Smoke dulls the edge of my anxiety; the blurs of notes and photographs on my desk look less like maddening puzzles and more like Monet.
Suspects, incompetent detectives and a Judas of a client. I gave up on my glass and drank from the bottle. Grey light outlines the the office as the street lights blink out. Compulsive pencil tapping kicks up graphite dust.
The lack of sleep is getting to me. I lean back to rest my eyes. Too far back. Adeline shocks me as I flail. Glossy photos and short hand notes fly. I pull myself off the floor then freeze, my eyes lock on the smudge. The faint imprint of the client's gaudy cufflink is etched into the stained hide blotter, accented with pencil dust.
“How could you be so ******** stupid?” I banged my head once on the desk.
It not blackmail, it's fraud. The shadow lurking around the estate was given the access code. The client had thrown up red herrings right and left. His wife was beside herself the whole time. Just a ruse to convince the illustrious matriarch Madam Austinborne that her wastrel son was blackmailed by a mistress, mother of his illegitimate heir.
Young Mrs. Austinborne was the key. Her pale knuckles and watery eyes weren't those of a shamed socialite. They were the sadness of someone who was broken by a seventy-something bully after a perfect doll for a daughter in law. That waif couldn't stand up to the woman. Not for herself, not for her b*****d kid.
I had to hand it to Mr. Austinborne. It was commendable standing by his wife's side and even looking after a child that wasn't his. I checked the revolver. “If you hadn't framed me, I would have just walked away.”
It Was A Dark And Stormy Night
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