The Velvet Red
By the end of the night, Jean, Scott, Logan, Ororo, Rogue, and even Remy had gathered at the club while the police wrapped up the investigation. Logan had pulled the chairs from atop a party table on floor for the six to sit at until Warren showed up. He had went to visit a friend in Brooklyn for a few days the day before, and when Jean called him and told him the bad news, he told everyone to stay right there, he was on his way.
The six had been gathered at the club the whole day, some crying, some staying solemnly silent, but all grieving in their own way for their past friend. Rogue sat cuddled against Remy at the bar, the Cajun whispering soothing things in his girlfriend's ear. They had been in somewhat of a fight since the night Remy swung at that kid about a week ago. He revealed to her that sometimes, when he got off early from work, he would come up to the club and standby, making sure nothing was happening that shouldn't. Rogue had been infuriated at first, disgusted at his lack of trust. Remy didn't plead for forgiveness or even yell back, he simply explained to her that it wasn't her he didn't trust, it was the fellows like Bobby. He knew how some men were, and some did not take no for an answer. He almost said, "Ask 'Ro," but thankfully held his tongue. There were certain limits Remy dare not cross with his sassy Mississippian.
All the same, when Rogue came to him with tears in her eyes, Remy had been willing to shed blood. But this time it wasn't that easy- a friend of hers was dead, and it upset Rogue, therefore it upset him, too. Needless to say, their little dispute was wordlessly ended when Remy sacrificed the entire day to stand by and hold her, making sure he was there for anything she needed.
Jean hopped over the bar and fished below the counter, retrieving the necessary items to mix a pina colada, Betsy's favorite. She whipped one up for everybody, and they toasted appropriately to their friend, telling her not to cause too much trouble up there. Jean then crawled back over the counter and resumed her place in Scott's arms.
When she'd first heard the news, Jean hadn't even the strength to walk, and so Scott had supported her in getting into the club. Every once in a while, they exchanged hugs and comforting words, then the periods between touching and consoling grew fewer and fewer until finally, Jean had nestled permanently in Scott's strong, protective embrace, burying her face in his chest and crying occasionally. They clung to each other for support all day.
Scott wished the first time she found a place in his arms could have been under better circumstances, but he knew now was not the time to think of him self. She was probably in so much anguish right now, she couldn't even think, but Scott wished he could hold her against him forever. No, he thought to himself. This is not the time, nor the place. She's married, idiot. Married... Scott banished his selfish thoughts and focused again on the grief permeating the air, not on the feel of Jean's warm body against his.
Jean wished her husband would hurry up. Now more than ever his precious club needed him, and God only knew what he was doing...or who. Warren knew full well Elisabeth had been one of her dearest friends, and yet whom was she gaining love and support from in her time of agony? Scott Summers; this man got better everyday.
Logan did not like this Summers kid one bit. He didn't trust him; hell, he didn't even like him. The subtle and quiet were always the most dangerous. Logan knew he was just trying to get in Jean's pants, and so help him God, if he even touches her, or Ororo, or Rogue, he'll kill him with his bare hands. He radiated a bad vibe, the Canadian decided, a vibe very similar to the one Warren Worthington let off. Jean had assured Logan time and again that everything was fine between her and her husband, but Logan's instincts knew better. Not only did Logan suspect Warren was sleeping around, he even toyed with the idea that the bastard hit her once in a while, too.
Logan sighed. Oh well. He needed proof before he went around beating everybody; he'd just have to be patient. Idly, Logan turned from the scene of Jean and Scott to Rogue and Remy. Now this Remy guy, Logan liked...well, as close as Logan got to liking anybody. He obviously cared a lot about Rogue; it was plain as day. Logan had even been secretly rooting for the swamp rat when he pulled that punch on Drake. Logan had seen the kid grope Rogue, but he decided to take his sweet time getting over there, knowing Remy would settle it better than he would, seeing as how it was his woman being touched. No one ever fights like a man that's fighting for the woman he loves. 'Good,' thought Logan. 'One less problem I have to fuck around with.'
