Head to Head by Linda Ladd

Southern charm. He oozed well and knew it. He was oozing it better with pretty Miki Tudor than he had oozed it with elderly Madeline Jane Cohen. “Believe me, Ms. Tudor, we’re not suggestin’ you had anything to do with this. We just want to find the killer as soon as possible.” His smile was white and winning, his eyes beseeching, his Rhett Butler accent heavily pronounced. Miki visibly relaxed, even dropped her hand and quit fidgeting. Maybe she didn’t like female police officers. Most women didn’t trust their own gender. I sure as hell didn’t. Give me a male friend any day. But then I’d always been a tomboy, so there you go.
    Miki folded smooth, tanned hands atop her white French provincial desk. Fingernails were immaculate, a French manicure, perfectly done. Miki Tudor defined cool elegance and obviously liked French stuff. Framed by a spectacular view of blue water, behind her white sails dotted the lake as entrants practiced for Cedar Bend’s famous Independence Day Regatta, slated for a few days from now. She was a good-looking woman, and I would bet a week’s pay that Miki wore her large, tortoise-rimmed spectacles to de-emphasize her beauty. Under the big lenses, her china-blue eyes looked wary and fatigued. Miki was edgy and trying to hide it.
    Miki could be concealing guilt, but my intuition told me it was more likely frayed nerves and a red-eye from Kansas City.
    “We realize you haven’t had much sleep, Ms. Tudor. Naturally, this is quite a shock to you. Would it be better if we postponed this interview until tomorrow? After you’ve had some rest?”
    The offer surprised Black’s personal assistant big time, not to mention Bud. I ignored his quizzical look and studied Miki’s face. The young woman was incredibly readable. I liked to watch people’s expressions and body language. My instincts were usually right on, and I had enough common sense to listen to my inner voice, as they say. Miki was tired. And now Miki was grateful; her big blue eyes welled up, and she became a weepy poodle. I noted, however, that no tears actually fell. A delicate lace hankie miraculously appeared in Miki’s hand, and she daintily dabbed nonexistent tears away.
    “Forgive me, detectives, I’m just overly emotional. I can’t help it. I am exhausted and thoroughly stunned by all this. Nothing like this happens here at Cedar Bend. I thought it was impossible. And I know Sylvie. We’d become pretty good friends since she’d been coming here. We’re both runners. Last week we ran three miles together every day.”
    She inhaled deeply, breath shaky. She shook her head. Her coiffure didn’t move. She had no wrinkles, not even a frown line. Botox Betty. “I just can’t seem to absorb this,” she said and met my eyes in a show of vulnerability. Okay, I am a skeptical cop, I admit it. I watched her remember her duty to Cedar Bend and Doctor Black. She retreated into narrow-eyed, guard-poodle mode. “We do everything humanly possible, and I mean everything, to protect our guests. Nick insists upon the tightest security, especially with his patients.”
    Nick, was it? Well, well. First-name basis between Doctor Black and girl Friday. Interesting to be sure, but that could mean anything.
    “Man, that’s terrible. Her bein’ your friend and all.” Bud leaned forward, Mr. Earnest. I thought for a moment he was going to reach out and hold her hand, but he didn’t. He said, “But we really need your help today to catch this guy, if you feel up to it at all. Did the victim have any enemies that you know about? Did she mention any problems that cropped up since she’s been here at the lake?”
    “Well, actually, we weren’t that close yet. At least not enough for her to bare her heart about her personal problems. Nick knows her much better than I do, really. He’s just devastated. He could barely talk when I told him what happened.”
    I said, “Did he know anything about Sylvie’s frame of mind the night she