Are you in the mood for an excerpt from Taken In, my film noir-mystery tonight? Think Bogart and Bacall. In this scene, a very good-looking homicide detective interviews the victim's wife at the scene of the crime:
He left the house and walked along a stone path lined with rose bushes on either side and saw a woman sitting at a table with her back to him. The first things he noticed were her shapely calves. One leg was crossed over the other and he saw the red-lacquered sole of a Christian Louboutin designer shoe, his footwear of choice for his submissives. Trying not to startle her, he walked in front of the table and said, “Ms. Forshey...”
She jumped upon seeing him, uncrossed her legs and sat up straight. “Who are you?” she asked.
“I’m Detective Jay Harrison. I’m in charge of this case.” He showed her his badge.
“I see,” she answered, wiping her eyes, wet from crying. Her beauty took his breath away. She bore a striking resemblance to Lauren Bacall when she starred in To Have and Have Not. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was softly curled and parted on the side. Her eyes were a perfect mixture of blue and green and her eyebrows were perfectly arched, looking as if she could see right through anyone who talked to her. She wore a checkered jacket and a tight white blouse that just barely reined in her large breasts.
He cleared his throat and tried to stop thinking about how sexy she was. Sitting down at the table across from her, he said, “I know this is a difficult time and I’ll try not to inconvenience you too much.”
“Thank you,” she softly answered, and held an embroidered handkerchief up to her nose.
“I just have a few questions. I understand that you were gone on a business trip, came home from the airport, and found him dead.”
“That’ right.”
“What airline did you take?”
“Delta.”
“What city did you visit?”
“Atlanta.”
“And what kind of business?”
“I’m a buyer for Saks Fifth Avenue. There was a convention I attended.”
“I see. Is there anyone who can vouch for your whereabouts over the last 24 hours?”
“I was on a plane. Everyone could vouch for me if they remembered what I look like.”
“Oh, I think they’d definitely remember your face.”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, because you are very beautiful.”
She blushed deeply and he could see that she liked to be complimented. That may come in handy later, he told himself.
“How did you get back to your house?”
“I drove home. I left my car in the airport’s parking garage. Why all the questions?”
“We always ask the person who found the body these questions. Often, the killer knew the victim.”
“You’re making me nervous,” she said and reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table. She put one in her mouth and he picked up a silver lighter lying on the table. When he lit her cigarette, she rested her fingertips on his hand and then slowly and sensually blew out a cloud of smoke. She glanced over at him and smiled.
He looked at the lighter more closely and read, “JRF. Are these your initials?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Roberta.”
“Very personalized. I like when things are engraved. It’s classy.”
“If you say so,” she answered.
“Okay, Ms. Forshey—
“Call me Jessica,” she flirted.
“Ms. Forshey,” he insisted, “What was the first thing you saw when you came home?”
“The front door was open. I thought that maybe my husband had forgotten to close it. He’s been quite forgetful lately. He had early onset dementia.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that.”
“Tragic,” she said, flicking the ash off her cigarette into an oyster shell ashtray on the table.
“What did you see next?”
“The door to the safe was open.”
“Was it empty?”
“Yes. Someone took my jewelry and two gold bars.”
“Did your safe have a painting in front of it?”
“Yes. A landscape by Cezanne. I’m surprised the burglar didn’t take it. It’s worth a fortune.”
“I’ll have to take a look. Cezanne is one of my favorite artists.”
“Mine, too,” she answered and looked at him with a disarming smile.
“When did you notice that your husband was in the room?”
“Shortly after that.”
“Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill him?”
“No. Everyone liked him. He didn’t have any enemies.”
“Oh, okay.”
He was quiet for a few beats and then asked, “Do you or your husband own a gun?”
“My husband kept one in a bedroom drawer.”
“Is it still there?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t looked.”
Which bedroom was yours?”
“His was upstairs to the left.”
He thought, hmmm…they don’t sleep together. Why not? Is there trouble in paradise?
“I’ll take a look before I leave.”
“Am I under arrest, Detective?”
“Should you be?”
“Do you always answer a question with a question?” Sounding defensive she said, “I wasn’t even in town. Ask my employer if you need confirmation.”
“I will. One more thing. Have you ever been on a sailboat?”
She laughed and said, “No. What a funny question. Why do you ask?”
“The ropes that bound him. Whoever did it knew some very intricate rope patterns.”
“You think I tied him up?”
“I’m just trying to gather as much information as I can. Nothing personal.”
She arched one of her well-defined eyebrows and tilted her head to the side, trying to figure out what made him tick.
He stood up and said, “No. You’re not under arrest, Ms. Forshey. Just let me know if you plan to leave town.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out one of his cards.
She stood up and he noticed how well she looked in a knee-length pencil skirt. She was tall for a woman—probably five foot ten. He shook her hand and told her, “I’m going to look for the gun.”
