Author’s Note: This was inspired by the movie and novel, Laura, and it takes place in the 40s. Thanks to Tom Collins for the editing. All remaining mistakes are mine.

One Precious Night

By Tinnean

"I was away," I said to the space between the two men who were front of me, then looked from one to the other. There was no need to avoid eye contact. I had been at my country retreat that weekend.

I'd often allowed friends the use of my apartment if I was going to be away for the weekend. No one who knew me would find it surprising.

They might have been surprised that I'd let Deanna Richards stay there, a lingerie model working occasionally for my advertising agency, but they would have shrugged it off. Lacey has such a soft heart, they'd have said.

Wayland Hudsucker, my friend and mentor, was the only one who knew I had ended my engagement to Sheridan Woodward. He was the only one who knew that Deanna Richards was the reason why.

Now Deanna was dead.

I sat on the Queen Anne loveseat, crossed my legs, and tapped a cigarette against the sterling silver case with my initials, L.C. – Lacey Chase. Wayland had given it to me when I'd landed my second big account, he had been my first, and had received a startling promotion. Well, startling for a woman, it was a man's world, after all.

I waited for one of the two men to light my cigarette, expecting it to be Wayland, who sat across from me in his usual chair.

When he made no move to rise, I imagined he was still … displeased … with me for having broken our dinner engagement the previous Friday evening.

Usually I would rush to soothe his ruffled feelings, but after what had happened the previous week, my feelings were ruffled. Didn't they deserve to be soothed? I studied Wayland carefully. He was a very generous friend, but he could also be very unbending in his beliefs of how things should be, as I had come to realize.

The detective came toward me, Wayland's gaze almost reptilian as he watched the lighter flick. I tipped my head forward and touched the end of my cigarette to the flame. "Thank you, Detective Manwaring." I blew out a stream of smoke and looked up at him. Lean, dark, and well built, the type of man many found attractive. He pocketed the lighter, his expression unreadable.

Under other circumstances I might have been intrigued by his looks, by the way he carried himself, but these weren't other circumstances. Detective Manwaring had been assigned the investigation of a murder, my murder.

However, it wasn't I who was killed. Another woman had opened my apartment door to be met by a shotgun blast to the face.

I dropped my eyes and blinked rapidly.

"Your eyes are rather red and puffy, Lacey," Wayland said as he smoothed a hand over the crease in his trousers. "Smoke getting in your eyes? Or … Surely you haven't spent the weekend weeping over that … " He smiled tightly, leaving no doubt he had something derogatory in mind. "Over your former fiancé?"

If I had been willing to settle down with Sheridan, why couldn't Wayland have just been happy for me?

"Allergies, Wayland. You've heard of them, I believe?" He arched his brow at my tone, which was more acerbic than usual.

"At this time of year?" It was mid-August.

My smile became as tight as his had been, "One of the farms near my cottage is harvesting an early crop."

"Odd."

"Let me get this straight, Miss Chase," Detective Manwaring said, drawing my attention away from Wayland, "You spent the entire weekend at your cottage, working in your garden?" The disbelief in his voice and mien told me he was willing to accept neither my innocence, nor that I was being totally honest with him. "And you were unaware of what had occurred in your apartment?"

"Yes, to all your questions."

"It was on the radio."

"As I told you, my radio is broken."

"Convenient."

I drew in another lungful of smoke.

"There's still the newspaper, Lacey," Wayland was in his element. It had been many years since he'd turned that cruel wit on me, and I found I no longer had the ability to hurl it back at him, as I once had.

"You know I don't have one delivered to the cottage, Wayland," I turned my gaze to the detective. "I go away to avoid all that, Detective Manwaring."

"Sure." The blatant disdain in that one word made it obvious that he wasn't in the least sure. "Can your whereabouts be verified?"

I opened my mouth to affirm that of course they could, but had to close it. I swallowed and moistened my lips. I couldn't answer him.

I'd taken a later train than I normally would, whoever might have seen me, wouldn't know me. Since the woman who 'did' for me stocked my cottage earlier in the week, there had been no reason for me to walk to the village for supplies on Saturday. I had no religion to speak of, and so on Sunday hadn't gone to the little church that served the village.

