could tower over those she disapproved of like a domineering Sunday-school teacher with a fondness for corporal punishment. The woman in front of me was much more delicate. She was a good four inches shorter than me with a waiflike figure. Her hair, which hovered between blond and white, was worryingly thin. Her lack of physical substance would have made her look vulnerable and weak except for her face. Her high cheekbones, piercing blue eyes and full pink lips suggested a strength that reached far beyond her height.
“You must be Sophie,” she said as she ushered us into her living room. “Would you like something to drink?”
I spotted an oversize mug filled with milky coffee sitting on a small woven rattan bin being used as a side table. “Did you brew a whole pot?” I asked. I had only had two cups of coffee so far today, so as far as I was concerned I was running behind.
“I did,” she said with a slight smile. “How do you take it?”
“Milk and sugar,” I said offhandedly. Chrissie’s living room would have made the perfect designer showroom. The small white sofa matched the small white armchair, which matched the small white ottoman. Striped coral throw pillows added the necessary color and matched the flowers in the arrangement set on the mahogany coffee table.
There wasn’t a speck of dirt anywhere. If I didn’t know better I’d say that no one lived here.
“I’m out of milk, but I do have cream.”
“That would be great.”
“Good.” She gestured toward the cup that was already there. “I spiked mine with whiskey. Would you like me to do the same for yours?”
I did a quick double take. She was so tiny I would have thought that half a light beer would have taken her out. “I…um…wasn’t really planning on drinking,” I said.
“Are you driving?”
“No, I am,” Leah said as she made herself comfortable on the armchair.
“Then Leah shouldn’t drink,” she said, looking at me expectantly.
“So I guess I’ll take my coffee with a dash of whiskey?” This was weird. Maybe Chrissie was the White Queen, but instead of offering me some kind of irresistible candy, she was tempting me with the much more addictive whiskey.
“I’ll just have water,” Leah said quickly.
Chrissie nodded and turned to get our beverages.
I carefully sat down on the sofa even though I wasn’t at all sure that my jeans were clean enough for the white cushions.
“Please remember to be subtle,” Leah whispered. “If word gets out that I brought you here under false pretenses…”
“So Leah tells me you’re interested in being on the fundraising board for the symphony,” Chrissie said as she reentered and handed me my cup of spiked coffee and Leah her water.
“Yes, I love the symphony,” I said. I tasted the drink tentatively. It was strong and not because of the coffee.
“Really?” Chrissie sat on the other end of the sofa. “I looked through our donor records last night. Since Leah joined the board six years ago, you have donated a grand total of three-hundred-and-sixty-nine dollars. That’s approximately sixty-two dollars a year which doesn’t exactly make you one of our VIPs.”
“Well, in the past I’ve made the mistake of donating more to lesser causes like…um…the Wildlife Rescue Fund and programs for inner-city school children.”
“Yes, but what’s the point of working your way out of the inner city if there’s no symphony available to those who live in decent places?”
For a moment the only sound was from a bird twittering outside her window.
“I was joking,” Chrissie explained with a smile.
“Oh, right, of course. I knew that,” I fumbled as Leah laughed awkwardly.
“I have a dry sense of humor,” Chrissie went on.
“Yeah, I get that now.” I took another sip of my drink. As strong as it was I sensed that by the time I left here I’d want another.
“I thought perhaps you were only making small donations due to financial hardships.”
“No, I do very well for myself. I write murder mysteries. Fatally Yours is my most recent release, and I just finished my eleventh book a couple of weeks ago, but that won’t be out for another year.”
“Fatally Yours is on the New York Times bestseller list,” Leah chimed in. “I think I have an extra copy in the car. If you want it I’m sure Sophie will sign it for you.”
“No, thank you. I don’t read fluff.” Chrissie smiled serenely at me as if she hadn’t just slapped me with an insult. “Sophie, do you really want to spend the next hour pretending to be interested in the symphony, or would it be better if we were just honest with one another?”
“Whatever do you mean?” Leah asked quickly. “Sophie’s interest in the symphony is entirely genuine, I assure you!”
“You’re here,” she said sharply, “to talk about Dena Lopiano. You’re here to ask me if I shot your friend.”
Leah blanched. “Chrissie, I would never—”
Chrissie waved off her protests. “Spare me. Anyone who has ever read a newspaper knows that Sophie likes to pretend she’s a detective. At one point or another you must have told her how I felt about Dena. She got suspicious and then she pressured you into bringing her over here so she could throw herself into the middle of another murder investigation. But I have to ask you, Leah…do you think I’m guilty?”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Leah cried, her water sloshing over the top of her glass. “I told Sophie there was an eighty-three percent chance you were innocent!”
“Actually you said eighty-two,” I mumbled.
Chrissie immediately turned to me. “I suppose you think there’s more than an eighteen percent chance that I’m guilty?”
I didn’t answer. But my grip on my coffee cup had gotten so tight my palms hurt. “When did you find out?” I asked, my voice low enough to resemble a growl. “When did you know Dena had been shot?”
