The Homewrecker Series ™

Brenda Chiatovich:
–
I created the concept of The Homewrecker series. A girl who has lived such a privileged life she does not even realize she is privileged. Now she must adjust to a world she does not understand and she has to face herself in the process.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
–
Hello. I am Brenda’s daughter. When my grand pop and my mom were deciding on a name for LC’s arch nemesis they chose one of my nicknames, Peaches.
–
In the second novel I appear again, this time as Sara, another of my nicknames.
–
Sara is a fun character based loosely on my personality. Please, it is NOT biographical in any way. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

Aunt Emerald was her daring and boisterous self. As her mother pointed out Aunt Emerald was not a lady. LC’s mother, Amethyst seemed to be the only sister strongly imbued with awareness of forever being A Lady.

LC smiled. “Hi, Auntie Em.” LC had been calling her that since The Wizard of Oz had first been read to her as a little girl.

Auntie Em’s dark hair had one bright, pale green streak in it. She believed the answers to all of women’s problems lay somewhere in a beauty salon. She had an entire session planed out that she knew would make her niece feel better about everything. She set out to do LC’s hair and make up, then move on to manicures and pedicures, and she brought Rocky. The little golden chihuahua jumped out of Emerald’s bright green purse with the enthusiasm only dogs can generate towards those they love. Once again LC noted that Aunt Emerald was as far removed for LCs mother, Amethyst, as a woman could get and still be a sister.

Rocky was so happy to see LC he wagged his tail so hard it literally launched his hind feet up off the ground. He managed to say hello so hard with his tiny dog body that he took up the entire hospital bed to do it. When LC reached for him he went into such hysterics of motion she could not even pet him effectively.

“You have to see the trick I taught him.” Beamed Auntie Em proudly.

Dutifully, like she had as a little girl, when Auntie Em was about to do something new and interesting, LC sat still with her arms folded, waiting expectantly.

Aunt Emerald set a cloth bag down, deliberately pointing the opening away from Rocky.

Looking at LC she winked.

“TREAT.” She announced.

Rocky stopped his gyrations, one foot raised, looking at Emerald.

“You do it,” smiled her aunt. “Watch.”

“Treat!” announced LC, unsure what would happen next.

Rocky looked at LC. Cocked his head.

“Treat.” She repeated.

Rocky looked all around. He moved part of the folded blanket with his nose. He sniffed near her feet. When he came to the cloth bag he examined it thoroughly. Discovering the opening he went inside. Soon he was dragging out a bag of his favorite doggy treats and taking them to LC to open for him.

“How long did it take you to teach him that?”

“Not long. You ready to look and feel like a woman who can take on the world again?”

© 2016, All Rights Reserved

Brenda Chiatovich:
–
I created the concept of The Homewrecker series. A girl who has lived such a privileged life she does not even realize she is privileged. Now she must adjust to a world she does not understand and she has to face herself in the process.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
–
Hello. I am Brenda’s daughter. When my grand pop and my mom were deciding on a name for LC’s arch nemesis they chose one of my nicknames, Peaches.
–
In the second novel I appear again, this time as Sara, another of my nicknames.
–
Sara is a fun character based loosely on my personality. Please, it is NOT biographical in any way. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

LC lay in the hospital bed feeling miserable. Her experiences the past few days left her physically exhausted. She had never put forth so much effort for so long with so little food or rest. She was mentally tired. She had never before met a problem that did not have a predefined answer. School work always had one answer, or at worst, one best answer. Social problems, for a girl of her upbringing, always had the solution, “A lady always acts like a lady.” She had never in her life met, let alone dealt with, a no win situation.

She was emotionally drained. She had never before dealt with situations where she had to make snap judgements, based not on right or wrong, not on an answer someone could give her, but based solely on her own character and identity: Who she really was. Nor had she ever dealt with a situation where the answer did not depend on “What a Lady would do” or “What is right or wrong” but instead the answer relied solely on “How do I survive?” Or worse, “Who am I?” She suddenly had to face a fact about herself. Perhaps about the human condition itself. When it came to survival what was right or wrong, what was ladylike or not, had no meaning for her. She had to face the fact that when it came to survival she would do whatever it took to stay alive another day.