"Verified?" I repeated.

"Yeah. Who saw you? On the train? In the village?"

I stubbed out my cigarette in the ashtray that sat on the piecrust table close at hand, took a handkerchief from the pocket of my shirtwaist, and touched it to my tongue to capture a stray flake of tobacco. I hadn't killed the woman in my apartment, and I had been at my cottage but, heaven help me, I couldn't prove it.

"Why was Deanna Richards in your apartment, Miss Chase?"

"Is that who was murdered?" I studied the bit of linen in my hand, examining the faint smudge of rouge on it. I probably wouldn't be able to wash it out, but I probably wouldn't try very hard.

"Didn't you know?" Wayland looked on with malicious interest. "My dear Lacey, Woodward no doubt brought her here." He'd never cared for any of the men with whom I kept company, but for some reason Sheridan Woodward brought out the worst in Wayland's character. "Lacey finally saw the light, Manwaring, and gave the man his dismissal, which was long overdue in my humble opinion."

"You, Wayland? Humble?"

"But of course." He bowed slightly.

I knew I could never win an argument with him; I tended to get too emotional, as he was wont to tell me. The only reason I had the last word on Friday afternoon was his shock at my declaration that not only would I not be seeing Sheridan again, but I thought it would be best if he and I didn't see quite so much of each other.

I also knew what it took to set off his temper, "You never liked Sheridan, Wayland," I murmured, folding the handkerchief and returning it to my pocket. "Why is that?"

As I'd hoped, he began to enumerate his reasons.

"Sheridan Woodward is a parasite, a cad and a bounder. It's the worst of poor taste for a man to bring his mistress to his fiancée's home … " Wayland was off and running, using cool, educated words to tear into Sheridan's character.

Manwaring watched with exasperation in his eyes. He would have to listen to him; he wouldn't be able to rule out the possibility that my erstwhile fiancé had killed his mistress.

And for the moment, I was spared from revealing that I'd been here in my Fifth Avenue apartment when the lovely, auburn-haired model was shot in the face at point blank range.

