The Starr Sting Scale by C S O'Cinneide

Author:C S O'Cinneide [O'Cinneide, C S]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781459744844
Publisher: Dundurn
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

We didn’t get much out of the parents. Yes, their daughter was in “some kind” of a relationship with Tyler Brent. No, they didn’t realize he had another girlfriend, but Kristina thought that Alice was about to break up with him anyway. She was a girl with more important priorities. Yeah, I think, like carving up Tyler’s nuts.

They didn’t know Jessica Mendler or her parents. They didn’t travel in the same circles. I bet they didn’t. They also made it quite clear that their daughter didn’t involve herself with gangs or even with boys who might. Preposterous, Kristina Corrigan said, defending Tyler for probably the first time ever, if only to prevent his character from contaminating the family name. Malone spent a long time digging into that angle, asking for known associates, but she’s wasting her breath. After about fifteen minutes of dicking around, which is about as neutered as Malone’s subpoena, the father says he’s late for a meeting.

“Can you tell me where Alice was last Saturday night?” Malone asks, checking off that box before we go.

“Well, of course, she was here with both of us,” Kristina says, indicating her husband, who’s already risen from the couch and has an ear glued to his phone. “Saturday is family game night. I believe we played Life.” I remember playing that game as a kid, little pink and blue pegs in the cars representing all the family members. I always made my blue-peg husband sit in the back. Something tells me that most seventeen-year-old girls don’t stay home on a Saturday to play The Game of Life. They’re too busy living it.

The lawyer leads us to the door. It’s not exactly a voluntary parade. I notice Alice’s school picture in the hallway and am struck again how much her hazel eyes look like her mother’s.

“I don’t suppose you know anything, Detective Malone, about some damage sustained to my car?”

“No, I don’t,” she says, her eyes sparking again. I guess it’s not just me who has that effect on her. “Have you filed a report?”

“No, I haven’t,” he says. “But believe me, I will.” Then he slams the Corrigans’ door in our faces. If I didn’t want to get away from this house so badly, I’d go back in and strangle him with his designer skinny tie. But at least the blonde kept her head about her. She’s no singing scarlet tanager.

“I can’t believe the nerve of that asshole,” Malone says as we get in the car. She watches her door this time as she opens it. Kristina Corrigan stands guard in the upstairs window, watching us.

“Even if Alice isn’t guilty of something, they’re sure making it look like she is,” Malone says, looking over her shoulder as she puts the car in reverse. “Although it’s hard to believe a girl of that age could have done something so cold-blooded.” She pulls out of the driveway.

I see Kristina Corrigan snap the heavy brocade curtains closed across the window, knowing that cold blood can be inherited just as easily as eye colour.

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