expected. Purest of luxury, to be sure. Nicholas-Black-Luxury, in fact, and that meant pretty damn luxurious. Dark shiny hardwood floors that looked like wide planked bamboo, maybe, dark iron chandeliers dripping with crystals, low black leather couches, teak tables, damask easy chairs, original paintings, framed photographs consisting mostly of shots of the lake and the beautiful Ozark hills. Yep, the whole bit. Somebody in the Parker brood had beaucoup dollar bills and didn’t mind spending them. No doubt about it. Something told Claire that the poor guy lying all broken up and lifeless downtown on that cold autopsy table had not forked out the dough for such a place. If not him, then who? Again, her distrust of the super wealthy began eating a hole in her comfort zone.
The woman had started crying now and was hiding her face in her open palms while she boo-hooed. She was tall, even taller than Claire, who stood around five feet nine. She was extremely pale, EXTREMELY needing capital letters to describe it, with unreal-looking porcelain white skin, platinum white hair, cut very, very short, almost buzzed, and gelled up slightly on top near her forehead. Almost albino-ish, in fact, except that her eyes were green, a bright, piercing, artificial green manufactured by tinted contact lenses, bet on it. So green, in fact, that both she and Bud were in danger of becoming mesmerized by them. Sort of Wizard-of-Oz-Emerald-City-greenish. Who knew, maybe the woman was hiding some weird pink eyes under those lenses. Or was that an old albino wives’ tale?
Truth be told, the woman’s flesh looked so white, especially in that white dress, that Claire suspected that if she were to lie down on the snow, all one would see would be those magnetic X-Men eyes. She was thin, too, wafer thin, and in need of a Quarter Pounder with Cheese Value Meal, Supersized, and a full bag of Snickers bars and an M&M McFlurry, all in the worst way imaginable. All of which also gave Claire some vivid hunger pangs. However, their hostess was indeed slight with very small, sharp features, very canary bird-like, in fact, which pretty much described every other part of her, too. A gorgeous, rare bird that seemed fragile and ethereal and in need of a hearty refill of her seed bowl. A bird that looked terribly frightened at the moment and close to losing all vestiges of composure. Claire couldn’t have thought up a better name for the woman standing in front of them, either. She looked exactly like a Blythe should look.
“They killed him, didn’t they? Paulie’s dead, isn’t he? They finally got him! Tell me, tell me, tellllll mmmme!”
Whoa there, doggie. That last part was shrilled out and echoed up through the wide wooden spiral staircase behind them. Claire frowned a little. Okay, this wasn’t going according to plan, or smoothly, even. Paulie Parker’s wife was not going to let Claire ease out a slow and tender homicide notification. She apparently already knew, and had been expecting bad news. She hadn’t asked for their badges. She hadn’t asked anything but that one pertinent question. So, so be it. “Yes, ma’am, I’m very sorry to have to tell you. We found your husband’s body yesterday and did not identify him until today. We came here as soon as we could. We are both just so sorry for your loss.”
Now the woman just stood there and stared at them out of wide, shocked, and scary-as-hell green eyes. If Blythe Parker had somehow known in her heart, she sure didn’t want to believe it now. They all remained standing, just inside the front door, in a stilted silence, a pretty horrible stilted silence at that. No sounds came from around them in the house at all, not even a clock ticking. At length, Bud said, “Maybe you should sit down, Mrs. Parker. This has got to be quite a shock for you.”
Blythe Parker seemed to awaken from a trance and stumbled her way over to a deep and soft, blue-and-white-and-gray chevron-patterned chair with a
The woman had started crying now and was hiding her face in her open palms while she boo-hooed. She was tall, even taller than Claire, who stood around five feet nine. She was extremely pale, EXTREMELY needing capital letters to describe it, with unreal-looking porcelain white skin, platinum white hair, cut very, very short, almost buzzed, and gelled up slightly on top near her forehead. Almost albino-ish, in fact, except that her eyes were green, a bright, piercing, artificial green manufactured by tinted contact lenses, bet on it. So green, in fact, that both she and Bud were in danger of becoming mesmerized by them. Sort of Wizard-of-Oz-Emerald-City-greenish. Who knew, maybe the woman was hiding some weird pink eyes under those lenses. Or was that an old albino wives’ tale?
Truth be told, the woman’s flesh looked so white, especially in that white dress, that Claire suspected that if she were to lie down on the snow, all one would see would be those magnetic X-Men eyes. She was thin, too, wafer thin, and in need of a Quarter Pounder with Cheese Value Meal, Supersized, and a full bag of Snickers bars and an M&M McFlurry, all in the worst way imaginable. All of which also gave Claire some vivid hunger pangs. However, their hostess was indeed slight with very small, sharp features, very canary bird-like, in fact, which pretty much described every other part of her, too. A gorgeous, rare bird that seemed fragile and ethereal and in need of a hearty refill of her seed bowl. A bird that looked terribly frightened at the moment and close to losing all vestiges of composure. Claire couldn’t have thought up a better name for the woman standing in front of them, either. She looked exactly like a Blythe should look.
“They killed him, didn’t they? Paulie’s dead, isn’t he? They finally got him! Tell me, tell me, tellllll mmmme!”
Whoa there, doggie. That last part was shrilled out and echoed up through the wide wooden spiral staircase behind them. Claire frowned a little. Okay, this wasn’t going according to plan, or smoothly, even. Paulie Parker’s wife was not going to let Claire ease out a slow and tender homicide notification. She apparently already knew, and had been expecting bad news. She hadn’t asked for their badges. She hadn’t asked anything but that one pertinent question. So, so be it. “Yes, ma’am, I’m very sorry to have to tell you. We found your husband’s body yesterday and did not identify him until today. We came here as soon as we could. We are both just so sorry for your loss.”
Now the woman just stood there and stared at them out of wide, shocked, and scary-as-hell green eyes. If Blythe Parker had somehow known in her heart, she sure didn’t want to believe it now. They all remained standing, just inside the front door, in a stilted silence, a pretty horrible stilted silence at that. No sounds came from around them in the house at all, not even a clock ticking. At length, Bud said, “Maybe you should sit down, Mrs. Parker. This has got to be quite a shock for you.”
Blythe Parker seemed to awaken from a trance and stumbled her way over to a deep and soft, blue-and-white-and-gray chevron-patterned chair with a
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