The Makeup Artist

So It Begins

Knock. Knock.

There was a knock heard at the door. Christine finished feeding her children, Edward and Reagan, wiped her hands on a nearby towel, and headed towards the door. Who could be here this early? She thought as she made her way to the door. The door opened to two strapping men.

"Mrs. Haven? Christine Haven?" Inquired one of the men. He was short for a man of his young age but his attitude helped fill in the gaps.

"Yes. How may I help you two gentlemen?" she asked. She turned her head towards her children who were finishing up their breakfast at the table directly in sight of the door.

"Mrs. Haven. We are with the police department. I am detective Smith and this is my partner, detective Varela." He pointed to the other man as they both moved their shirts out of the way to reveal the bronze badge clipped to their hips. "May we come in to ask you a couple questions concerning."

"Please, come in." She motioned towards the living room. The two detectives entered the home. "Don't mind my kids, they are just finishing up before school." She looked at them with a stare that they knew all too well. That glare meant that they were to return to what they were doing and do it quickly.

"You have a lovely home, Mrs. Haven." Announced detective Varela.

"Thank you. My husband doesn't think so, but then again he never had any real taste" laughed Christine.

"Can I get you detectives something? Coffee? Water?" She asked, turning and pointing towards her kitchen.

They shook their heads answering her question. She nodded and proceeded to sit down on the chair facing the couch. "What brings you two here today? My kids didn't do anything, did they?" She could feel the little eyes of her children focused on her. She chuckled a little.

"No nothing like that. Mrs. Haven, do you know a Dayton Starns?" detective smith started off the questioning. He adjusted his suit and looked at Christine.

"The name sounds familiar." She sat and thought for a second. "I wouldn't say I knew him. I had met him at a bar one time maybe about a week ago. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Mrs. Haven, his wife has reason to believe that he is missing and or dead. He hasn't been seen since the night at the bar. And from the looks of it, you," Varela pointed in her direction, "were the last one seen with the victim."

Smith spoke up, "What happened the night you met? Other witnesses had said that he was aggressive towards you?"

She sighed, looked at her folded hands and answered the question. Her tone changed from the lively hostess to a woman embarrassed of the events that might have occurred. "That is correct. He had bumped into me, roughly, spilling my drink all down my dress and instead of apologizing as I was expecting, he blamed me. He said that I was in his way, called me a bitch, and then proceeded to the bar. When I went to confront him about the situation, he slapped me. The bartender had him thrown out. That was the last time I saw him."

The officers looked at one another almost as if confirming what to ask next, then returned to Christine. "Mrs. Haven, did you see Mr. Starns leave the bar?"

"I did. He left alone, but was staggering out the door. He had a lot to drink."

"What makes you say that?" Varela asked.

"I could smell it on him. My father was a drunk and I can smell a boozer from a mile away. He smelt as if he was swimming in a tank of whiskey and bourbon."