Blood Wine by John Moss Page B

either of them. Goldilocks here is in deep shock. She may have been sedated, but everything’s working fine. I’d feel better getting her to a hospital —”
    â€œNo hospital,” said Miranda.
    â€œâ€” or not. I don’t think she’s in any danger. I don’t think either of them are.”
    â€œI think we’re both in danger,” said Miranda.
    â€œIf someone was trying to kill you — ” said Morgan.
    â€œâ€” we’d be dead.”
    â€œDid you check her bag?” Ellen asked.
    â€œNo,” said Morgan. “What bag?”
    â€œIn the hall,” said Ellen. “It’s not Miranda’s.”
    â€œNot my taste,” Miranda explained.
    â€œAnd I figured it’s not yours, Morgan. Therefore, it must be Miranda’s new best friend’s. It’s blond-appropriate.”
    Miranda smiled.
    Morgan retrieved the bag from the floor of the hall. He brought it back into the living room and set it on the glass-topped coffee table. All three women leaned forward, anxious to see what was inside. Morgan realized this was the first sign the stranger had shown of interest in anything not bottled up in her own skull.
    He pulled out a gun, dangling it carefully from the trigger guard. He sniffed it then set it down gingerly on the glass.
    â€œIt’s been fired,” he said. “Fairly recently.”
    He removed item after item from the bag, setting each on the table in a random display. Mostly it was cosmetics and toiletries. There was a wallet and change purse, both empty. In the shadowy depths at the bottom was a large crumpled-up wad of used tissues.
    Morgan turned to the young woman. “What’s your name?” he asked. They were stunned when she responded.
    â€œI think Michelle,” she said. Her cobalt-blue eyes began to take on personality, as if she were finding her way inside toward the light.
    â€œHow do you know Miranda?” he asked.
    Her eyes flicked in Miranda’s direction but she said nothing.
    â€œWhat happened?” Morgan asked, speaking in a voice intended to project gentle authority. “Where’d you come from, why are you here? What’s your last name, Michelle?”
    She directed a conspiratorial glance at Miranda. “I’m tired,” she said, trying to get up from the sofa. “I’d like to sleep.”
    â€œMe too,” said Miranda, rising and helping the young woman. “Thanks for coming, Ellen. I’ll call you in the morning. Night, night.”
    She began to lead the woman who called herself Michelle into the bedroom.
    Morgan stopped them. “What’s going on?” he said.
    Miranda looked into his eyes, asking for patience. “Will you stay?” she said. “Sleep on the sofa?”
    â€œI think I killed a man,” said the strange young woman.
    â€œWe’ll talk in the morning,” said Miranda.
    She looked at Morgan and shook her head slowly, as if to acknowledge her friend was delusional. Morgan walked Ellen to the door as the other two women went into the bedroom.
    â€œWhat the hell was that?” said Ellen. “She killed someone?”
    â€œI don’t think so, I don’t know.”
    â€œShe’s been through something major. You should get her downtown.”
    â€œYeah. I want Miranda in better shape when we do. It’s not going to change anything, letting them sleep.”
    â€œThey’re not friends, you know, Morgan.”
    â€œI know, but Miranda needs her, and they seem to connect. I’ll be right here.”
    â€œYou want me to stay?”
    â€œNo, I’m fine. Thanks for coming. I’ll call when we get this sorted out.”
    â€œGood luck. You all right?”
    â€œFine, just fine.”
    â€œG’night love,” she said, leaning forward and kissing him on both cheeks. She walked out, pulling the door shut behind her.
    Morgan went back to the glass coffee table and picked