For a woman who had been raised in a protected environment her entire life this was a hard fact about herself to face.

But it was true and she no longer knew how to feel about herself. In truth, who she really was had never come into question or been an issue before in her life. In the past every major issue had been resolved by how you present yourself. You are a Lady. You act like one.

How does a Lady act?

Now it was other questions she had to answer. Should she feel proud of herself that she had found whatever resources she needed to survive, or ashamed of herself that she realized she could, and would, resort to any means necessary when danger threatened?

No. It wasn’t that simple either. When faced with three women she did not know pitted against each other in a jail cell she had chosen without any knowledge of what would be the winning choice. She had never been taught a protocol for what a Lady would do in jail. Ladies did not go to jail.

She had to choose based on who she was.

So who was she?

For the minute LC put that question aside. Right now her body was beaten, banged, sore, pricked, and gouged from her escape from the cabin last night. Escaping, of all things, from a murderer named Peaches. How on earth does one feel endangered from a five foot six inch skinny girl barely seventeen years old named, of all things, Peaches? Peaches Pardot. Yet she had been. So much so that she had managed to propel herself in a mad roll through the woods to escape while tied hand and foot. Her wrists and ankles still had ugly bruised rope burns.

A doctor, about thirty years old, curly brown hair and clever brown eyes, entered the room. He looked at her and smiled. She found herself smiling back, somewhat embarrassed to be seen by a good looking man in such disreputable condition. Any man. Doctor or not.

He paused and looked at his charts. “I guess I’m not your doctor,” he said to his clipboard. “So you must be the woman I have heard so much about.”

It seemed as though everyone had heard about her, but at least she wasn’t a fugitive wanted for murder any more. She was a victim in a hospital. Or was she?

“I guess.” She replied.

“Probably just as well,” he nodded. “I am sure I would be no match for your charms.”

“I don’t feel charming.”

“You will. I heard your aunt talking in the hallway. She was saying the first step in recovery for any woman is a beauty treatment. I’m sure you will be your most fetching self in an hour.” His smile was seductive and infectious. LC felt herself respond in kind.

“If you wish to start a full-time profession I have a friend who could benefit from the services of an able homewrecker.” His mouth smiled, but his eyes betrayed a seriousness whose humor was sardonic, not playful.

Her mind went over what Violet had said. Violet, who had been tossed in jail for beating up a woman she claimed to have been defending. Violet, a boxer by trade. “I’m a professional. I don’t fight unless there is a purse on the table. If I don’t get paid I don’t fight.” Then her mind flashed forward to Tulkhorn, the highest priced, most exclusive lawyer in the state. “I get paid well for what I do. I do what I am paid to for. What I am not paid for I do not do.” For a quick second she wondered what he might know she did not, then she put the thought away.

“I’ll let you know if I do. But if I were to, I would have to have professional standards, and charge a professional wage. I have no idea what a professional homewrecker would charge.” She was trying to be playful, but she knew a part of her, a new part that was just a little scary, was sizing up the situation for survival potential.

He was serious. The brown of his eyes evaluating. His mouth was still smiling, as though the smile itself had been forgotten, left on his mouth like a hat on a rack left in a restaurant after the patron has left the building. “When I hired a private detective he charged me one hundred dollars an hour plus expenses.”

LC whistled.

“Ah. Here is your aunt,” he said as Emerald pushed through the door. He brushed past her as he went out the door and to the next patient without further comment.

© 2016, All Rights Reserved 

Brenda Chiatovich:
–
I created the concept of The Homewrecker series. A girl who has lived such a privileged life she does not even realize she is privileged. Now she must adjust to a world she does not understand and she has to face herself in the process.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
–
Hello. I am Brenda’s daughter. When my grand pop and my mom were deciding on a name for LC’s arch nemesis they chose one of my nicknames, Peaches.
–
In the second novel I appear again, this time as Sara, another of my nicknames.
–
Sara is a fun character based loosely on my personality. Please, it is NOT biographical in any way. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

Chapter 2

Minor Crimes

Peaches felt proud of herself. She was sure she had planned the perfect little escapade. A minor job as it were. After all if she were to commit to a life of villainy it would not hurt to get in some training doing lessor, if equally important, activities.

