Page 92 of Nothing More

It was something he’d done a lot in his career: watch people. Silently observing from a bit of distance, unnoticed, without having to engage with a person, you saw all sorts of little tics and tells that went unseen by those in conversation with them.

The shepherdess clock ticked away two full minutes, while those slow steps shuffled forward.

Tenny affected a manspread on the sofa, hands braced on his thighs, elbows out. Very at home, very cop. Sunglasses hooked in his jacket pocket by one earpiece.

Toly flicked his back down onto his nose for a little more camouflage.

Miriam reappeared first, holding the tiny, frail arm of Alicia Newsome.

Raven had said she was seventy or so, but she looked much older, and in bad shape besides. Beneath a wine-colored pantsuit, teal shirt, and jaunty neck kerchief, she was nothing but a bundle of sticks wrapped in papery skin. Her nails were manicured, the backs of her hands heavily spotted. Her hair was pure white, styled up on top of her head – but shiny pink patches of scalp showed through. She had the seamed, folded-over face that marked a heavy smoker – or someone riddled by illness. Blue veins tracked her throat, where the scarf didn’t cover, crawled up the edges of her jaw. She had one of those four-footed stability canes in the hand that Miriam wasn’t clutching, and leaned on it heavily, her whole, small frame trembling as she inched along.

Her head lifted, though, as she came across the room, and solid steel flashed in her eyes.

Not so fragile where it counted.

“Mrs. Newsome, hi,” Tenny said, and didn’t offer a hand, since she didn’t have one to spare; gave her a deep nod instead. “I’m Detective Alfred, and this is my partner, Detective Lorde.” When she tried to look Toly’s way, he said, “Has Miriam told you why we’re here?”

Her voice wavered, but her tone was pure elitist scorn. “Did you finally find my ring?”

“We’re narrowing down suspects,” Tenny said. “And have some questions for you.”

Her face screwed up, like a ball of paper crumpled in someone’s fist. “I already answered all your questions before, when that little bitch first stole it.”

Tenny’s brows went up in a show of mild surprise. “You talked to some detectives, yeah, but you didn’t answermyquestions, and I’m the pro, here. This is my wheelhouse.” He pulled out a notepad and clicked open a pen. “It’ll be real quick, promise. And then you can get back to your day.” He gestured to the squashy chair with a narrow assprint in the seat that was clearly the woman’s favorite, inviting her to sit.

Newsome’s painted lips worked a moment, then she said, loftily, “Very well. But this better not be a waste of my time.”

“I’m sure it won’t be, ma’am.”

Toly wondered how much mental anguish it was costing Tenny to be this conciliatory. To anyone, much less this nasty biddy.

It took an age for Miriam to get her charge settled in the chair.

Then, Tenny said, “Miriam, if you’d give us a moment?”

Her look was flaying. Tenny met her stare-for-stare until she said, to Newsome, “I’ll be just down the hall, if you need me. I’ll check on you soon.”

Newsome waved her off dismissively without a glance.

Toly noticed the wrinkle in Miriam’s brow, that quick show of hurt, before she said, “Yes, ma’am,” and left the room.

He’d known from the first she wasn’t someone who treated her staff kindly – calling her missing (dead) maid a “bitch” was proof of that – but to see her coldness toward an employee who clearly revered her, who’d stood toe-to-toe with them on the threshold, ready to do battle for her mistress…that was a whole other level of cruel. Heartless.

As was the way she tipped her head back and looked up at Tenny, as he folded himself schoolboy-prim back to the teal sofa. Her eyes were clear, bright, the only part of her that didn’t look sick.

“Alfred, was it?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. So. Let’s talk about your ring.”

She hmphed.

Tenny pretended to consult his blank notebook. “You told the previous detectives that you suspected your maid of taking it.”

She linked her hands over the handle of her cane, planted between her soft-soled shoes on the rug. It was easy to imagine her younger, healthier, as formidable as an Army officer, chin set at a cutting angle. “That’s because she’s the one who took it.”

“Yousawher take it?”

“She’s the only one who could have,” Newsome shot back.