Intimate Relations, Rebecca Forster [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

it to her, she figured out how to make it work. I always wondered if people would be okay with her being such a bitch."

"Someone wasn't," Finn said.

"That's funny," Kayrn said as she put her hands palm down on the edge of the pool. She started to push up. "Fair warning. I'm getting out."

"Then Cori and I would best be going about our business."

"Chicken," she laughed.

Finn raised a hand in farewell, and left her to frolic naked in the pool without an audience.

"She'll go far in Hollywood if she ever gets a break," he said.

"It would be easier for her if she married a rich guy, and forgot about the movies," Cori answered.

"Sure then she could act happy all day long."

"Dildo." Cori held up a rather impressive toy.  "It's new. And we've got some oils, lotions, and condoms. Not exactly Pleasure Palace kinky. You could probably find the same in any suburban housewife's bedroom."

"Sure, I've not met such a housewife," Finn said, more amused than wistful.

"Sure, you weren't looking," Cori said and chuckled. "Bet you're in for some surprises when you find her."

"One can only hope, Cori." Finn opened a door revealing a walk-in closet. Cori joined him.

"Wow." Cori turned little circles, nodding her appreciation.

"I'm thinking if I met a housewife who had all this I wouldn't know what to do with her."

"It even smells rich in here," Cori said.

Roxana's closet was as big as Cori's first apartment, but better turned out. There was a tufted round lounge covered in apricot velvet. Built-in storage ran from floor to ceiling. Half of it looked like an apothecary's cabinet. Drawer after drawer opened to lingerie, jewelry, and scarves. On one wall, a library of lighted cubbyholes showcased purses and bags. It shared space with rows of shoes in every color of the rainbow.  High heels, low heels, strange heels that looked as if they had been carved into totem poles. Cori was like a moth to a flame.

"She's got..." Cori pointed as she counted silently. "Fifteen pairs of black pumps. Fifteen."

"I'm assuming by your tone that's excessive," Finn said.

"How many did Bev have?" Cori whipped her head his way, her blonde hair flipping over her shoulder.

"I've no idea," Finn answered.

"Well that's reason right there to leave you, buddy. You didn't notice her shoes."

"I noticed the ones she was wearing the other night."

Finn turned his attention to the clothing that hung in neat rows, coordinated by category and then by color. Jackets, jeans, suits, slacks, dresses, and evening gowns. Finn pushed them aside and looked at the walls behind.

"No safe. Nothing."

He pushed the clothes back so that they hung neatly. Cori was in the drawers.

"Nothing here. No lockbox, not even for the jewelry."

"Perhaps it's not real and not worth protecting."

"It's real," Cori said.

They left the closet and stood together in the big bedroom. The bed was wider than a normal king size. It sat on a platform that faced a wall of glass. The headboard was upholstered in blue velvet. Roxana —and whoever might be with her in the morning—would see the sunrise over the hills. At night, they could watch the sunset. If Roxana wanted privacy, a remote panel near the bed lowered the shades. The bedside tables were solid blocks of black marble . There were no drawers. Nowhere to tuck away a diary, an address book, or a calendar. The bedroom was as slick and clean as a showroom. Even the huge picture over the bed seemed generic. It was nothing but a canvas with a swath of black painted across it.

The bathroom was the same. Roxana would have lounged in a claw-foot tub, looking through walls of glass. There was a freestanding sink and a vanity. Both were very modern, very clean. It felt like a stage where Roxana acted happy and made herself beautiful for her audience.

"Did you notice there are no real pictures?" Cori asked.

"Except for the one of herself," Finn said.

"And that's a big one. But it's strange not to have something to remind yourself of family, or friends, or travel. Or what about all those magazines she's been in?" Cori said. "Wouldn't you think she would frame those tear sheets?"

"Some people are not sentimental," Finn said. "Or this is not her only home. Perhaps this is—"

"A playpen?" Cori said. "Roxana might have been bringing the Asylum men here. You know, take more pictures, more fodder for her side business."

"If she played that game at the party the other night, someone would have known her name."

"Not necessarily. They could bring the role-play home or not own up to knowing her name. Besides, when we talked to them the woman was dead. If they had an issue with her they weren't going to broadcast it. The only reason we knew about Jeremiah Stotler is because of Bev."

"True," Finn said. "Let's do a title search and find out if she owns any other property. And if it's true that her side business was blackmail, then there must be a record of deposits somewhere."

"If she used banks," Cori countered. "Bitcoin or PayPal are the thing these days. This woman was nineteen; she made her living on line. She's not going to waste her time on calendars or deposit slips."

"Then where is the computer Sam was looking for?" Finn said. "This place is clean. Not so much as a dead insect about."

"Karyn knows her business," Cori said.

"I'm a friggin' cleaning freak, don't you know."

Karyn came in and threw herself on the bed. Dressed, her hair still wet, she had the glow of someone for whom all was right with the world.

"We're admiring your handiwork," Cori said.

"To tell you the truth, it was a pretty easy gig. No parties. Nothing like that. I could scrub the whole place in three hours and she paid me for five."

"Do you know anything about her personal life? Friends you might be able to identify?" Finn asked.

"No, sorry. I cleaned the house, and it was like I wasn't even here. I get