Today’s venture would be very important to her future. She studied her surroundings.

The lawn in the back of the house was simple. A wide expanse of golf trimmed grass with umbrella shaded tables. It was designed to give an aura of elegant leisure. It was also deserted, which is what she expected. It was the middle of the day in the middle of the week. Not a time when guests would be gathered. The gardener, except for a weekly mowing, spent the bulk of his time in the front yard, caring for the lavish and impressive first impression a guest would have of the manor.

So far so good.

The hedge she snuck through was a Portuguese Laurel. Pretty and effective, except for one spot Peaches had been using to sneak through since she was a little girl.

She had a story cooked up in case she were caught. She would say she wanted Uncle Norton’s advice on selecting an attorney for a fraternity joke that had gone horribly wrong. Of course Uncle Norton wasn’t a real uncle, not that it would have made any difference to her plans. What she intended to do today was such a minor crime compared to what she had been doing. Compared to what she was going to do. Nor did she need his opinion on what lawyer to select. She knew what lawyer he would select and she already had an appointment with him this afternoon. It would work. If she got caught she would listen too, and take, Uncle Norton’s advice.

Keep it simple and sexy. Sexy was important.

Peaches did not like working under a time schedule, but right now there were a lot of things needed to be done and not much time to do them. Worse she had no clue how much time was left to her. She either was, or soon would be, wanted for murder. She did not know if the police were after her officially or not. Nothing had come across the car radio. On the other hand she had not gone home. No telling what news awaited her there.

And all because of that damned interfering nanny, LC. Someday, when the time was right, Peaches was going to kill that. Nice and slow and painful. Peaches would watch and enjoy every minute of it too. Maybe she would even make a video of it so she could watch it over and over again. How any one person could wreck too much havoc in Peaches life was amazing. And a nobody at that. A nanny of all things. A woman whose step-father worked for people like Peaches mother. A man who worked so far down the ladder that if he had worked for her she wouldn’t even know his name.

But enough of that. She brought her mind back to the business at hand.

One thing was for certain. If a cop knew who she was he would take her in for questioning. An event she did not want to have happen until specific things were in place.

Like checking out Uncle Norton’s wall safe.

If you think you might need to run from your old life, you better figure out a way to get a lot of money into your new life. She had evidence she needed to get rid of. Things that would link her to crimes the cops hadn’t suspected yet. She should have gotten rid of it immediately. First. But no time would be better than right now to raid Uncle Norton’s safe.

When she was a little girl she would never have guessed that her happy little trips to the wonderful Uncle Norton manor were cleverly disguised “business” trips of an unsavory kind. Nor would she have believed that her presence was part of the cover. Little girls do not believe mommy and daddy can be bad or evil. Until she saw the evidence Peter Johnson had obtained against both her mother and father she would not have believed it today. Her mother was an embezzler and both her mother and father had been selling company secrets to a broker. That broker was Uncle Norton.

And who knew how many brothers and sisters she might have from her father the serial fiance who was perpetually engaged to one woman after another. Then just before the wedding date he would disappear never to be seen again.

The other “Uncle” Uncle Pete had known everything about both her parents and had used the information to blackmail her father. Peaches might have let that go except for one small item on the agenda. Her five hundred thousand dollar college fund. The bastard wanted it. Worse, her parents were going to give it too him. Now he could rot in hell. And it was not in her plans to rot along with him.

She somehow knew whenever her mother and father went to Uncle Norton’s at some time during every visit he would venture back into a room and go to his safe. When he returned he always had presents for “the wonderful couple.” He gave her presents too. But they never came from the safe. They were never envelopes full of hot cash.