I couldn't tell them what had happened after…

~~~~

The doorbell's chimes sounded through my apartment.

I was just putting on my cloche hat, and I glanced impatiently at the ostentatious clock that stood near the doorway, its pendulum swaying sedately to and fro. After my confrontation with my fiancé earlier in the week over his infidelity, and the contretemps with my friend earlier in the day over his part in revealing my fiancé's infidelity, I wanted nothing more than to spend the weekend at my cottage in the country working in my garden, which always helped restore my equilibrium. I didn't have much time if I were to catch my train.

The summons of the doorbell continued. Whoever was at the door knew I was still home; the light from my windows would spill through to the pavement below.

I tucked my purse under my arm and picked up my suitcase. That would give whoever was there the hint that I was on my way out.

I crossed to the door and yanked it open. "Yes?"

"Oh, Miss Chase, I'm Deanna Richards."

"Yes." I recognized the woman who stood there. It was she who pawned the gift I had given to Sheridan.

I could understand Sheridan's attraction to her. She was lovely. Her auburn hair fell in soft, sculpted waves past her shoulders. Her eyes were like violets. Her figure…

I stopped my thoughts right there. It had been a long time since I'd allowed myself to look at another woman in that manner.

"Sheridan isn't here, and I'm about to leave." I stepped into the hallway and started to pull the door closed behind me.

"Oh, Miss Chase!" Her face was pale, and her lashes, long and thick, were spiked and clung together. That was the only sign that she'd been weeping. She was obviously one of those women who was able to weep prettily, unlike me. My eyes became red and swollen, and my cheeks became blotchy. "I came to apologize. I … Please … please let me talk to you!"

I felt drawn to her in spite of myself. She was so helpless. So pretty.

I can't leave her like this in the hall. "Come in." I stepped aside and let her enter the living room, dropping my case by the door.

"Oh, but you were going somewhere, and I'm keeping you!"

"It doesn't matter," I was startled to realize that it didn't, "I can catch a later train. Do you need a handkerchief?"

Deanna searched her cheap purse, something purchased, no doubt, at Woolworth's, then raised those thick eyelashes, "I don't have one." Her mascara was smudged, but for some reason that only made her look lovelier.

I opened my own purse – Wayland had given it to me, a gift for no particular reason, and quite an expensive one – and offered Deanna a handkerchief.

"Thank you," she murmured,. "I must look a fright." She touched it to the corner of her eyes.

I wanted to slide an arm around her waist – god, it looked so tiny! – but instead I just nodded toward the Queen Anne sofa.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'll make you a cup of tea. I haven't eaten yet." I had planned to do that once I'd arrived at my country retreat. "If you're hungry, I can fix us something to eat."

"You … you know how to cook?"

"That surprises you?" I dropped my purse on the loveseat, removed my hat and my coat, and laid them across the back.

"Well … yes. You're an executive with one of the best-known advertising agencies on Madison Avenue! Rumor has it you might even be in line for a vice presidency!"

Rumor was correct. I said nothing about that, however.

"Let's just say Mother made sure I knew how to cook," I smiled wryly and went into the kitchen. Mother wasn't thrilled with my intentions to have a career instead of babies, although she took pains to hide her feelings. She pretended an enthusiasm for her only child's plans, and I pretended to believe her.

While I waited for the kettle to boil, I put together some tiny sandwiches and lectured myself as I cut them neatly into triangles, removed the crusts, and put them onto a platter.

This is the woman who destroyed your engagement, Lacey. No matter how helpless she appears, you have to remember that. And you can't wonder how soft her lips might feel, or her breasts.

Once the Darjeeling finished brewing, I arranged the tea service and sandwiches on the tray, and carried the tray into my living room. Deanna was drifting around the room, studying the various bits and pieces. Wayland had insisted those things were only appropriate for someone in my position.

Someone in my position? That was a laugh. Nine years before I was a wet-behind-the-ears girl with a high school diploma and a bottom-rung job at the advertising agency. I worked pasting together mock-ups for advertising campaigns. Now, I was in line to become the first female vice president in the agency's history, not to mention the youngest.

Deanna turned and gave a slightly wavering smile. "You have such lovely things."

She cradled a Faberge egg in one hand, something from Wayland's collection, which he'd insisted I have. It would give my apartment a touch of elegance, he'd said, and perhaps it did, but it was not something I would choose for myself.

"I envy you." She stroked it gently, and for a second I couldn't take my eyes from her fingers.

I made a noncommittal sound and put the tray down on the piecrust table I'd purchased at Wayland's urging. I frowned at the little table. I never particularly liked it, but to please my old friend I made sure it was in a place of prominence.

I suddenly became impatient with myself. Too often I had acceded to his wishes, denying my own taste in clothes and furnishings, because he was older and therefore better-versed in the ways of the world.

And men. One after another he'd pointed out their foibles, their … weaknesses. 'My dear Lacey,' he would say, 'surely you deserve better than … ' someone whose manner of speech or manner of dress would make him a laughing stock among my friends, someone who would be unable to take me to all the right places, someone who was less than trustworthy.