"Oh my God," Warren's voice made everyone jump as he came rushing through the club's entrance, flinging his coat across the back of a chair. He immediately made his way to Jean, who had by now pulled away from Scott's hold, but she knew she'd been too late. No doubt Warren had seen the two cuddling. He didn't seem to mind, though. "I got here as fast as I could," he continued, wrapping his own arms around her waist and tucking her head under his chin. "Are you alright?" he breathed, clutching her tighter. "Jesus, I was so worried."
Jean, a bit confused at his display of concern, nodded dumbfounded against his neck. Warren let out a sigh of relief, "That's good." He extended his right hand behind her back to Scott, offering him to take it. Scott tentatively shook it. Warren's grip was firm and sincere. "Thank you for staying with her." He said simply, and turned to everyone else. "Is everyone okay?"
They nodded, exhausted. "Ah just can't believe it," Rogue choked, fighting back a fresh batch of tears. "Ah mean, Ah just can't believe it."
"Nor can I, my friend." Ororo confirmed, shaking her head despairingly.
Rogue ran a hand through her russet strands, trying to piece it all together as a cop scurried before her with a pad of paper and pen in hand. "Ah mean Ah really don't believe it. Ah can't imagine Betsy committing suicide; it just doesn't add up."
"I know what you mean," Jean added. "She loved life- she was so passionate. She would never throw it all away. It just wasn't like her."
They all nodded silently and prayed to whatever deity they believed in for endurance to cope. After a few moments of good-byes, the group dispersed.
**
At home, Ororo decided to kill the rest of the night contemplating and crying on her window balcony. She closed her eyes as a breeze caressed her sensuous body, rejuvenating her. She had many things on her mind, sorrow for Betsy mainly, but no matter what, she found herself thinking back on Logan more and more often. She and him were very close friends, sharing each other's company often and pillow occasionally. They hadn't had one of their spontaneous 'flings' in weeks now, but that's not to say another one wasn't in store- hence the word spontaneous.
But tonight she mostly sympathized with him. Not exactly pity, she knew Logan wouldn't want anyone's pity, but she could only imagine what he must be going through with all of this. Logan made it clear he cared very much for each and every one of the women. Now one was dead, and there was no one he could go and mangle for it, because it was by her own hand. Ororo sighed inwardly, swallowing back tears. For a fleeting moment, the African beauty wondered if Logan had ever had more than just protective feelings for Betsy, or if she for him, or if they secretly had been carrying something on. No, Ororo scolded her self. This is far from an appropriate time to delve into personal opinions and gossip. How could she disrespect one of her best friends like that? Well, it wouldn't necessarily be disrespectful if it were true, right?
**
Jean sat up in bed thinking deeply about a man, and for the first time in a long time, this man wasn't Scott Summers, it was her very own Worthington. The two had been almost silent on the ride home. He fiddled nervously with anything he could get his hands on, first his car keys, then the mail, then his own blond locks.
From their bed she heard him rinse the sink out after brushing his teeth and open the bathroom door into the bedroom. He took a seat next to her on the bed, on top of the sheets, one leg folded beside him, the other swinging down on the bed. She clutched and let go of the comforter her legs were nestled under, just barely standing the silence. Finally, she turned to face Warren and started to talk, but he had done so at the exact same time. They chuckled nervously for a second.
"Go ahead," he prompted. She shook her head.
"No, you."
He nodded and swallowed hard, staring intently at her face as if he were trying to memorize every pretty feature. Finally, he choked out, "Jean, I...I was so afraid you had been hurt." His voice was raw with thick emotion. "I mean, they...they called me and told me there had been a death... a suicide. Something inside of me just fell. I died, Jean. I was so afraid I had lost you." In one swift motion, he clasped her hand against the left of his chest. "I swear, love, my hear broke. And then, when I saw you, like magic, I was a whole man again." Tears had formed in his eyes and Jean was suppressing a few of her own, too. He looked down, a bit ashamed. "I know it must sound...corny, but that's when I realized that I really would go crazy if I ever lost you. I need you."
