Michaelishious - Vol. 2021

Dec. 10th: Stuck up (pt. 2)

It turned out that I didn't have to bring my French dictionary at all. Ms. LaFayette spoke English fluently. She met at the station about an hour and a half later, and I could immediately see that she was more of the materialistic type. The reason why it took her so long to get here was probably because she spent a lot of time on her appearance. Her makeup was flawless and her blonde hair was styled to perfection, with curls at the bottom, that I guessed weren't natural ones. She was wearing a grey, pinstriped suit jacket and a matching mini skirt, and looked like a model.

"So he liked blondes," I mumbled to myself.

"Pardón?" she said with a distinct accent.

"Uhm... Nothing. Do you know why you are here?" I asked instead.

"Harry, I suppose? He's dead right?"

I raised my eyebrows and studied her facial expressions. She seemed completely unphased.

"And how do you know that?" I questioned, and didn't really know how to react to her indifference.

"Rumors fly faster than speeding bullets in a small town like this," she said with a shrug.
"How did he die anyway? Was he shot?"

I didn't answer that, both because it was too early in the investigation to say for sure, and because of her reaction to not knowing what was important in her statement.

"It was her, wasn't it?" she continued, and seemed to draw her own conclusions. I didn't reply to that either. Instead I kept profiling her behavior just like I did to her bitter enemy.

I didn't share ms. Buckley's opinion. This woman's accent wasn't fake. And after a couple of questions, it was clear that she indeed was French and had moved here four years ago to expand her design company. This was obviously a woman who had a solid economy herself. The insinuation about her going after Mr. Westham's money seemed like a rather weak motive.

It was then I noticed a tiny detail that made Ms. LaFayette's perfect appearance falter.

"Are you naturally blonde?" I asked, and noticed that she suddenly felt uncomfortable. Her legs that had been crossed with her left knee over the other, uncrossed and changed to the opposite. Then she cleared her voice and adjusted one of her three bracelets.

"No," she admitted.
"I had an appointment with my hairdresser two weeks ago, but she had to cancel due to some personal issues. And I don't want anybody else but him touching my hair."

She looked down and seemed embarrassed for some reason.

"Gosh, I can't believe you noticed that," she suddenly burst out, meaning her dark hair roots, and I chuckled. Why were some people so incredibly vain?

"I didn't," I answered honestly.
"But I have my reasons to ask."

She sighed and combed through her hair with well pedicured fingers, and I found myself actually dreading to ask the next question. I'd tried postponing it for as long as possible, but it was quite important to get it documented.

"What kind of underwear do you normally wear?"

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed, and I could totally understand her flustered reaction.

"I mean the brand. Do you ever use underwear from Cosabella?"

"Why on earth would I do that when I have my own design?"

"Just as I thought," I mumbled to myself. Things were starting to make sense.

"One more question before I let you go; do you wear heels like that all the time?"