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“You don’t believe Martha? About what? She seems awfully straight forward to me,” Leslie replied.
“I’m going to do some checking on her. She was too pat, and the way she answered for Remy, not letting the woman get a word in edgewise. She acted as if she had a story to tell, and wanted to be sure we got it all so we’d leave them alone. I think they know a whole lot more than they are admitting to. You notice she didn’t really tell us why she was living here in the first place. Of course, it’s pretty typical of Felicia, picking up people like stray cats. She never liked living here without a bunch of other people around. You know, that’s what I hate about cases like this. No really clear cut evidence. Any of the three of them could have done it, as well as Betsy.”
“You’re right there,” Leslie agreed. Although while Robin said she hated complicated cases like this one, Leslie knew that she thrived on puzzling enigmas. Too many suspects made the joy of unraveling the solution that much more interesting for her partner.
A brick path through the garden led to the back of the property and the small caretaker’s cottage. Well hidden from the house, it was small, likely just one room, made of brick, with huge windows facing the front.
“Quaint place,” Leslie observed.
“Yeah, those windows are new. They kind of modernize the place, I suppose,” Robin suggested looking at it carefully. She stared intently for a while, trying to recall what it had looked like ten years before. The biggest difference she noticed was that the gardens surrounding the small place were more manicured than the rest of Felicia’s gardens. The well-cared for beds of flowers and the neatly trimmed hedges made this part of the estate stand out from the rest, almost like a small corner of civilization stands out boldly next to the savage wilds. “You should know what Felicia used this for when I lived here,” Robin said.
“Do I want to?”
“She had a dungeon years ago, before there were any big clubs, when lesbians and lesbian S&M was inside the closet so far it was hard to find it.”
“Is that why you were with her?” Leslie wondered. The personal question stuck out from the rest of Leslie’s informational questions, making Robin instantly bristle.
“I told you a long time ago that I don’t want to discuss my life with Felicia with you,” Robin said, reminding her of an old edict.
“I know that, and I’m not trying to pry. But we were together then and we’re not now. And this is a case. The more I understand about this woman, a woman I might add you knew better than you know most victims … the more I know, the more likely we’ll get to the bottom of things.”
“Okay, sure, but let’s just keep the questions to general things,” Robin retorted.
The wall she raised around herself was not likely to be penetrated; Leslie knew that from many previous tries. “Damn, when you want to be closed lipped you sure are,” she said. “So Felicia? She was a Domme?”
“She was whatever suited her fancy,” Robin replied.
The two detectives reached the cottage; and as they rounded the end of a massive hedge, they turned to see a woman pruning the dense foliage that ran along the pathway. The broad shouldered, slim hipped woman wore a man’s sleeveless undershirt, so that when she leaned over or even raised her arm, her breasts were exposed. Her hair was shaved on the back and sides of her head and spiked on the top. Her large hands looked manly, her posture stern, although there was a surprisingly pleasant look in her eye, which suggested a softer woman underneath the obviously dykish appearance.
“Hello there. We’re Robin and Leslie of Patrick Penny Investigations,” Leslie announced. “We’re investigating Felicia Roman’s murder, working for the Longcore family. You’re Jane Hugh?”
“I am.” The three women shook hands.
“We have a few questions to ask, if you don’t mind?” Leslie co
ntinued.
“So ask away,” Jane said, returning to her hedge.
“We heard about some altercation between you and Felicia on the day of her death. Suppose you tell us about your relationship with your employer.”
“I wasn’t her employee. I work around the place because it’s half mine, and if I didn’t take care of it, it would go to pot. Felicia wasn’t very good at taking care of anything.”
“Half the place?” Robin asked. “That’s not common knowledge, is it?”
“It wouldn’t be. Felicia would never tell anyone that, but I have a fifty percent share of this estate. She owed me money and was only willing to deed half the place to me. She was paying off the rest from her trust fund. I’ve stayed around here to make sure I get my money back. She could have given me the whole house to pay me off, but she had to live here. One of those family things,” Jane said sarcastically. “She was a “Roman” and would live at Roman Hill until the day of her death. Of course now that’s happened.”
“And now the entire house is yours.”
“I suppose,” she shrugged. A curious faraway look appeared in her eyes, as she deftly used the hefty pair of garden trimmers to shape the hedge.
Even as Jane was privately musing, Leslie noted how the woman stared at her chest, where her blouse opened to show the deep cleavage. Rosalie would be proud, though this was hardly the woman she expected to attract. “You have a reputation,” Leslie prodded gently.
“As a Domme? Is that what you’re referring to? I don’t hide that. Part of my life, but I play my games in a local club, not here.”
“Felicia was tied to her bed when she was murdered. Signs of a ‘scene’, that’s what you call it, whip marks on her body. The ropes, the knots, it all looked very professional.”
“Like I did it?” Jane said smirking. “Hell, I could have killed her in a second, but I didn’t. You know, I’ll likely lose in this deal with her dead. Probate lawyers will eat up half my money. So, why would I kill her?”
