Murder.com (2 page)

Coffee and cereal with soy milk
does not a breakfast make. I would have prepared a proper meal.
Pancakes. Breakfast burrito. Fried eggs. Something that requires
fire. Cooking. Maybe that's because I liked to think of myself as a
chef, but without formal training I was more like an advanced home
cook. That was why I'd outfitted my kitchen with top-of-the-line
appliances, including a top-of-the-line double oven. It wasn't just
there to look pretty or to prove that I could afford one. I
actually used it. And I cooked a mean lasagna.

Imogen walked over to the coffee pot on the counter
by the oven. She prepared my coffee the way I always took it at
home, with soy and two sugars. I needed the sugar to offset the
soy. She knew that about me. All the more reason to propose one of
these days.

"Here you go." She placed the
coffee down in front of me. Hers was already sitting at the table,
with a dash of soy.

"Thank you, Imogen."

"So, is anything clearer this
morning, Max?"

"The only thing I can focus on
right now is trying to ingest some caffeine as soon as humanly
possible into this old body of mine."

"Since when is forty
old?"

"Since I turned forty."

"Bloody hell, speak for yourself,
Max."

I ate my cereal and soy while
Imogen peppered me with questions about Ted, none of which I could
answer. My phone buzzed, and it was a text message from Kitty
saying she'd be at my place in five minutes.

"You might get some answers to
this thing in a few," I said.

"Why do you say that?"

"We're going to have a visitor
shortly. Why don't you stick around?"

"Sure. It's not like I have
anything else to do today."

That was true. Besides being a
total knockout and having a lovely English accent, Imogen was
loaded. Family money mixed with her own hard-earned cash. Like me,
Imogen was an investment banker. But unlike me, she'd worked at a
proper investment bank before she'd retired five years ago at the
ripe old age of thirty-five. I, on the other hand, had made my
money from selling dotcoms. Then, once I had some money to play
with, I'd started a venture capital firm, and now I spent my days
with twenty-somethings that were busy asking me for money to fund
the next big thing while Imogen got to work on her tennis game. I
was a bit jealous. But I couldn't seem to walk away from
work.

"I suggest we both put on some
clothes. I don't think anyone wants to see me in my skivvies. But
I'm sure plenty of guys would love to get a glimpse of you right
now."

"As Moneypenny would say, I'm for
your eyes only, Max."

We both threw on some clothes. The
best I could muster up was a pair of creased khakis and a blue polo
shirt. Imogen was remarkable. She always managed to look like she
had just stepped off the runway. Within seconds she had on
beautiful cream-colored tailored pants and a white button-down
blouse that looked like it must have been specifically designed for
her. Just another reason why I loved her—the art of the quick
change and her willingness to allow me to grace her well-dressed
arm.

"Where did you find that outfit?"
I asked, since it was different than the clothes that she had on
last night.

"Seriously, Max, you really are
clueless sometimes. I've taken over half of your closet, or haven't
you noticed?"

I hadn't noticed. I didn't know
what that said about me. The doorbell rang. In walked Kitty Baxter,
all five feet ten of her picturesque frame. She had long blond
hair, piercing blue eyes, and was dressed in a cream skirt and blue
button-down blouse that made her look like a walking Chanel display
window. Apparently skirts, pants, and blouses are the uniform of
beautiful, well-to-do ladies. I, in stark contrast, looked like a
schlep.

"Dutch!" Kitty exclaimed as she
grabbed my shoulders and gave me two air kisses.

"Hello, Kitty!" I said, feigning
excitement.

Kitty immediately noticed Imogen standing off to her
left. She looked at her mischievously, like a kitten sometimes
looks at a ball of yarn.

"Allow me to introduce my friend
Imogen Whitehall," I said.

"Friend?" Imogen asked.

"Lover?" I asked.

"Getting there."

"Girlfriend," I said,
playfully.

Kitty didn't need any insight into
my romantic life.

"I guess. For now."

"Kitty Baxter, please allow me to
introduce my
girlfriend
Imogen Whitehall."

Imogen, seemingly shocked by the revelation that
this woman was married to the recently deceased Ted Baxter, froze
for a moment, staring into space.

"Well that was certainly awkward,"
Kitty joked. "Pleasure," she said as she extended a hand to
shake.

Imogen, now back to her charming self, extended her
hand.

"He's incorrigible," Imogen said,
shaking hands.

"He's just Dutch."

"So you two know—"

"Kitty, I'm terribly sorry about
what happened last night," I offered.

"Thank you, Max. It was certainly
a shock."

Kitty was composed as ever as she tried to convey
some semblance of sorrow.

"I should say," Imogen
said.

"I knew you had to have some idea
what had happened, because I saw you and Miss Whitehall standing
right outside of the house last night."

"I don't know very much. The
police were pretty tight-lipped."

"They saw you two while they were
busy questioning me. Me! Of all people."

"They, as in the police? Why
wouldn't they question you? You're his wife, or had you
forgotten?"

"Oh, Dutch. Ask me a few
questions, sure. But to question me all night? I hardly think I
deserved that. There are only so many ways to say I didn't kill
Ted."

I was more concerned about why the
police would care about me. Yes, I had known Ted. A lot of people
had. But I didn't want him dead. Sure, I had wished it once or
twice. He was a nasty man. And one who didn't respect anyone's
personal boundaries. But I certainly wouldn't have killed him. They
didn't have scotch in prison.

"So, the police saw me—why would
they care about me?" I asked.

"I'd prefer to chat without the
presence of Miss Whitehall. No offense, my dear." Kitty turned
toward Imogen.