I'd agreed with him, sometimes reluctantly, but always going along with what he thought was best for me. After all, he was Wayland Hudsucker, bon vivant, author, and raconteur par excellence, but after our quarrel that afternoon I promised myself that was at an end. Wayland's participation in the destruction of my engagement was the final straw.

***

"See what I've found, Lacey!" He placed a sterling silver cigarette case into my hands.

I opened it. "How did you get this, Wayland?" An inscription and a date were engraved on the inside. It was the gift I'd chosen for Sheridan to commemorate our engagement.

"Why, I purchased it from a pawn shop, my dear."

I felt cold and disoriented, as if I were watching the scene of a play from the balcony seats, and I had to sit down. "I don't understand. Sheridan pawned this to get money? But he makes a decent salary. "

"Oh, he didn't pawn it. His mistress did. He gave your gift to another woman, Lacey."

Another woman? "But he loves me. He's told me so."

"And you believed him," he said pityingly.

I jumped up. "I'll call him. He'll explain … No, he's away for the week."

"On the contrary. He returned early. He's having dinner with your Aunt Dorothea. Let's go confront him!" There was such glee in his voice, and for the first time I found myself resenting him.

"He won't be there." I gathered up my coat, hat, and purse, and we left.

Sheridan was there, in Aunt Dorothea's penthouse suite. Both he and she looked guilty.

Oh, Aunt Dorothea! What would Mother say?

"Sheridan only agreed to have dinner with me because you were going to be busy at the office, darling! You know he loves you!"

"Do I? Perhaps once I did, but now … We're through, Sheridan," I declared dramatically, and I tossed the cigarette case at him and swept out, Wayland at my heels.

I spent the next three days mulling it over. Oddly enough, I wasn't as devastated by calling off my engagement as I should have been, and the more I thought about it, the more resentful I grew of Wayland. Sheridan was my fiancé, and granted, he might not be the most trustworthy of men, but Wayland was my friend, and what he had done –

***

Now the woman who had also played a part in the drama that the ruin of my engagement had been sat in my apartment, and I was about to give her tea.

I sighed and filled a Wedgwood teacup, something else Wayland selected, and handed it to Deanna. "Cream? Sugar?"

"Please."

"Help yourself to a sandwich."

"I really shouldn't. I have to watch my weight, you know. The lingerie I model isn't very forgiving."

"On the contrary. It's you who make the lingerie look good." I'd actually toyed with the idea of drawing up an entire ad campaign with her figure in mind. Her longs legs and tiny waist, and breasts that would make such a delightful handful – I moistened my lips and brought my eyes back to her face, in time to see it light up.

"Do I really? It means so much for me to hear something like that, especially from someone like you!"

"Someone like me? Should I take that as a compliment?"

"Oh, yes! You're so elegant and classy. You have such exquisite taste in clothes, and your apartment … It's a dream, Miss Chase!"

"Since we've shared my fiancé, don't you think you can call me 'Lacey'?"

Deanna blushed. "I'm so sorry … Lacey. If I had known … " She moved to sit closer to me. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"You know Sheridan will eventually leave you for me?" Or if not me, then someone else.

"I may be a pretty face, but I'm not stupid. I know the facts of life, Lacey. Men like Sherry will continue to come along, claiming to love me, but they'll always return to their wives or their mothers, or whoever holds the purse strings!"

"Can't you find another line of work?" I couldn't say I agreed with how she chose to live her life.

Deanna bit her lip. Did she realize that action brought attention to her lush mouth? She shook her head. "I had to quit school before I graduated, and now this is all I know." She looked down at her hands, which were knotted on her lap, and smoothed her fingers. "I know I'm going to lose my looks eventually, and then I'll have nothing to fall back on, and sometimes, I get so scared! But I don't know what else to do. I really thought Sherry was telling me the truth when he said he loved me!"

"I'm so sorry, Deanna. If I thought it would do any good, I'd give him to you. However, Sheridan is a very expensive pleasure."

Deanna raised those absurdly long lashes, confusion plain in her beautiful violet eyes.

***

From old Southern money, he never had to work a day in his life; that was until the money ran out. I met him at a soirée my Aunt Dorothea, a well-heeled society matron, had thrown. Tall, dark, and exceedingly handsome, with a drawl that seemed to caress that spot hidden deep inside me and tweak my nipples, I allowed myself to believe his story of how his 'friends' had been embarrassed when he'd gone to them needing a job, and how they'd subsequently avoided him when they'd realized he'd been serious. I hired him on the spot, and our relationship progressed from there

***

I shook my head. Deanna was barely twenty-one. As worldly as she might like to believe herself, she was just a babe in the woods when up against the wolves with whom I dealt on a daily basis, my former fiancé among them.

"Aren't you … aren't you going to marry him?" she asked hesitantly.

"I don't think so. I'd like someone who can be faithful to me for longer than the time it takes his cigarette to burn out."

"I've ruined your life! I'm so sorry!"

"You didn't ruin anything, darling girl." I offered her the platter of sandwiches, hoping she hadn't caught that little slip. "I'll do very well. And I imagine Sheridan will find a wealthy older woman to keep him in the style to which his family let him grow accustomed," possibly someone like Aunt Dorothea, Mother's sister, who had married money, and whose husband had eventually been thoughtful enough to pass away and leave her everything. She seemed quite taken with Sheridan.