It was just child’s play that she hid and watched him. It was just a wonderful trick of her mind that she could still remember the combination to this day. But she could remember anything if she wanted too. If only the combination were the same. If he changed it over the years she was out of luck. But why should he change it? No one knew where he went to get the cash. No one knew where the safe was hidden. He always went down the hall and never into the same room twice.

The house itself was huge, and it was an elaborate maze. Designed in such a way Uncle Norton could start out anywhere in the house and quickly and easily wind up in the cash room without anyone knowing where he had gone or how he had gotten there.

Only Peaches knew. And only because she had been a sweet little girl no one noticed. She liked to explore and she liked to hide. At five it was just a fun game. As a teenaged murderer it could still be a lot of fun.

She walked right through the back of the house, past the kitchen where she could hear cleaning noises, and to the room where the safe was concealed. She brought some gloves. It didn’t matter if her fingerprints were all over the house. She could explain that. She was a regular visitor. What she could not explain would be her fingerprints inside the safe. Quickly she slipped them on. She slid the picture aside, opened the safe, looked inside. There were envelopes, of the kind he had given her mother and father, and a nondescript box. The envelopes were empty. She looked inside the box and almost passed out.

Her whole body shook as she emptied the box. Her fingers shook as she re-closed the safe. Her heart pounding, she almost ran out of the house.

© 2016, All Rights Reserved 

Brenda Chiatovich:
–
I created the concept of The Homewrecker series. A girl who has lived such a privileged life she does not even realize she is privileged. Now she must adjust to a world she does not understand and she has to face herself in the process.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
–
Hello. I am Brenda’s daughter. When my grand pop and my mom were deciding on a name for LC’s arch nemesis they chose one of my nicknames, Peaches.
–
In the second novel I appear again, this time as Sara, another of my nicknames.
–
Sara is a fun character based loosely on my personality. Please, it is NOT biographical in any way. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

“So who are we going to kill?” she asked, teasingly. She shook the curls of her dyed blonde hair casually as though it happened without thought, although she had practiced the gesture in the mirror until she had the move, and the expression down perfectly.

They were still naked although time was running out and soon they would have to break up. She was leaned over him, tickling the tips of her nipples on his chest hairs.

“Don’t know yet.”

He wanted to grab her and pull her close. He didn’t like it when she teased him like she was doing. He was unaware she was doing something simply because her body enjoyed it. It never occurred to him she might do something like that. But he did not say anything to her one way or the other. Pretty much everything in his future depended on her. He wasn’t sure if she knew that or not. It was not something he was going to point out to her.

“She will have to be pretty though. We’ll get to that. Soon. She will present herself. Don’t worry.”

The woman above him flounced. “Pretty, pretty, pretty.” She chanted. “So are you going to be cherry popping this slut?”

He laughed. “Maybe. If that would make you want to kill her more. Give you some enthusiasm for your work.”

“You bastard.” She said, yanking out a handful of chest hair. She had the satisfaction of watching him wince fiercely. His manly image of himself would not allow him to openly admit it hurt him.

“Stop that.” He said.

“So why do we have to hunt for a worthy victim? Why can’t you just off the old bag?”

“Careful. You are talking about my wife.” He emphasized the word “are.”

“Oh, aren’t we the prissy one. I can talk about chopping her up and tossing her body parts in a dumpster and you don’t blink. But I call her an old bat and you get all self righteous on me. So tell me. Why don’t we just off your sweet little Mrs. Wrinkle Twat. It would save one hell of a lot of work.”

“Because whenever a married person is murdered the spouse is the first suspect. Too much chance of something going wrong. If they don’t find somebody else to blame they will keep coming back to me. Forever.” He

“Would be simpler.”

“Yeah but dangerous. This way nobody can connect us and nobody will try because when it happens I will have an iron clad alibi.”

“You just make damn sure you don’t really end up in bed with this slut we are going to off or I’ll leave your body right next to hers.”

pulled his lover to him, laughing, but he wasn’t entirely sure she was joking.