"You can speak freely with her
here."

"But—"

"Kitty, Miss Whitehall stays. Why
don't you have a seat?" I motioned for her to pull up a
chair.

Kitty glared at me, not happy with my response.
Possibly jealous of Imogen as well. Imogen found a place on one of
the chairs next to me, facing Kitty, who was now seated in a plush
chair opposite both of us.

"Ted was murdered last night,"
Kitty said, this time emitting some emotion, perhaps even a tear.
But her frozen expression made clear that it was disingenuous.
Maybe it was just the plastic surgery.

"Oh my!" Imogen gasped.

"Jesus, Kitty, that's horrific," I
said. "I'm sorry."

This comment elicited a bit of a smirk from Mrs.
Baxter. There was the Kitty I used to know.

"I see you're terribly broken up
about it," I said.

"I'm not going to lie. I'm not
that upset. We've had our troubles over the years."

"And he's had some
women?"

"You could say that."

"Any in particular that stuck
around?"

"He was seeing one for a while. I
think it was getting serious with her, but you could never tell
with Teddy. One minute he loved you, the next he never spoke to you
again. He was a fickle sort of bastard. I don't have to tell you.
You knew him."

"Well, that was a long time
ago."

"Seems like yesterday to
me."

"You're surely not here for a walk
down memory lane. So, what do you need to talk to me
about?"

Jabber strolled around the living room, brushing
past Kitty before settling down in the corner.

"The police were asking about
you."

"Yes, we've established that. Now
why would they be asking about me? I don't have a relationship with
Ted. Hell, I haven't even been alone with him in years."

"They know about you and me and
Ted."

They knew about me. Kitty. Ted. What was to know?
That I hated him? Plenty of people did. He was an asshole. One of
those guys that you wanted to punch in the face every time that you
saw him. Maybe it was his nose that drove you to rage. It was
always turned up at you. Like he thought he was better than you.
Like he could own anything that he wanted. Even your fiancée.

"Yeah, well, that's ancient
history," I said.

"Well, the police don't seem to
think so. They were pretty interested in my story."

"So you're telling me the police
think that I could have killed Ted?"

This was outrageous. There was no
reason for me to kill Ted. He had nothing that I wanted. Nothing
that I needed. And, on top of that, he wasn't even on my social
radar. I never thought about him. If last night had never happened
I wouldn't have even remembered that he was alive.

"I'm not sure, but they're not
ruling you out as—"

"Wait a minute. You think Max
killed Ted?" Imogen appeared shocked.

"I'm not saying that, Miss
Whitehall. I'm just telling you what the police told me. They found
it curious that Max used to be my fiancé—"

Imogen seemed visibly annoyed at the fiancé
revelation. I had kept that under wraps until now.

"Even if he was your
fiancé
," she said with
an edge to her voice, "what would that have to do with
Ted?"

The jig was up.

"He was the one who stole her
away," I said before Kitty could beat me to the humiliating
punch.

"Stole her away?" Imogen
asked.

"I'm afraid so, Miss Whitehall.
Ted swept me off of my feet," Kitty said.

"After we were engaged, Kitty," I
reminded her.

"Yes, I know that,
Dutch—"

"Why do you call him Dutch?"
Imogen asked.

Kitty laughed. "It's an old
nickname. When Max and I used to go out to dinner, we'd go dutch.
We were both just starting out. So we used to split the bill. It
became kind of joke, so I started calling him Dutch. It
stuck."

"Jesus, Kitty. Thank you for
that," I said, annoyed that she had introduced this nickname into
Imogen's consciousness.

Imogen just sat and listened with a big grin on her
face.

"Anyway, Max, it still bothers me
to this day that I did that to you. You didn't deserve that. No one
does."

You could say that again. No one
deserved having their love stolen from them. But Kitty wasn't a
saint. She had allowed herself to be swept off her feet—fancy
clothes, fancy cars. I, on the other hand, had been in love. But if
money had been enough to capture her heart, it was clear that she
wasn't the one for me. The trouble was, knowing that hadn't made it
feel any better at the time.

"Believe me. He's over it," Imogen
added in my defense. Yet another reason I loved her.

"Of course he is. He's got you,"
Kitty retorted.

I smiled at Imogen. She caught my
gaze and shot me a smirk back. I was glad that she seemed to be
taking this well.

"Now that you've dropped a
bombshell on Miss Whitehall, is there anything else that you want
to talk to me about?"

"I want you to help."

"Help what? Write his
eulogy?"

"No, Dutch. Help me figure out who
did this."

"Kitty, I'm a lawyer, and barely
one at that, not a detective."

I had graduated law school and had taken the bar but
had never practiced. Kitty had met me when I was a poor law
student.

"But you're smart and you run in
the same circles as Ted. Maybe you could poke around?"

"I'm not a detective, Kitty. I
don't work for the police. I'm a venture capitalist."

"I don't think the police are
going to solve this. And I'm worried."

"What? You think you're the main
suspect? Did you kill Ted?"

"No."

"You sure? If you give me a
dollar, you can retain me as counsel and we'll have attorney-client
privilege," I said, joking.

"Dutch, I didn't kill
Ted!"

I could believe that. She was cold, manipulative,
and a heartbreaker, but a murderer? I found it hard to believe that
a woman could kill her husband.

"I'll take you at your word for
now, but listen, Kitty, I can't help you."

"Dutch, I'm not worried about me.
I'm worried about you."

Worried about me. Well, that was a
first. She hadn't been too worried about me when she'd broken off
our engagement and I'd had to face our friends and family with the
news.