Deanna worried the lush fullness of her lower lip with perfect white teeth again, and a surge of desire speared through me. I felt that spot between my thighs grow warm and moist. Surreptitiously, I shifted on the sofa, but that only made matters worse.

A heated flush swept over my cheeks. Not since before I had left home to make my mark in the big city at the age of seventeen had I experienced these forbidden desires. The need to succeed had always made it paramount that I keep that part of my nature hidden, and so I flirted with the men who were my suitors, let my fiancé fondle and kiss me.

It suddenly occurred to me that now, with this woman, I didn't want to deny this part of myself.

"Miss Chase?" Deanna whispered uncertainly.

"I thought we'd agreed that you would call me 'Lacey.'" I put my arm around her shoulders and drew her close, pressing a kiss to the silken strands of beautiful auburn hair.

"Lacey?" Excitement was rampant in the violet eyes gazing so deeply into my own. "Can I… can I kiss you?" She leaned away from me.

"I don't know," I teased gently. "Can you?" Is she afraid I'll strike her? Or throw her out? What kind of men has she dated? Perhaps I can interest her in what a woman has to offer?

Deanna gasped, a tiny sound of breath caught in her throat, and then the most magnificent smile lit up her face. She touched my hair tentatively, her fingers trembling, and I trembled in response. No man's fingers running through my hair had ever felt so erotic.

I leaned forward and brought our mouths into soft contact. The kiss was warm and dry, and lasted mere seconds before then I drew back to observe the surprise in Deanna's eyes.

"Your lips are so soft! I've always wondered … "

"Different from a man's kiss, yes?"

"Yes. I haven't had very many tender kisses," she murmured. "The men I've known just want to get into my panties as quickly as they could. They shove their tongues into my mouth. Sometimes they shove their … their … "

"Their pricks?"

A fiery blush raced to her hairline, but she nodded. "Yes. Their pricks into my mouth."

"Oh, darling girl. No woman has ever kissed you? Touched you?"

She shook her head. "No. I've – I've thought about it, wondered how that would feel. You must think I'm so … I'm such a hick. I – I know how I'd like to be kissed." It seemed to me that Deanna took her courage in both hands. "May I?"

"Please do."

She rested a tentative palm on my breast, and her lacquered nails drew patterns on the material that covered it.

It had been so long since I was handled with such care. Sheridan kneaded my breasts as if they were dough, and I sometimes found bruises. So much for "Southern chivalry."

She leaned toward me at the same time I leaned toward her. Our mouths aligned, and this kiss lasted longer. We were both panting when we drew apart.

I smiled into her eyes and slowly ran my tongue over my lips, tasting the sweetness of her lip rouge, this time on my own mouth. She caught her breath sharply and tried to control the next kiss.

"Not yet," I whispered against her lips. "I want you writhing in my arms, darling girl, desperate to get closer. I want your moans filling my mouth."

She shivered. "Oh, yes!"

The spot between my legs was throbbing, and I grew too impatient to humor her for very long. I slid my tongue past the barrier of her straight, white teeth, delicately licking at her tongue before withdrawing back into my own mouth. She whimpered her need and thrust her tongue after the lure of mine.

The kiss escalated in heat and passion.

I slid my hand beneath her skirt, toyed with the skin just above her nylons, teased higher until my fingers arrived at the notch of her thighs.

She gasped, and I encouraged her to spread her legs further apart to accommodate my questing fingers. She seemed to radiate heat, and she gasped again as I ran my thumbnail over the crotch of her panties. They were becoming damper with each touch. I wanted to feel that honey flowing over her folds, wanted to taste it.

"I'll take care of you, Deanna. You'll let me, won't you, darling girl? Just lie back on the sofa. Yes, like that, and I'll make you feel so good, I promise!"

She reclined, one foot on the floor, the other flat on the seat. "I … I can't believe that we're doing this!"

"What we're doing, darling girl, is making love." I raised her skirt up until it bunched around her waist, and admired the sight before my eyes. Her panties were pale green nylon, trimmed with lace. I reached for the waistband and eased it down over her hips. Her bellybutton was an outie, and I wanted to take it between my lips and nibble on it. Her abdomen dipped into an elegant concavity.

I drew her panties down off her legs, and now her lower body was framed by a lacy garter belt a few shades darker than her panties. The curls that covered her mound were a darker auburn than the hair on her head, and they looked silky.

"I've never felt like this with any of the men who've taken me out." She squirmed on the sofa, needing contact to that sensitive spot. "Please, Lacey!"

"You're so lovely!" I breathed. I parted her curls, leaned forward, and blew gently on the nub of flesh revealed.

"Oh!"

"Do you like that?"

"Ye – yes!"

"Then I think you'll like this even more." I slid my hands under her buttocks and raised her to my mouth. My goal was what was hidden in her folds. My tongue curled around the little nub, as erect as a miniature penis, and tugged lightly. Deanna stiffened and began panting. She thrust herself at my mouth while I alternated between licks and nips. When I finally bit down gently, and thrust two fingers into Deanna's dripping, clinging passage, she gave a keening cry and began to convulse.

Eventually the aftershocks ceased. "You're so kind to me." Tears slid down her cheeks.

