𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝙾𝚝𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 | ONC 2024

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎

The interrogation room was dank, cold, windowless, and quite frankly the ugliest room Marcella Montgomery had ever seen. Four gray walls, a cheap faux wooden table, and a very hard, very uncomfortable chair. A chair not fit for servants. Yet here she sat, in her Bloomingdale's spring dress and matching crescent hat, her bum tingling due to the unrelenting hard surface upon which it perched. Her skin crawled at the very thought of this chair's past occupants, but what could she do? Until Officers Marlowe and Spade returned and presented their ridiculous ‘evidence’ and asked their ridiculous questions, she was stuck.

What would her husband say if he knew she'd been brought in for questioning by the police? And for something as tawdry as a murder, no less! She shuddered to think. Jefferson Montgomery was not a forgiving man.

As the seconds ticked by, Marcella huffed in impatience. Why on earth were the police under the impression that she'd had anything to do with Camilla Otis murdering her lover? Camilla had lovers behind her husband's back all the time. (Nearly all the Book Club ladies did.) When she tired of one, she threw him back to sea and fished for another. Always the same routine. So, what had possessed her to shoot this one? And again, why did the police think Marcella was somehow involved?

Marcella smoothed the pad of her thumb across each of her manicured red fingernails. A nervous habit. She must stop it.

There had been a moment, one horrible moment, when she'd first come through the door of Delmonico's and noticed the two dashing police officers, that Marcella had thought they were there for another reason. A very different reason. A sinister reason that had nothing to do with Camilla Otis, some pretty boy likely ten years her junior, or a hidden revolver. In that moment, Marcella's heart had dropped into her stomach. But then, it turned out she had nearly fainted for nothing.

No one knew about that. And no one ever would. It was safely buried in the past.

Marcella sighed loudly and shifted on the uncomfortable chair. The cheeks of her bum had long since gone numb. What in the hell was taking those officers so long? Where did they have to go to retrieve their so-called ‘evidence’? China?

Just as the dank smell and the silence were beginning to become too much, the door burst open and Officers Marlowe and Spade marched through, practiced smiles on their inconveniently handsome faces. Marlowe carried a thin, red file folder in his hand.

“Mrs. Montgomery, sorry to keep you waiting,” Officer Marlowe announced, his jovial tone of voice suggesting that he wasn't sorry in the least. He actually sounded rather pleased with himself — a fact that irked Marcella to no end. “Thanks for your patience.”

“I wasn't aware I had any say in the matter,” Marcella clapped back, crossing her arms.

“Comfortable?” Officer Spade asked. His smirk told her he already knew the answer. “Can we get you some water? Coffee? A doughnut?”

“How about a cushion for this wretched chair?” Marcella snipped. “Was it made specifically for discomfort? It's not fit for a Vietnamese beggar!”

“Spade, do we have any chair cushions available?” Officer Marlowe asked, turning to his partner with an exaggerated expression of inquisition.

“Fresh out,” Officer Spade replied, snapping his fingers in mock dismay. He turned to Marcella. “Ain't that just the luck. Apologies, Your Majesty.”

“Your lack of professionalism is unrefined and not the least bit charming,” Marcella informed them. “Now, can we get on with this farce? I do have other places to be today.”

Marlowe and Spade shared a look. They didn't quite smirk at each other, but the gleam in their eyes spoke volumes. These two men clearly went way back. Perhaps they'd been stationed together during the war. Their erect posture, athletic physiques, and comfort in their uniforms screamed ‘ex-soldier.’ Marcella could tell at a glance that they'd both served.