“Yesterday morning when the police told me.”
“The police?” Leah asked, confused.
“Yes, they seem to think my little article makes me a suspect.”
“Well, you did suggest that Dena barely had a right to live,” I spat.
“No, I suggested that she didn’t have the right to her choice of lifestyle. She is purposely tearing down the last remnants of decency in this beleaguered city and she has to be stopped.”
I felt the curls of anger swirling through my stomach and up into my chest. “With bullets?”
“With prayer. And possibly a public protest. MAAP was going to hold another protest in front of her store next week.”
“Are you aware that you live in San Francisco?” I placed my drink down on her coffee table; with luck it would leave a ring. “Every year we have a parade in which men wearing leather chaps, jock straps and nothing else march down Market Street behind a group of screaming, topless lesbians on Harleys. This is the only city in the country where the strippers are actually unionized. And you think a handful of overly zealous friends can put a cap on the pornography industry here? You might as well try to cool down a hot tub with an ice cube.”
Chrissie shrugged. “It was a little man named David who defeated Goliath.”
“This isn’t about Guilty Pleasures and you know it. This is about Dena and your husband.”
Chrissie sent a quick glance to Leah, who now had her eyes glued to her water glass. With a sigh Chrissie turned back to me. “You’re right. But try to understand.” She paused and seemed to consider what she should say next. “Dena…is a threat to my marriage,” she eventually continued. “I’m only looking to protect what’s mine.”
“Okay, I get that but you should understand that Dena would never knowingly sleep with someone else’s guy. I’m sure that Tim never even mentioned your existence!”
Leah coughed meaningfully. I wasn’t doing a lot to endear myself.
“You may be right,” Chrissie acknowledged softly. “But that doesn’t really change things. If my husband wants her, she’s a threat whether she knows it or not. And I’m sure that her little shop adds to her appeal…. On the other hand, that shop was clearly the thing that could save my marriage.”
I cocked my head to the side. “I’m not following.”
“Did you know that Tim’s father is a preacher? That’s how we met. I was a member of Reverend Powell’s church and he introduced me to his son, Tim. Reverend Powell tends to focuses his sermons on avoiding temptation and condemning sin. He frequently warns against associating with those who engage in wicked ways. He’s not the type of man who will wax poetic about forgiveness like so many ministers these days. He understands that you are either a wicked sinner, or you’re not.”
“In other words he sees the world in black-and-white terms,” I supplied.
“If you like. If Tim’s father knew that he performed immoral acts with a woman who peddled pornography, Tim would be disowned. There’s little doubt that the Reverend Powell would forbid Tim’s mother from seeing him, too. Tim couldn’t survive that. He thinks his father is abusive to his mother.” Chrissie rolled her eyes as though the very idea was ridiculous. “He actually believes that he is the only comfort in his mother’s life.”
“How incredibly sad,” Leah breathed.
“It’s incredibly ridiculous. Still, it’s what he believes. And now, thanks to me, everyone in the congregation knows about Dena’s little shop. It’s actually been the topic of some of Reverend Powell’s sermons. If Tim ever decided to leave me to pursue Dena, all I would have to do to exact revenge is mention her name to his father. Can you imagine how that would look? Tim carrying on with a woman whom his father had publically taken a stand against! Then again,” she said with a sly little smile, “all that may not be an issue anymore, right?”
“What do you mean?” Leah asked.
“Well, how desirable can a woman be when she can’t even walk?”
I don’t know how I managed to get across the sofa so quickly. I do have vague memories of grabbing Chrissie by her shirt and pulling her to her feet. I remember the smirk on Chrissie’s face and the way she arched her eyebrows as if daring me to smack her. Leah likewise seemed to be moving at lightning speed and was there to pull me off. She grabbed both my wrists and yanked me away from Chrissie.
“So sensitive,” Chrissie cooed.
“You did this!” I was in control of myself now, but only barely. Leah dropped her hands but stayed close enough to grab me again if need be.
“What exactly are you talking about?” Chrissie asked with pseudo-innocence.
“You know what I’m talking about, you pathetic little bitch! You shot Dena! I know it. The police obviously know it. And it’s only a matter of time before they slap the cuffs on and haul your bony ass to jail!”
“Don’t be silly. I would never shoot anyone, not even Dena. But…” Chrissie took two steps closer to me so that only a few inches separated us. “I’m not going to pretend I’m sorry someone else did.”
It’s funny, but I had never actually punched anyone before. I don’t know what I expected. Certainly I hadn’t expected Chrissie’s soft, delicate little face to feel so hard beneath my knuckles. Nor did I expect her to fall onto the coffee table with a bang. I didn’t expect her cheek to turn a scalding shade of red, or for a drop of blood to appear at the corner of her mouth.
And then Leah’s hands were on me again. Leah was dragging me toward the door and she was scolding me and cursing Chrissie, but no one was listening to Leah. Chrissie looked up at me with those icy blue eyes and whispered, “Who’s going to jail now?”