A Taste of Sin by Jennifer L. Jennings, Vicki Lorist

apartment. I’d never seen the inside of Linda’s house, but she’d made a few offhanded remarks about it over dinner the other night; something about her interior decorator buying curtains imported from France.
    “So, does Max live with you?” she asked while looking at a framed picture on my fireplace mantle. It was Max standing in front of the Eiffel Tower.
    “He stays here most of the time, though he has his own place, too. I prefer it that way.”
    “So, how did you guys meet?”
    “His sister Beth used to be my receptionist at my massage studio.”
    “And she fixed you up with her brother?”
    “Not exactly.”
    Linda gave me a funny look so I gave her the short version. “Beth was murdered at my office. I met Max during the investigation and we sort of hit it off.”
    “Murdered?”
    I nodded. “It’s really hard to talk about.”
    “Well, I can imagine it would be.”
    “Anyway,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. “Make yourself comfortable. What kind of drink are you in the mood for?”
    She handed me the vodka. “Just this over ice, please.”
    “Don’t you want some juice to mix with it?”
    She laughed.
    We finally got settled on the couch, drinks in hand, and I had to make a decision. I couldn’t tell Linda the truth, but I wanted to know more about Paul.
    I had yet to master the art of ‘diplomatic manipulation’, a fancy term Carter had come up with to describe the act of using friends and family to gain information. My high school chum would now be the recipient of this untested psychological experiment.
    “So,” I said, trying to act casual. “Paul seems like a nice guy. I was a little surprised to see him at the gym tonight.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “Well, it’s not my place to judge, but if my spouse’s health was deteriorating, I wouldn’t be spending precious time at a spin class.”
    Linda set down her glass and looked at me like she was about to give a lecture. “You know, Sarah, the emotional, physical, and psychological stresses on someone in his position are enormous. Paul needs to take care of himself first in order to take care of his wife properly. You must be able to relate after caring for your mom.”
    “I understand what you’re saying, but I guess I’m of the mind that his wife should be a priority right now.”
    Linda looked squarely at me, a hint of suspicion in her eyes. “What did Emily say to you? Is she upset with Paul for some reason?”
    I looked away, hoping my face wouldn’t reveal the lie. “No, no. She didn’t say anything specific.”
    Linda seemed to ponder my vague response as she sipped her vodka. “So, no progress on finding her brother?”
    “Benjamin is a hard man to track down.”
    “Well, what has Emily told you about him?”
    “Just his name. Benjamin Andrew Bradshaw. It’s not going to be easy with so little to go on. Have you ever met him?”
    “Only once. He showed up at their wedding in Hawaii, uninvited.” Linda shook her head. “He made a scene. It was bad.”
    “What happened?”
    “It’s not really clear what his motivation was, but he pissed on their wedding cake.”
    I almost spilled my wine. “Excuse me? Did you say he urinated on their wedding cake?”
    She nodded.
    I had never heard anything so absurd. “Did you see him do it?”
    “I witnessed the whole thing. He whipped out his flaccid little wonky and signed his name on the vanilla frosting.”
    I stifled a laugh. “Was he shit-faced?”
    “Oh yeah.”
    “Well, I can certainly see why Emily isn’t fond of him.”
    Linda took another sip of vodka and her expression changed. “Did you say his last name was Bradshaw?”
    “Yeah, why?”
    “I thought Emily told me her maiden name was Bradley. Anyway, I probably misheard. Linda’s eyes sparkled suddenly, as if she was having some kind of epiphany. “Say, why don’t you let me help you find him? I could be your investigative assistant, but you won’t have to pay me. And any information I find,