Even the Score(104)

By: Beth Ehemann


“Who is it?” I mouthed quietly.

He stuck out his thumb and motioned back toward the police station. “Mm-hmm . . . okay . . . yeah, we’ll be right in.” He clicked the phone off and put it back in his pocket. “That was Larson. He made contact with Blaire already.”

“What? No way.”

“Yep. They called her and said they were conducting an investigation and had some questions, would she come in and talk to them. Apparently she said she had an appointment later, but she could come in right now. She’s on her way.”

“Holy crap! That was fast!”

My heart started pounding, each beat fueled by a different emotion.

Nervousness.

Hope.

Rage.

Fear.

Excitement.

Worry.

“Let’s head back in and wait.” Andy held his hand out, and I grabbed it.

“Do you think we’ll finally get some answers today?” I asked eagerly.

He shrugged and stepped back, holding the door open for me. “Based on how everything seems to go for us, I’d say no, but let’s be hopeful for once and say maybe . . .”

Detective Larson led us down a different hallway and into a room with a large window taking up one whole side. A table and four chairs were pushed off to the side, along with various empty boxes. I walked over to the window and took a shaky breath. “She’ll be in there?”

“Yep.” He nodded, pointing to a door next to the window. “That door leads in there, but we’ll be bringing her in through the door on the other side of the room. She’ll have no idea that you are here, and she is not under arrest, so just remember that. We can’t use anything she says against her until we’ve read her her rights. And we may not be able to do that today.”

I rubbed my chin and narrowed my eyes at him. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “If she denies everything, which she most likely will, we’ll have to go talk to Javier and build our case from that angle, which would suck because he hasn’t been the most talkative guy. And unfortunately an offshore account and an ex-husband’s suspicion aren’t enough to compel a judge to give us a warrant for her financial records.”

“I see.”

“Now, there are some ground rules for being allowed in this room. Really just one. Whatever you do, do not bang on, hit, tap, knock, or even touch this window. Matter of fact, don’t even breathe on it, understand?”

Andy and I nodded, both taking a step back just as a female police officer knocked twice and opened the door. “Sorry to interrupt. Detective Larson, your interview is here.”

“Okay, show her in there, please. Through the other door.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded once and shut the door.

My heart started thumping so loudly I was sure that both Andy and Detective Larson could hear it. The door on the other side of the room opened, and the female officer stepped inside, motioning Blaire toward the table just as Detective Larson reached around me and flipped a light switch next to the window.

“Can they hear us?” I asked as quietly as I could.

“No, you can hear them, but they can’t hear you,” he answered as he put his hand on the doorknob and turned back to us, holding one finger up.

“Remember . . . do not touch this window,” he warned one more time before entering the room.

Andy took a step behind me, rested his head on my shoulder, and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Ready?”

“I guess.” My hands shook as I raised them to my chest and nervously played with a button on my shirt.

“I love you.”

I turned my head slightly, brushing my cheek against his lips. “I love you.”



“Hi, Mrs. Shaw. I’m Detective Larson, the one you spoke with on the phone. Thank you for coming in so quickly.”

My stomach turned when he called her Mrs. Shaw. I knew that was her name, and I didn’t blame her for wanting to keep the same last name as her kids, but I was feeling petty, and it pissed me off.

“Hi, Detective Larson.” She flashed a pure white, fake smile at him as she held her hand out. He shook it quickly and sat down across from her. As she moved her legs out from under the table and crossed them, I noticed the red bottoms of her shoes. Tan Christian Louboutins, worth more than most people made in a whole week, perfectly matched her short, tight tan dress. Her long, white-blonde hair flowed over her shoulder like a cloud, and her cherry-red lips glistened in the florescent overhead lights.

“As I said on the phone, we’re investigating an incident with one of your husband’s employees, and we’re questioning anyone that may have had any contact with her.”

She pursed her lips together. “Mm-hmm.”