Jean lost her self in his endless eyes. They were begging her, begging her to forgive, forgive for everything. Jean cupped his face and brought it very close to her own, bringing her self up on her knees. "I love you, Warren." She whispered simply.
They held each other like this for a very long time, just breathing each other in, and crying with each other. Finally, Warren decided they should get to sleep, and Jean consented. She was consumed with joyous shock. He didn't persuade her or threaten her to make love or go down on him as a 'returning favor', even after such an intimate moment. He simply suggested they sleep, and they did, with Jean curling up to him this time. And for the first time in a long time, albeit amidst the sharp pain of Betsy's passing, Jean fell asleep content.
**
Rogue had opted for sleep the moment she walked through her and Remy's apartment door. She was tired as "all hell" and wanted nothing more than to "curl up in bed and sleep for an eternity and three days."
Remy tucked her in and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead for good measure. He pondered feeding his starving stomach, but couldn't bring him self to let her out of his sight. He knew Betsy hadn't committed suicide; he just knew. Cajuns are born with a sense of knowing, thieves are born with a sense of knowing, a Cajun thief, well, you might as well stake your life, and Remy KNEW Betsy did not commit suicide. The problem was, he didn't know who killed her, and that put him on edge, to say the least. He was definitely uncomfortable with Rogue working for a joint where a murderer ran loose. He was going to have to keep close tabs on the place, even after his southern belle made it very clear she was against him, what did she say? "Watching over her like a two year old?"
Oh well, Remy thought. She doesn't like it, too bad. I don't want to be the one getting a call at work telling me the woman I love is lying cold-blooded in a dressing room, bottle of pills in her fist...or in an alley, naked. Remy shuddered and banned the thoughts from his head. No way, he thought firmly. Never.
He stole another glance at her as she stirred slightly in her sleep. He brushed a streak of snow-white from her eyes and kissed her full lips once more. "I love you, chere." He whispered in her ear, and sat back to watch her some more.
**
The sun seeped over the horizon, spilling red and orange over the city. Warren adjusted his tie in front of the mirror before turning to head out the door. Before he left he couldn't help but take time to gaze at his wife. She slept soundly in their bed, her head lolled to one side as her hair scattered onto the pillow in a halo of passionate crimson. As much as he wanted to stay, to touch her velvety skin, to run his fingers through her mane of stunning red, to kiss her cherry pout, he refrained. He would be late, and he had an appointment.
He crossed one leg over the other, balancing his right ankle on his left knee. The chair was cheap, with black plastic upholstery- the kind that made noise when you breathed heavily. Warren despised being in a place like this, but it had to be done, for Betsy.
"So, Mr. Worthington, what can we do for you?" Guy Marks was a regular customer of Warren's. He came down to the club every other Friday, even went so far as to sleep with one of his under-age strippers, which was strictly off limits. Warren couldn't recall her name at the moment, some kid that had come wandering into the place looking for work. Cookie? Whiskers? She had a nice body though, for seventeen, so he gave her a shot, even though he wasn't really crazy about hiring kids, but damn she could move those little hips of hers. Katie? Candy? Especially when she danced. Man did she know how to work her stuff. It was unfortunate Warren had to fire her, because it was obvious with a little more training she could have been as good as Ororo or Jean or Betsy. Kitty! That was it, Kitty Proud. Or something like that.
Warren did remember Guy sleeping with her, though, and therefore ruining her chances of being a permanent Red. He fired her on the spot, reminding her he had warned her when she first started that he was well aware she was only seventeen, and knew it was illegal to hire her, but he was doing her a favor- don't screw it up. But the stupid cunt couldn't keep her legs closed, no matter what she said about pressure or whatever, she could have gotten him arrested. And he wasn't too happy with Guy either, but the man paid well so he let that one slide.