© 2016, All Rights Reserved 

Michael Berryman:
–
I am The Old Guy in the family. Brenda’s dad, Tiffany’s grand pop.
–
We all play our parts in this project.

There is no doubt. We cannot do what needs to be done with the old computers we have. They are unsupported for all the things we need to do. 

Finding what we want may take time. Right now we are all very busy with a wedding coming up and other events. 

I am thinking we will go to Fry’s in Sacramento.

Hopefully we will be back underway by the first of next month. 

Brenda Chiatovich:
–
I created the concept of The Homewrecker series. A girl who has lived such a privileged life she does not even realize she is privileged. Now she must adjust to a world she does not understand and she has to face herself in the process.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
–
Hello. I am Brenda’s daughter. When my grand pop and my mom were deciding on a name for LC’s arch nemesis they chose one of my nicknames, Peaches.
–
In the second novel I appear again, this time as Sara, another of my nicknames.
–
Sara is a fun character based loosely on my personality. Please, it is NOT biographical in any way. This is, after all, a work of fiction.

Michael Berryman:
–
I am The Old Guy in the family. Brenda’s dad, Tiffany’s grand pop.
–
We all play our parts in this project.

Hello, Michael here. 

We have reached the end of the first novel. You may wonder, and we have debated, what happens now?

Up until recently I have been a proponent of the traditional form of publishing. 
This is where you submit your manuscript directly to a publisher of hardback, paperback, or to an agent who submits it for you. 

The only alternative was to pay to have your books published through what is known as a vanity publisher. They charged you to print copies of your book.  Then they charged shipping to send them to you. Which meant you were left with a basement full of books you had to figure out how to get rid of. 

I have always been of the opinion that money flows to the author. Never from the author. When it flows from the author you are trapped in a scam.

I am still of that opinion. 

Times change. Technology changes. 

One of the drawbacks to traditional publishing was that some of the best books in the world never found a publisher and were left unrecognized until long after the author’s death — If even then.

Now days there are places on the net where you can publish your book. Where it can be enjoyed by one person or thousands. The best part? You are guaranteed publication and it does not cost you a dime. Not only that the money flows to the author when people buy your book. The cyber publisher collects their commission at the same time. All you have to do is to follow the guidelines and upload to the publisher you choose.

Which brings us to choice. 

I have chosen to publish Brenda’s series, and any other projects I am involved with, through Smashwords – Ebooks from independent authors and publishers 

There are many reasons why I made this choice. I will only discuss the one I know many writers might tend to disagree with. 

Mark Coker the founder of Smashwords decided not to concern himself with copy protection to keep people from stealing your book and reading it for free. And I agree with him. Here is why: Had I not been able, as a child, to have had access to books that were free, or nearly free, I would not have had anything to read. We were poor. Books were only a tenth what they cost now and we still could not have afforded them.

I know that today there are many dedicated fans of Steven King who cannot afford his books off the shelves. They have waited patiently and bought them at yard-sales where they have never paid over a dollar for them. A dollar of which Steven King never saw a penny. 

Yet Steven King is not starving because of it.

Why? 

Because the people who CAN afford to buy his books are doing so. 

I know there is some other kid out there. Just like me. Wants to read a book and doesn’t have a dime. And I don’t want to slow that kid down. 

Copyright 2016, All Rights Reserved.

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

LC woke up, rested. She felt the whole world was ahead of her. She could go back to her normal life. Put all of this behind her. It would just be a memory. A tale to awe her grandchildren with some time in the future. It was the first relaxed minute she had since being arrested at the airport for the murder of a man she didn’t know and only met once.

There were no police in the room. For being in a hospital it was a quiet, normal day.

She asked for a newspaper and it was quickly delivered.

Smiling, she opened it. She expected to find a story on the front page declaring her innocent of all charges. She expected to see Peaches Pardot’s name in big black letters as hers had once been when she was a suspect.

What she saw was the headline:

HOME WRECKER NO LONGER A SUSPECT

The story followed.

