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She took a couple of sips. Then she turned her face away.
“I feel as if I am going to be sick,” she whispered.
Chay set the glass aside and gathered her into his arms again. He held her for a long time. A very long time. Then he drew back and cupped her face in his hands.
“I’m going to call the cops, honey.”
She nodded.
“They’re going to ask you questions…”
“They can ask whatever they have to ask.”
He stroked a strand of hair back from her forehead. “I’ll be with you all the time. Okay?”
She looked at him. Her face was still pale. Her eyes were damp. But she managed a quick smile.
“Okay.”
• • •
The police came.
A pair of them, one who Chay figured was too young to be on the job, the other too old to give a crap about anything but his retirement.
Not that it mattered.
It took no time at all before it became obvious that they’d decided this was a nasty joke—and that maybe Chay was the joker.
He took them into the bedroom. They peered into the drawer, exchanged a What the fuck? look, and headed back
to the kitchen where Bianca was waiting.
“So. Missus… Wilde?”
Bianca looked at the duo.
“You have any idea who might have done this?”
She shook her head. “No.”
The older cop scratched his jaw. “An unhappy boyfriend?”
“No.”
“A boyfriend with, you know, a grudge?”
“No. I do not have a boyfriend.”
Both cops looked at Chay. He was standing next to Bianca’s chair. Her hand was clasped tightly in his.
“What she means,” Chay said, “is that I’m her boyfriend. There’s no one else.”
The young cop nodded. “You spent last evening with Ms. Wilde?”
“Yes.”
“Here, I mean.”
