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“You would never have killed her?”
“Not like that. Submissives work in a different way.”
“But wouldn’t that be a good way to throw someone off track?”
“I just don’t think she has it in her for this kind of murder. Poison maybe, but a knife in the chest? She’d be too squeamish. And the knots, they were perfect, everyone of them the same, as if the assailant had done them a thousand times. A submissive turning Dom for a night wouldn’t do that, unless they were very calculating. I don’t think Betsy could be that calculating, or that thorough.”
“Let’s hope you’re right for her sake,” Leslie said. “And John’s. He’s already called me this morning wanting to know when I’m going to find the real killer and get Betsy out of jail. I didn’t have much to tell him. But he’s sent a retainer, so at least we’re being paid. Unfortunately, he’s going to be one of those who thinks that we can ask a few questions and be done with it.”
“Why don’t we go inside and meet these women?” Robin suggested. “They’re a curious bunch, but pretty much what you expect to have hovering about Felicia Roman.”
“Were there lots of women around when you were with her?” Leslie asked.
“Always. She was insatiable. She had to have people to play off of.”
“Well these wome
n were pretty mum with the police. I hope we can find out more than they did.”
“We’d better,” Robin said dryly. “But then why would they want to talk once Betsy was arrested? If Betsy didn’t kill Felicia, the murderer would be perfectly happy to keep things exactly as they are.”
“Maybe there was more than one murderer,” Leslie suggested.
“Hum. You’d think the police would have waited a little longer before making their conclusion. It’s quite a delicious puzzle.”
“Thanks for recuperating your detective mentality,” Leslie said, grateful to see Robin’s classic cool and eagerness for the investigation return.
“It never goes away sweetie,” Robin said. “Just my pleasant disposition.”
The two walked side by side toward the mansion, climbing the impressive steps that led to a long front porch. The old brick walk was breaking up in places, though it showed signs of some repair currently underway.
“Quite a place, isn’t it?” Leslie exclaimed, admiring the massive posts on either side of the steps.
“Yes it is,” a voice replied unexpectedly.
They turned to see a redheaded woman sitting in a Kennedy rocker, with a glass of iced tea in one hand, a cigarette in the other. A soft haze of smoke surrounded a pleasant face.
“You the police again?” she said, peering out of wire rim glasses with thick lenses, between locks of curly hair that fell over her eyes. Her plump body rocked unconsciously in the rocking chair, keeping it going with a little push of her foot now and again.
“We’re private detectives,” Robin answered.
“Leslie Patrick and Robin Penny,” Leslie introduced them.
“Penny and Patrick, or is it Patrick and Penny?” the redhead asked.
“Patrick Penny Investigations,” Leslie replied.
The woman nodded, and smiled. “Suppose people think you’re a man with that name. Aren’t they a little surprised by two lesbian women. You are lesbians, aren’t you?”
“You’re very astute, we don’t normally advertise that fact,” Leslie answered.
“Oh, but we all have a way of knowing, don’t we?”
“The name takes people by surprise,” Robin said, as if she owed the redhead further explanation. “Since neither one of us is into conventional thinking, we kind of like the idea. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions about Felicia Roman’s murder?”
The woman shrank back in her chair for an instant at the mention of Felicia’s name. “God it was horrible, wasn’t it?”
“Most certainly,” Robin replied.