Lindsey Carol Davenport, the home wrecker who allegedly was having affairs with several men including William Pardot and Peter Johnson, his best friend, who was recently murdered, was declared no longer a person of interest in the case, police announced this morning.

There was no mention of Peaches Pardot. No mention of any other, or new, suspects. No mention of why she was no longer a suspect.

LC gazed at the paper.

Peter Johnson was a professional blackmailer. William Pardot was a full-time adulterer who had been “engaged” to a string of women, including her. On the side he was an industrial spy. His wife was an embezzler and his daughter was a murderer. But the newspaper passed over all of that as though it were nothing. It concentrated on LC and her reputation.

“And I’m… I’m a home wrecker.”

LC looked at herself in the mirror. “What kind of a future is that?”

This concludes the first novel in The Homewrecker Series.

(C) 2016 All Rights Reserved

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Morgan called in a 10-7b, “off duty, personal business,” as he pulled into the parking lot of “Just Bain Me” beauty salon. His mother, looking every inch the professional owner of the most prestigious beauty salon in town stood waiting next to a cart filled with all the tools necessary to perform her wonders.

“What are you doing?” asked Delavera.

Morgan did not answer. He simply pulled up next to his mother, who was standing with her cart on the passenger side where Delavera sat. Her window rolled down as Mrs. Bain leaned forward, her exquisite smile beaming at Delavera, “My son tells me you would like your hair done in the squad car.”

Delaveral stared at Morgan. First wide-eyed, then snarled. “You. You Gringo.”

“I can always do your hair inside if you would be more comfortable,” offered the unflappable Mrs. Bain.

© 2016 All Rights Reserved

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Peaches Pardot stood outside the hospital room where L.C. Lay in bed. As she did so she heard the news cast. Then watched as Collars walked right past her down the hall.

She knew there were at least two cops still in the room.

Her heart began to beat faster and faster. This was no place to be found and no time to be found here. 

There was only one thing to do now. Get out of the hospital and find a lawyer. A good one, and fast.

Peaches left quickly and quietly.

© 2016 All Rights Reserved

Brenda Chiatovich:
Now you know one reason my daughter’s picture is here. But wait, there is more.

Tiffany Chiatovich Melendez:
So, did you guess? My Mom and my Grand Pop wanted the perfect name for the bad girl in this story. So they picked one of my nick-names, Peaches.
Oh, yes. I have other nick-names, but one will do for now.

Collars had managed to pull his tie so it was straight and get a jacket over his rumpled shirt on the way to the hospital. He was trailed by DeVry and Peters. They all looked dour.

Watching them approach from inside the room gave Morgan a foreboding sensation.

Something was not right and whatever it was it was not good for Morgan. Which in turn meant it might not be good for Delavera, and possibly not good for the girl laying in the hospital bed.

The three marched past the nurses station without looking left or right, although their passage evoked stares of curiosity and wonder from staff and patients alike.

The door of the room had barely opened when Collars spoke to Morgan. “You and Delavera are to go to the squad room and wait there until either I or internal affairs speak to both of you. Is that understood?”

Morgan blinked. Of all the things he might have guessed might happen next, that would have not been one of them.

“Did you,” Morgan found himself hesitating to ask, “listen to the flash drive?”

“You mean this?” Collars held up a plastic bag. Inside was a small flash drive. It looked like it had been stomped on. There was also moisture in it. “This is useless. Nothing can be got from this. Don’t know why you bothered to send it to me.”

Morgan glanced at Delavera. He couldn’t help himself, although he knew what her expression would be. He knew he would see “I told you so” written all over her face. He was wrong and it took him a second to recognize it for what it was. It was his mother’s expression when she said, “You just had to find out for yourself, didn’t you?”

Next he glanced at the girl in the hospital bed, Davenport.

Her eyes were open, her mouth also. She was in pure terror. There was nothing he could do. She stammered out, “He told me he found the confession. Everything would be okay.”

Collars stared at Morgan with pure hatred. “He did, did he?”