"Now, now, my darling girl. None of that." I took the handkerchief, dried her cheeks, and returned it to the pocket of my shirtwaist. Then I kissed her lightly and drew her into my arms.

"Oh, Lacey!" She sighed in boneless wonder. "I never knew! I never had any idea! I've been waiting for this! I've been waiting for so long!"

"And now you've found someone who will give you what you've waited for, who's shown you what it's like."

"Thank you!" She shivered in my arms. "You're so sophisticated and beautiful! I can't believe you'd do that for a little nobody like me!"

I drew back and pressed my fingertips to her lips. "No. I won't listen to you talk about yourself like that. You're the beautiful one, and sophistication can be learned." Wayland taught me that. Oh, there was nothing sexual in our friendship. He was not a sexual person. But Deanna – Perhaps I'd teach her. Perhaps she'd be willing to let me teach her.

I realized there was the possibility that she could be more experienced than she appeared to be, that she could be leading me along as she could have led countless men, my fiancé included, but I didn't believe it.

Somehow, I didn't care.

She touched her tongue to my fingertips, and her eyes widened as she tasted herself on them.

"Please … " she whispered. "Please let me … " Deanna rested her palm on my thigh under my calf-length skirt and eased it up until it pooled around my thighs. She ran a fingernail over the crotch of my panties, making a pleased sound when she realized how damp they had become, and that it was because of her. She smiled and eased a finger under the material.

It had been a very long time since I'd been touched like that. I thought briefly of the girl who had been my best friend in high school. Bethie and I shared a bed whenever our parents allowed us to have a slumber party. Our mothers didn't know that once the door closed and we got under the covers, I unbuttoned the top of my cotton pajamas, and she licked and nuzzled my breasts. She pushed down her pajama bottoms, and I licked and nuzzled the tiny knot of flesh between her thighs, becoming almost drunk on the taste of her.

Deanna's touch was different from Bethie's, but oh, so welcome. The touch drove my excitement higher. I had always known there was more to the act of making love than I had with my fiancé, and now, here was the woman who had tried to steal him, giving me such pleasure I thought I might die from it.

"Do you like this, Lacey?"

"Oh, yes." I wanted, needed more contact, but if she were the novice, it would be better if –

Her thumb pressed down on that little nub, squeezed and stroked it, gathering moisture that made the coils of pleasure wind tighter and tighter. I spread my thighs wider and rocked up, and then brought my hand to my mouth and bit down on it to stifle my cry of abandon.

I lay there panting. As unskilled as she was, she had given me a very satisfying climax.

"Oh, did you like that? Did you enjoy what I did to you?"

"Yes, I did, darling girl." Languidly, I stretched my arms above my head. "What time is it?"

Deanna's expression became very sad. "You're going to leave now, aren't you? You said something earlier about your train … I'd better go." She reached for her panties.

"Stay, Deanna. I – don't need to be anywhere immediately. Spend the night with me. Tomorrow, we'll go to my country place."

"Will we really? And tonight?"

"Tonight, I want you in my bed."

She leaned up and kissed me, a hot, openmouthed kiss, and I tasted her tears.

"Darling girl. Now, I'm going to clean up the living room, and I want you to go into my bedroom and slip into something more comfortable." We were the same height and about the same size, although her waist was tinier than mine was. "There's a negligee hanging in my closet." It was beautiful, but I could never understand why I'd succumbed to its temptation of silk and lace and bought it – it didn't suit my coloring at all – but now I knew. "You'll look fabulous in it, Deanna."

She blushed, something else she did very prettily. "Thank you, Lacey."

She seemed to float out of the room. She would be comfortable in the ultra femininity of my bedroom.

Had Sheridan ever brought her here?

Well, that was immaterial. I would be talking care of her from now on.

I gathered up the tray and brought it into the kitchen.

As much as I wanted her to, Deanna wouldn't be able to move in with me. This apartment only had one bedroom, and people would talk.

Perhaps it was time I started looking for a larger place. Being promoted to vice president would give me the perfect excuse for having someplace larger.

I needed to come up with a logical reason for her moving in with me. I certainly didn't need a roommate to help share expenses. Well, there was plenty of time to think about that.

The doorbell rang.

Who could that be?

Deanna came hurrying into the kitchen. She'd put the matching peignoir on over the emerald green silk and lace negligee, and as I'd suspected, she looked breathtaking in it.

"That must be Sherry!" She worried her lush lower lip.

"Did he know you were going to be here?"

"I – well, I told him I was going to try to see you, to beg you to forgive me. I didn't think it mattered to him." Tears welled in her eyes. "I'm sorry… "

I made a moue, but I was feeling too marvelous to be annoyed. "Why don't you tell him you're not in the mood to see him tonight? God knows he must have done that to you plenty of times!"

Her smile was so lovely it took my breath away. She leaned forward, kissed me lightly, then turned and left the kitchen. I could hear the rhythmic tapping of the mules she wore as she crossed the hardwood floor.

I dried my hands on the dishtowel and hung it up, and leaned back against the sink, sighing happily. This was just the first of so many precious nights we would have together.

I heard Deanna open the door.

And then I heard the gunshot –