Besides, Warren knew Guy was the head of something NYPD, a head detective honcho guy, or something. His services could prove useful, Warren decided, and he was right.
Which is why he was sitting in Guy Marks' office today. "I'm sure you've heard of what's taken place at my club," Warren began.
"Yeah," Guy sat straighter, "Sorry about that man."
He nodded gravely. "It's certainly a tragedy, but I need a favor."
"Hey, Warren, anything, just say the word."
"Look into this a little more."
Guy crinkled his brows. "What the case? All wrapped up: suicide. Autopsy's results come in later today or tomorrow, but it was petty clean cut."
"That's the thing, Guy. I don't think she committed suicide at all."
The detective nodded, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger. "And why's that?"
Warren shifted uncomfortably. "Because Guy, Betsy told me something a few nights before her death, something I wasn't supposed to tell anybody."
He shrugged. "What?"
"She said she was pregnant, and her lover wanted her to get rid of the baby, but she did not. She wanted to keep it, Guy. She said it was a one time thing, a stupid mistake, but it left her pregnant and she wanted to keep it."
Guy's eyes got wide. "Warren why didn't you say anything yesterday when we questioned you?"
"Because she didn't want me to tell a soul, not a one, and I thought it disrespectful to even utter the words in front of everyone at the club. I did it for her."
Guy nodded, knowing full well Warren was a man that could be trusted. "Alright, did she tell you who the guy was?"
"Yes, actually, she did." Warren replied quickly.
Guy flipped to a clean page in his notebook. "Go ahead."
"R-E-M-Y L-E-B-E-A-U. Remy Lebeau."
AUTHOR SAYS:
Dun Dun DUN! EEP!
Where do YOU think it's headed? And the new stripper will be announced in the next chapter.
By the end of the night, Jean, Scott, Logan, Ororo, Rogue, and even Remy had gathered at the club while the police wrapped up the investigation. Logan had pulled the chairs from atop a party table on floor for the six to sit at until Warren showed up. He had went to visit a friend in Brooklyn for a few days the day before, and when Jean called him and told him the bad news, he told everyone to stay right there, he was on his way.
The six had been gathered at the club the whole day, some crying, some staying solemnly silent, but all grieving in their own way for their past friend. Rogue sat cuddled against Remy at the bar, the Cajun whispering soothing things in his girlfriend's ear. They had been in somewhat of a fight since the night Remy swung at that kid about a week ago. He revealed to her that sometimes, when he got off early from work, he would come up to the club and standby, making sure nothing was happening that shouldn't. Rogue had been infuriated at first, disgusted at his lack of trust. Remy didn't plead for forgiveness or even yell back, he simply explained to her that it wasn't her he didn't trust, it was the fellows like Bobby. He knew how some men were, and some did not take no for an answer. He almost said, "Ask 'Ro," but thankfully held his tongue. There were certain limits Remy dare not cross with his sassy Mississippian.
All the same, when Rogue came to him with tears in her eyes, Remy had been willing to shed blood. But this time it wasn't that easy- a friend of hers was dead, and it upset Rogue, therefore it upset him, too. Needless to say, their little dispute was wordlessly ended when Remy sacrificed the entire day to stand by and hold her, making sure he was there for anything she needed.
Jean hopped over the bar and fished below the counter, retrieving the necessary items to mix a pina colada, Betsy's favorite. She whipped one up for everybody, and they toasted appropriately to their friend, telling her not to cause too much trouble up there. Jean then crawled back over the counter and resumed her place in Scott's arms.
When she'd first heard the news, Jean hadn't even the strength to walk, and so Scott had supported her in getting into the club. Every once in a while, they exchanged hugs and comforting words, then the periods between touching and consoling grew fewer and fewer until finally, Jean had nestled permanently in Scott's strong, protective embrace, burying her face in his chest and crying occasionally. They clung to each other for support all day.