His voice was grit when he spoke to Morgan. “Did it strike you at the time there might be some conflict in discussing evidence with the prime suspect? Did it even cross your mind you that you are supposed to be a professional police officer and that you are to conduct yourself as such?”

“This morning that flash drive was in perfect condition.” Morgan snapped, forgetting he was always supposed to be proper and polite to his superior no matter the circumstances. 

“Are you suggesting DeVry did something improper with the evidence?”

Morgan, Delavera, and L.C. looked at DeVry.

DeVry did not look at anyone directly. “I did not look at, examine, or do anything else with the evidence. I simply passed it on as I was instructed to do.”

Morgan shook his head. “No. DeVry did nothing with the evidence other than what he said.”

“What about Wilbur?” asked L.C. “Wilbur was there. He heard her. He was there with me. She kidnapped both of us.”

Collars approached the bed. “Wilbur who?” He was frowning, almost daring her to speak. Every officer on the force had seen Collars imposing presence shake career criminals.

“Wilbur Daggit. Cody Daggit’s brother. He was there. He saw everything.”

“You are good with that. You seem to have a whole playground full of imaginary friends. There is no Wilbur Daggit. Cody has no brother. Wilbur was Cody Daggits middle name. Just as there is no Nathaniel Norman.”

Collars leaned close. “Don’t worry. While you are in prison you’ll have plenty of time to play with all of your imaginary friends. You can even invite some more of them to join you. Until the entire prison is filled with them.”

A uniformed policeman came in from the hall. “You are not going to believe this. Turn on the TV.”

Collars glared at the intruder, but did not say anything while the TV was turned on. The screen showed a dark-haired, pretty, Mexican news anchor speaking into the camera. “Once again, this has just arrived from the offices of Police Chief Collars who attributes its acquisition to the fine police work of officers Lance Morgan and Esperanza Delavera. The first voice you will hear is that of Lindsey Carol Davenport who has been a person of interest in the murder of Peter Johnson. The second voice you will hear is that of an unidentified woman as she confesses to the crime.”

Collars listened to the first three sentences before turning to DeVry and Peters. He settled on Peters. “Call that station and tell them to quit airing that tape. The ‘Unidentified woman’ is underage and they are violating her civil rights.”

Peters nodded and left the room.

L C, Morgan, and Delavera, looked at each other in turn as they all processed the same thought: If Collars had never heard the original flash drive how would he know the age of the person who was on it. L C, although not old enough to drink under modern law was still an adult by law at twenty years old. 

The uniformed policeman was holding a tablet much like Delavera’s in his hand. “Too late to stop it. The full version is on Youtube, complete with her name, Peaches Pardot. They will take it off as soon as they can, but it is already going viral. No one will ever be able to get rid of it now.”

Collars said nothing as he left the room followed by the one uniformed policeman.

DeVry turned to Morgan. “I’m sorry. But you and Collars are a train wreck and I am not getting between you.”

Morgan nodded, pursing his lips. “I understand. You have a wife and children.”

“And a baby on the way. I am looking for another job. If I get one I may be able to help you. Until then I’m out of it.” DeVry followed the path Collars had taken out of the room.

Alone in the hospital room, except for Delavera and Davenport, Morgan looked at his partner. He remembered the old Mexican woman who hobbled in to the room looking uncertainly around until she saw Delavera. He remembered how Delavera had carefully taken her hand and folded it closed as she led the woman out of the room. Morgan knew now she had placed a flash drive in that hand and then guided the woman to safety, not the bathroom. He realized now that his partner had had all the opportunity she needed to make a copy of the original flash drive.

“That was interesting,” Morgan said. “That old lady who couldn’t speak English a friend of yours?”

Delavera shrugged. “Like my gringo husband says about us ‘Damn Mexicans,’ You never know which one of them is a cousin until you get introduced to them.”

Morgan used his chin to point at the news anchor. “That one of your cousins?”

“You will never know unless I introduce you.”

L C lay on the bed, watching them, tears running down her cheek. Even she could not have said exactly what the tears meant.

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