~~~~

"Miss Chase? Miss Chase!" Detective Manwaring's sharp tone brought me back to the present.

"I'm sorry, Detective." I took the handkerchief from my pocket and held it tightly. "You were saying?"

He scowled at me. "I was saying I'm going to question your fiancé – "

"Former fiancé," Wayland corrected with some asperity, and Manwaring turned the scowl on him.

"Former fiancé. I suggest you don't leave town."

"Am I a suspect?"

"I suspect no one and everyone."

"How very film noir-ish," Wayland chuckled.

"I don't want you leaving town either, Hudsucker."

"I? You can't suspect that I … "

"As I told Miss Chase, I suspect no one and everyone."

I didn't ask if I'd be getting my peignoir back. It was the last thing that Deanna had worn, and I wanted it, but it would probably strike the detective as ghoulish. I didn't want to think what Wayland would make of it.

At least I had the handkerchief I'd used to dry her tears.

I rose to my feet. "I'll see you both to the door."

"But surely … Lacey dear, surely you can't want me to leave!" Wayland demanded incredulously.

"I'm tired, Wayland, and I've got a headache. Please go home."

He walked out, grumbling under his breath. The detective gave me a final look before leaving.

I closed the door behind the two men and locked it, then went to my bedroom and lay down upon my bed.

~End~