Scott wished the first time she found a place in his arms could have been under better circumstances, but he knew now was not the time to think of him self. She was probably in so much anguish right now, she couldn't even think, but Scott wished he could hold her against him forever. No, he thought to himself. This is not the time, nor the place. She's married, idiot. Married... Scott banished his selfish thoughts and focused again on the grief permeating the air, not on the feel of Jean's warm body against his.
Jean wished her husband would hurry up. Now more than ever his precious club needed him, and God only knew what he was doing...or who. Warren knew full well Elisabeth had been one of her dearest friends, and yet whom was she gaining love and support from in her time of agony? Scott Summers; this man got better everyday.
Logan did not like this Summers kid one bit. He didn't trust him; hell, he didn't even like him. The subtle and quiet were always the most dangerous. Logan knew he was just trying to get in Jean's pants, and so help him God, if he even touches her, or Ororo, or Rogue, he'll kill him with his bare hands. He radiated a bad vibe, the Canadian decided, a vibe very similar to the one Warren Worthington let off. Jean had assured Logan time and again that everything was fine between her and her husband, but Logan's instincts knew better. Not only did Logan suspect Warren was sleeping around, he even toyed with the idea that the bastard hit her once in a while, too.
Logan sighed. Oh well. He needed proof before he went around beating everybody; he'd just have to be patient. Idly, Logan turned from the scene of Jean and Scott to Rogue and Remy. Now this Remy guy, Logan liked...well, as close as Logan got to liking anybody. He obviously cared a lot about Rogue; it was plain as day. Logan had even been secretly rooting for the swamp rat when he pulled that punch on Drake. Logan had seen the kid grope Rogue, but he decided to take his sweet time getting over there, knowing Remy would settle it better than he would, seeing as how it was his woman being touched. No one ever fights like a man that's fighting for the woman he loves. 'Good,' thought Logan. 'One less problem I have to fuck around with.'
"Oh my God," Warren's voice made everyone jump as he came rushing through the club's entrance, flinging his coat across the back of a chair. He immediately made his way to Jean, who had by now pulled away from Scott's hold, but she knew she'd been too late. No doubt Warren had seen the two cuddling. He didn't seem to mind, though. "I got here as fast as I could," he continued, wrapping his own arms around her waist and tucking her head under his chin. "Are you alright?" he breathed, clutching her tighter. "Jesus, I was so worried."
Jean, a bit confused at his display of concern, nodded dumbfounded against his neck. Warren let out a sigh of relief, "That's good." He extended his right hand behind her back to Scott, offering him to take it. Scott tentatively shook it. Warren's grip was firm and sincere. "Thank you for staying with her." He said simply, and turned to everyone else. "Is everyone okay?"
They nodded, exhausted. "Ah just can't believe it," Rogue choked, fighting back a fresh batch of tears. "Ah mean, Ah just can't believe it."
"Nor can I, my friend." Ororo confirmed, shaking her head despairingly.
Rogue ran a hand through her russet strands, trying to piece it all together as a cop scurried before her with a pad of paper and pen in hand. "Ah mean Ah really don't believe it. Ah can't imagine Betsy committing suicide; it just doesn't add up."
"I know what you mean," Jean added. "She loved life- she was so passionate. She would never throw it all away. It just wasn't like her."
They all nodded silently and prayed to whatever deity they believed in for endurance to cope. After a few moments of good-byes, the group dispersed.
**
At home, Ororo decided to kill the rest of the night contemplating and crying on her window balcony. She closed her eyes as a breeze caressed her sensuous body, rejuvenating her. She had many things on her mind, sorrow for Betsy mainly, but no matter what, she found herself thinking back on Logan more and more often. She and him were very close friends, sharing each other's company often and pillow occasionally. They hadn't had one of their spontaneous 'flings' in weeks now, but that's not to say another one wasn't in store- hence the word spontaneous.
