Dead Politician Society

Chapter 44: Clare

The flowers on Clare’s wallpaper were moving. Or maybe the walls were. She wasn’t sure which hurt more: the vivid blues and yellows as they pierced into her eyes or her cell phone ringing in her ear at way louder than the maximum volume had ever sounded before.

“Hello.” She tried to sound pleasant but was pretty sure she failed.

“Are you alone?” The caller was Cloutier. Of course, because clearly she hadn’t been miserable enough.

“Good morning to you, too.” Her voice was husky. And her throat hurt. She was either getting sick, or she’d smoked too much the night before. Or both.

“You hungover?”

“Maybe.” Clare squinted at the sunlight. Why were the blinds open?

“Can you talk?”

She got up and pulled the blinds shut. Lovely day and all.

“Yeah. I can talk. I’m alone.”

Was she? She glanced around her room, lifted the covers to see if anyone was in bed with her. All clear.

“You’re sure, right? I mean, I’m not calling you a slut or anything, but when I was single and I woke up hungover, I sometimes found a woman in my shower and couldn’t figure out how she got there.”

She lit her first cigarette of the day. Where was her glass of water?

She said, “Please don’t tell me someone else is dead.”

“Nope. Killer seems to have taken a night off. Were you with the professor last night?”

“I don’t think so.” Clare began to recollect pieces of the night before. “I’m pretty sure I’m mad at you.”

Cloutier groaned. “Don’t tell me you went and got drunk because I didn’t pat your head and tell you you’re great.”

It did sound kind of stupid in the painful light of morning.

“Good work, Clare. Keep it up. Knew you could do it. That what you want to hear?”

“I’d prefer it if you meant it, but it’s along the right lines.”

“Fucking hell. I never took a babysitting course.”

“Why did you call?”

She found her glass of water half-full on the milk carton she used for a bedside table. She gulped it down in one go.

“The inspector’s interested in Diane Mateo. You friendly with her?”

“I don’t think anyone’s friendly with her.”

“Then it should be easy to get close. Her alibi for the Ruiz killing doesn’t check out.”

“She wasn’t home studying? I thought her two Bible thumper roommates confirmed that.”

“You judging someone because they’re religious?”

Clare rolled her eyes. “Not judging. Observing and reporting. Sir.”

“Ah, that sounds nice. I could get used to that word. She may have been home. We don’t think her roommates lied. But she wasn’t home all night. According to Jonathan Whyte, she was in the audience when Ruiz died.”

“Why would Diane lie about something so easily contradicted?”

“Right. Why?”

Clare’s bedroom door opened. Kevin walked in. He wore nothing and carried two cups of coffee.

“I have to go.” Clare held up a finger and smiled at Kevin. “The most handsome man in the world has just brought me coffee.”

“Oh, so turns out I was right.”

Clare allowed herself a smile. “Yeah. Turns out.”

“You’re being careful what you say.”

“Yup.”

“Good. Then have fun.”