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Neither one of the police officers believes Max. Or maybe they do, but they don’t think much of me. My shoulders begin to hunch and I feel myself shrinking into something small and insignificant, just like I felt growing up. When I first started on the stage, before my skin thickened and I would leave every night in tears from the rude catcalls and disrespect.
But I am no longer that girl. I straighten my spine, staring coolly at the police. “It’s none of your business who I spent my evening with,” I announce.
Max gets to his feet. And even though he’s dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, a faded U2 T-shirt and a baseball cap, somehow he gives off an aura of authority. Of superiority.
It must be the money he was born into.
I may look like a million bucks, but I’m missing Max’s I’ve got so much more money than you air, and probably always will.
He slaps the older officer on the shoulder—an attempt at friendliness—but the fact he laid hands on the police and nothing will be done about it is shocking to me.
But the confidence he shows does something else to me.
“Listen, boys, you seem to be hell-bent on insulting my friend, so is there a reason for this? From where I look at it, Cady has done nothing wrong. She ate dinner with her friend, who unfortunately passed away later that evening.” Max shrugs. “I don’t understand what information she could have for you. Do you want to know what Noam ate? Can you tell them that, Cady?”
His gaze is warm like he’s telling me he’s got my back.
I draw in a shaky breath because I’m not used to someone having my back.
“The chicken piccata, same as he orders every time he’s here.” I swallow. “Can I ask how he died?”
“Looks like a heart attack,” the second admits reluctantly.
“Natural causes.” Even so, it takes a few breaths to settle myself. If it was natural, there’s no question of me being involved. Especially if there was no evidence of me being there.
Of course, it would be natural. Who would want to hurt Noam?
“Looks that way.”
I run through my memories of leaving his room, sluggish and vague because I had been half asleep. But still, I’m fairly certain, I left no sign of being there.
“But the family would like to know if something brought about the heart attack. Some activity perhaps…” The heavyset officer looks expectantly at me like I’m about to burst out with a confession that I had sex with Noam and give them all the dirty details.
I could give them dirty details about their sex lives just by looking at them. Like how the older one—probably divorced—hasn’t been pleasured by anything other than his right hand in years and wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if he had the chance with one. And the younger one, with the cocky arrogance of a man used to pushing his authority, would think he was good in bed, but I would put money on the fact most of his partners fake it just to get it over with.
From my years of being in intimate situations with men, but never sharing intimacy, I can tell these types of things. It’s my party trick.
So is keeping my anger to myself. A quick intake of breath is the only reaction I give to their suggestion that I sexed Noam to death. “When I left Noam at the door, he said he was going to bed,” I offer, wishing I was on my feet instead of cowering in my chair. But they want it that way. Small woman, easy to intimidate.
I’m not easy to intimidate. “I would think your forensic experts should be able to tell if brushing his teeth proved to be a dangerous activity,” I say in my iciest voice.
“He was found in his bed.”
“That is usually what happens when a person goes to bed,” I snap.
“The man died in his sleep and you’re interrogating Cady about whether she had sex with him? Really?” Max shakes his head with disgust. “We’re done now.”
“The family—”
“I don’t give a flying fart about the family,” he starts, but I reach for his hand.
“Maximus,” I chide. “They lost someone important. It’s only natural to demand answers, but officers—” —I paste a smile on my face with difficulty, wanting this to be over and done with— “I’m afraid I’m not in any position to provide any. I can tell you Noam enjoyed his dinner, but only ate a small portion of it, had a scoop of vanilla gelato and a glass of port for dessert. Then he told me he was going to sleep because at eighty-six, I’m sure he was tired.”
“Eighty-six,” Max echoes with a hard glance at each of them. “Natural causes.”
“Thank you for your time.” The first officer backs away with an expression of embarrassment. He should be embarrassed. He should be—
The second officer mumbles something I can’t make out and stalks away without another word.