But tonight she mostly sympathized with him. Not exactly pity, she knew Logan wouldn't want anyone's pity, but she could only imagine what he must be going through with all of this. Logan made it clear he cared very much for each and every one of the women. Now one was dead, and there was no one he could go and mangle for it, because it was by her own hand. Ororo sighed inwardly, swallowing back tears. For a fleeting moment, the African beauty wondered if Logan had ever had more than just protective feelings for Betsy, or if she for him, or if they secretly had been carrying something on. No, Ororo scolded her self. This is far from an appropriate time to delve into personal opinions and gossip. How could she disrespect one of her best friends like that? Well, it wouldn't necessarily be disrespectful if it were true, right?
**
Jean sat up in bed thinking deeply about a man, and for the first time in a long time, this man wasn't Scott Summers, it was her very own Worthington. The two had been almost silent on the ride home. He fiddled nervously with anything he could get his hands on, first his car keys, then the mail, then his own blond locks.
From their bed she heard him rinse the sink out after brushing his teeth and open the bathroom door into the bedroom. He took a seat next to her on the bed, on top of the sheets, one leg folded beside him, the other swinging down on the bed. She clutched and let go of the comforter her legs were nestled under, just barely standing the silence. Finally, she turned to face Warren and started to talk, but he had done so at the exact same time. They chuckled nervously for a second.
"Go ahead," he prompted. She shook her head.
"No, you."
He nodded and swallowed hard, staring intently at her face as if he were trying to memorize every pretty feature. Finally, he choked out, "Jean, I...I was so afraid you had been hurt." His voice was raw with thick emotion. "I mean, they...they called me and told me there had been a death... a suicide. Something inside of me just fell. I died, Jean. I was so afraid I had lost you." In one swift motion, he clasped her hand against the left of his chest. "I swear, love, my hear broke. And then, when I saw you, like magic, I was a whole man again." Tears had formed in his eyes and Jean was suppressing a few of her own, too. He looked down, a bit ashamed. "I know it must sound...corny, but that's when I realized that I really would go crazy if I ever lost you. I need you."
Jean lost her self in his endless eyes. They were begging her, begging her to forgive, forgive for everything. Jean cupped his face and brought it very close to her own, bringing her self up on her knees. "I love you, Warren." She whispered simply.
They held each other like this for a very long time, just breathing each other in, and crying with each other. Finally, Warren decided they should get to sleep, and Jean consented. She was consumed with joyous shock. He didn't persuade her or threaten her to make love or go down on him as a 'returning favor', even after such an intimate moment. He simply suggested they sleep, and they did, with Jean curling up to him this time. And for the first time in a long time, albeit amidst the sharp pain of Betsy's passing, Jean fell asleep content.
**
Rogue had opted for sleep the moment she walked through her and Remy's apartment door. She was tired as "all hell" and wanted nothing more than to "curl up in bed and sleep for an eternity and three days."
Remy tucked her in and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead for good measure. He pondered feeding his starving stomach, but couldn't bring him self to let her out of his sight. He knew Betsy hadn't committed suicide; he just knew. Cajuns are born with a sense of knowing, thieves are born with a sense of knowing, a Cajun thief, well, you might as well stake your life, and Remy KNEW Betsy did not commit suicide. The problem was, he didn't know who killed her, and that put him on edge, to say the least. He was definitely uncomfortable with Rogue working for a joint where a murderer ran loose. He was going to have to keep close tabs on the place, even after his southern belle made it very clear she was against him, what did she say? "Watching over her like a two year old?"
Oh well, Remy thought. She doesn't like it, too bad. I don't want to be the one getting a call at work telling me the woman I love is lying cold-blooded in a dressing room, bottle of pills in her fist...or in an alley, naked. Remy shuddered and banned the thoughts from his head. No way, he thought firmly. Never.
He stole another glance at her as she stirred slightly in her sleep. He brushed a streak of snow-white from her eyes and kissed her full lips once more. "I love you, chere." He whispered in her ear, and sat back to watch her some more.
**
The sun seeped over the horizon, spilling red and orange over the city. Warren adjusted his tie in front of the mirror before turning to head out the door. Before he left he couldn't help but take time to gaze at his wife. She slept soundly in their bed, her head lolled to one side as her hair scattered onto the pillow in a halo of passionate crimson. As much as he wanted to stay, to touch her velvety skin, to run his fingers through her mane of stunning red, to kiss her cherry pout, he refrained. He would be late, and he had an appointment.
He crossed one leg over the other, balancing his right ankle on his left knee. The chair was cheap, with black plastic upholstery- the kind that made noise when you breathed heavily. Warren despised being in a place like this, but it had to be done, for Betsy.
"So, Mr. Worthington, what can we do for you?" Guy Marks was a regular customer of Warren's. He came down to the club every other Friday, even went so far as to sleep with one of his under-age strippers, which was strictly off limits. Warren couldn't recall her name at the moment, some kid that had come wandering into the place looking for work. Cookie? Whiskers? She had a nice body though, for seventeen, so he gave her a shot, even though he wasn't really crazy about hiring kids, but damn she could move those little hips of hers. Katie? Candy? Especially when she danced. Man did she know how to work her stuff. It was unfortunate Warren had to fire her, because it was obvious with a little more training she could have been as good as Ororo or Jean or Betsy. Kitty! That was it, Kitty Proud. Or something like that.
Warren did remember Guy sleeping with her, though, and therefore ruining her chances of being a permanent Red. He fired her on the spot, reminding her he had warned her when she first started that he was well aware she was only seventeen, and knew it was illegal to hire her, but he was doing her a favor- don't screw it up. But the stupid cunt couldn't keep her legs closed, no matter what she said about pressure or whatever, she could have gotten him arrested. And he wasn't too happy with Guy either, but the man paid well so he let that one slide.
Besides, Warren knew Guy was the head of something NYPD, a head detective honcho guy, or something. His services could prove useful, Warren decided, and he was right.
Which is why he was sitting in Guy Marks' office today. "I'm sure you've heard of what's taken place at my club," Warren began.
"Yeah," Guy sat straighter, "Sorry about that man."
He nodded gravely. "It's certainly a tragedy, but I need a favor."
"Hey, Warren, anything, just say the word."
"Look into this a little more."
Guy crinkled his brows. "What the case? All wrapped up: suicide. Autopsy's results come in later today or tomorrow, but it was petty clean cut."
"That's the thing, Guy. I don't think she committed suicide at all."
The detective nodded, pinching his chin between thumb and forefinger. "And why's that?"
Warren shifted uncomfortably. "Because Guy, Betsy told me something a few nights before her death, something I wasn't supposed to tell anybody."
He shrugged. "What?"
"She said she was pregnant, and her lover wanted her to get rid of the baby, but she did not. She wanted to keep it, Guy. She said it was a one time thing, a stupid mistake, but it left her pregnant and she wanted to keep it."
Guy's eyes got wide. "Warren why didn't you say anything yesterday when we questioned you?"
"Because she didn't want me to tell a soul, not a one, and I thought it disrespectful to even utter the words in front of everyone at the club. I did it for her."
Guy nodded, knowing full well Warren was a man that could be trusted. "Alright, did she tell you who the guy was?"
"Yes, actually, she did." Warren replied quickly.
Guy flipped to a clean page in his notebook. "Go ahead."
"R-E-M-Y L-E-B-E-A-U. Remy Lebeau."
AUTHOR SAYS:
Dun Dun DUN! EEP!
Where do YOU think it's headed? And the new stripper will be announced in the next chapter.
